Page 2 of If Our Hearts Collide

Mark kicks the stool backward with his foot, steps in front, and lowers himself onto it. His chained hands hit the table so hard that it vibrates the glass. Biting his bottom lip, his eyebrows rise to produce a flirtatious look.

Why am I doing this?

Why am I facing the devil who caused my once seemingly perfect life to shatter at the foundation? Why am I trying to communicate with the madman who almost killed both of my brothers and my now sister-in-law?

Maybe I’m a masochist. Or maybe I’m exactly what I’ve tried to tell myself I wasn’t for all these months…

Crazy.

My nose flares as I bite my inner cheeks to keep from crying. I can’t shed a tear in front of this man. He would eat them up like liquid candy, and probably get off to the image of my mascara-stained face later when he’s alone in his cell.

Pulling my shoulders back and straightening my posture, I remove the black phone from the receiver, signaling to Mark to do the same.

It’s his labored breathing I hear first.

“Well, if it isn’t little Penny Hoffman.” He trails his eyes over my lips, my neck, and down to my chest—settling there for way too long. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

It’s Mark’s evilness that takes root, growing wildly with unabandoned need and wrapping its hold over every aspect of my life.

I’m tainted—damaged—by his clutch on me. And today is the day I let go of the choke hold he has on my life.

“I’m here to show you that I’m all better. That you didn’t break me.”

“Well, isn’t that cute.”

My eyes twitch, as I take in a deep, steady breath. “I’m stronger than you think.” And I am. I have gotten through so much.

I watch as Mark places the phone down onto the table and then claps his hands together.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

His chest rumbles with a boisterous laugh that is so dark that I can hear the echoing hum through the phone. He picks it back up and winks at me, making me cringe from his ability to affect me like he does.

“How can I believe your words when you don’t even believe them yourself?”

I bite my bottom lip that can’t stop quivering. But I am strong. I’ve managed to complete intensive therapy. And I came here. “You can’t hurt me anymore,” I blurt out.

“But I can. And I will. I live in your heart, Penny. And I’ll come out to play anytime your insecurities seep through. Just know I’ll be waiting on the sidelines.Stupid girl.”

“Shut up.” I rock in my seat, silently wishing it had a back support.

My fingers grip the phone so tightly, I fear I might snap the plastic in half. I didn’t come here to get harassed by him. I came here to show Mark that I’m standing on my own two feet, while he’ll be rotting away in prison until he eventually dies. He can no longer hurt me.

“You know what bad girls like you love?” Before I get a chance to even respond to his ridiculous question, he answers for me. “Sin.”

“Shut up.”

His laugh is manic, like he somehow believes he has the upper hand, despite being in a maximum security prison with no chance of ever receiving parole if he is found guilty. At least that’s what everyone—my therapists, my parents, my brothers, our lawyers—tell me.

That’s what theytellme.

Tell me…

Yet, here I sit, trembling in fear of what this man represents.

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