Page 1 of If Our Hearts Collide

1

PENNY

“Hands must be on the table at all times, behind the glass. All phone conversations are monitored by the central operator. You have ten minutes to talk with the inmate before the line will automatically get disconnected. So use your time wisely.”

I follow the guard into the cold, sterile room, where a row of glass is partitioned with metal stools and individual wall phones on both sides. I tug my cardigan tighter around me, as I’m led into the booth that is designated just for me. For it being summer, you’d never know it by the temperature-controlled atmosphere in this place.

“Thank you,” I mumble, taking a seat.

I can’t help but wonder if this meeting will benefit me or if I’m conning myself into participating in a form of self-torture. Now I’m questioning if I’m essentially making a huge mistake by even requesting the visit.

It surely sounded better when my therapist told me to “face my fears” in one of the group sessions months ago. And this is definitely a fear. I just might have taken the suggestion too literally and out of context.

For the past year, I’ve been living in a state of limbo, not knowing how to knit my old life to the hope I have for my new life. In a way, I feel like a new person. The Penny before the incident is nothing like the Penny seated here now.

I’m different.

And it’s not just because I chose to dye my hair and update my wardrobe color scheme from black and blah.

My parents treat me like I’m different.

My brothers treat me like I’m different.

And I have this sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I’ll always be seen that way to them—as someone fragile who constantly needs rescuing.

So much has changed that the image of the girl being reflected back to me in the dingy, smudged glass isnotthe same naive person who sees people at face value anymore. I just hope that life hasn’t jaded me so much that I’m unable to find my own slice of happiness.

I scoot my stool closer to the table, setting my hands on top as I wait.

Guilt rushes over me as I think of how I used an excuse to go shopping alone as a way to get away from my current residence in Hillsboro. The walls have been closing in on me since my release a few weeks ago.

My parents mean well, but I think they are walking on eggshells and in a constant state of worry that I’ll have a mental breakdown again. I mean, the thought has crossed my mind, so it’s not out of the realm of possibility. Even I get scared of the unknown.

I learned just how complex the brain is when my thoughts became a taunting ghost to the incident that shattered my life.

No one plans on a break, and when one occurs, it’s hard to see your way out of it. I can’t go back to that. I can’t be a burden anymore.

I’m challenging myself today by even stepping foot inside this prison. But I owe this to myself.

Despite extensive therapy, I still am lacking the closure my heart desires. Sometimes facing your demons is a way to conquer your fears, and that is something no one—not even my brothers—understands.

Sure, my family is beyond amazing, but none of them would approve of today’s visit. Everyone sees me as a delicate flower that is waiting to lose its petals at the first sign of rain.

But life has storms.

Some are bigger than others. Some cause the power to go out. But with the rain, regrowth can happen, and sometimes even rainbows can form out of the unexpected.

If I am going to move forward, I need to face the one roadblock that seems to hover in the back of my mind, haunting me with the illusion that I’ll never be whole again.

A vision of orange hits my periphery, causing me to look up, as Mark Tanner is escorted in chains to the stool on the opposite side of the glass.

My eyes look at him and then away, almost as if his evilness is blinding. Swollen eyes, a cut lip, and stitches on his forehead all appear to be fresh. His once muscular frame looks smaller, weaker. Prison hasn’t done him well, and the petty side to me is rejoicing that he finally got what was coming to him—albeit not because I had anything to do with it.

Mark’s expression comes to life and a cocky smirk plays on his lips, as he takes in my face and what he can see of my body, one slow inch at a time. His sinister smile lets me know that he approves of my new appearance.

I feel dirty as his eyes coast over me, like I’m the most interesting person in the world to him right now. He’s probably trying to figure out why I’m here. I mean, I’m starting to wonder as well.

When I first decided to come here on an impulse, it seemed logical at the time. Now, after seeing Mark’s amusement, I doubt I’ll leave feeling anything other than empty.

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