Page 17 of Reclaim

“That’s me.”

I laugh, smiling at how easy it has become between us.”So what’s your next surprise?”

“Huh?”

“What do you need help with?” The lull between us only enhancing the magnitude of what he’s about to ask.

“I need you to talk to Sasha,” he blurts out.

“Jagger, I can talk to her, but I can’t promise she’s going to listen.”

“You don’t have to promise; I know she will.”

“What makes you so sure?”

“There’s something special about you Em.” The nickname rolls off his tongue like there’s never been a day in his life where he hasn’t called me that. “When you talk, your words are like sirens. People don’t have a choice but to listen.”

6

Jagger

“Michaels, you got another visitor.”

I put my book down, and crane my neck up off my pillow. “Really?”

“I know, I’m as shocked as you are. Nobody for twelve years, and then bang last five weeks every Tom, Dick, and Harry wants to see you.”

I chuckle at his humour. Thompson has worked here longer than I’ve been here; always the diplomat, he could be your best friend and your worst enemy all at the same time.

“Don’t worry, only a few more days and I’ll be out of your hair.” Swinging my legs off the bed, I put the bookmark in between the pages and leave it beside my pillow.

“Things are going to be different,” he says a little too seriously.

I meet him at the entrance of my cell. “For you and me both.” His hand lands on my shoulder, giving it a light squeeze. “You did good in here, son.”

Appreciative of the faith strangers have put in me over the years, I nod, accepting the compliment. “Good.” His voice booms, changing the mood. “You’re on the home stretch now. Once you step out of these doors, don’t you ever look back. I never want to see your ugly fucking mug again.”

“Don’t worry, I’m never stepping foot in here again.”

We arrive at the visiting room doors, and I wait for the officers to exchange their daily dose of trivial banter before allowing me to walk on in.

Having already broken the tension with Hendrix, and getting used to seeing Emerson, I’m completely caught off guard when my eyes zero in on Sasha sitting alone in the large, empty room. She nervously chews on her bottom lip, a habit that hasn’t changed with time.

Refusing to answer my calls, and with no update from Hendrix, I realise she must’ve spoken to Emerson. I slow down my strides and take in the change of the girl I left and the woman she’s become. She wears her hair shorter now. Just above her shoulders, the loose curls a blend of honey and white blonde. As I slowly come into view, her eyes fill with tears every step I get closer. Covering her face with one hand, she begins to quietly sob. Shoulders hunched and shaking, I fall to her side, kneeling on the floor. “Please stop crying,” I beg.

“Michaels. Arse on chair. First and final,” the guard bellows.

Begrudgingly, I shuffle back and take a seat opposite of her. She continues to suffer in silence while my only choice is to watch. Folding her arms on the table, she leans her head down in the crook of her elbow and attempts to regulate her breathing. My heart aches as the crying eventually turns into hiccups. Sasha crying has always been a trigger for me. It’s intrinsic; I just want to fix it. Growing up it became harder when I was often the reason for her tears. Just like right now.

“Sash, look at me please.”

“I can’t,” she mumbles. “It’s too much.”

“Okay, well how about I take my turn first?” I don’t even bother waiting for an answer. For more than five thousand days, the first conversation I’d have with Sasha since getting put away has always been the forefront of my mind. I’ve got a lot to say, words that are too little too late, but need to be said anyway. “When I used to imagine this moment, I used to think I’d apologise and beg for forgiveness. Until I realised an apology doesn’t change anything, and forgiveness isn’t something I deserve.” My voice shakes, forcing me to try and compose myself. “I foolishly thought being in here was the punishment, but now that leaving is a reality, it’s impossible to ignore how much I’ve missed out on. Almost enough to be completely forgotten.”

She raises her head and straightens up. Wiping her nose and eyes with the edge of her sleeve, I’m momentarily distracted, taking in the depth of her red-rimmed eyes. Love and pain, side by side, unable to look anywhere but me.

“I was so angry at you, you know? I turned into ice, thinking about it every day. Every fucking day, like a movie, I let it play out, and then I would let it fuel my hate for you.” She punctuates all the right words, and I let the pain of her loathing wash over me. This isn’t about absolution, no matter how much my subconscious seeks it. “I was so sure I fucking hated you. And now I’m here, and you’re sitting in front of me and-” she raises her shoulders in a shrug. “How the fuck did we get here?” The rhetorical question cracks any semblance of balance between talking and crying.

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