Page 128 of Babalon

I knew the chances were very slim, but I couldn’t stop myself from asking, twisting to look out of the window, the squad car driving off of the prison grounds.

“Yeah, my nephew.”

Jesus Christ. I should have kept my fucking mouth shut.

“He was my best friend. I was with him a few nights before his accident, and at the funeral.”

“I thought you looked familiar. You’ve fallen.”

“Don’t we all?”

The car ride got quiet, and I let my eyes close.

My soul is tired, I could sleep forever.

Chapter thirty-five

Nadia

Four months later

Court is boring.

With my cooperation, the proceedings moved rather quickly. I spent the last four months in jail, as unappealing as it sounds, but it was quiet. Strange if you ask me, but things were smooth sailing, even my visits with my public defender who remains angry at me to this day.

He wanted to fight for my rights and paint me as the victim, working with men who take advantage of women and coerce them into doing things with the promise of love. Wanting to paint Kace as the perpetrator and not me.

How fucking barbaric, I was never that desperate.

He went on to explain that I was victimized sexually by Nathan and two others before he met his own demise, which I found out was Lucien’s doing. The drugs were minuscule charges to the judge, he gave me one year for that charge, one for the arson, thirteen for my relations with Kace, and two years for shooting Lucien.

The look on the judge's face when the prosecutor mentioned that additional charge almost left me in hysterics. I’ve been doing that a lot lately, ever since shooting the fucker. The judge, however, didn’t see it as funny as I did and wanted to make sure I received some sort of punishment for the assault—even if they would rather see Lucien hanging from the end of a rope.

In the end, I acquired seventeen years of prison time before I can apply for any sort of parole. As for the arson, due to the nature of the homeowner’s insurance, I get nothing and cannot return to the property even though my dad died a month ago. Come to find out, he stopped going to his appointments because the oncologist let him know that he had met stage four and wouldn’t survive—no matter how much chemo and radiation he took.

A small part of me feels sorry for him, he died alone and was cremated without anyone to attend his funeral. I guess, when you spend the better part of your life being an insufferable human being, other people are less likely to have anything to do with you. So, what is left of his estate is left up to his remaining family—me. I signed ownership over a week after his death and put the money in an account for when I get out of prison.

Then there are my friends, none of which have anything to do with me anymore. Ivy’s dad, who turned out to be Kace’s cellmate, was finally awarded release. His many years of reading Batman comics and keeping his head down paid off. Wren and Riley moved away and cut all contact with me; they feared for their safety just in case their parents connected them to me.Oliver's parents finally divorced, and he lives with his mom now. She’s been watching my entire televised court case—why she is that interested, I don’t know.

The media dubs me as the Darkwater Scorpion—apparently female scorpions eat their mates but that couldn’t be further from the truth for me. The public doesn’t see it like that. Either way, it has been sensationalized across several platforms. Some Warren Faust YouTube star has made it his life’s mission to find every little detail about my case that he can and to turn me into as many true crime episodes as possible.

It’s not every day you see a female correctional officer facing charges, let alone the plethora of convictions I now face.

Nonetheless, I didn’t fight anything. I answered everything truthfully and let the whole ordeal run its course. There will be a day where I’m just a name on a piece of paper and the population will have forgotten about me.

Sitting here in court, as I have said, is boring. The judge is going over last-minute things while I sit leaning back in my chair. My hands resting along the top of my swollen stomach. I am now seven months, give or take a week or so. Once I found an OB/GYN, I has to visit regularly due to living in jail. She didn’t want anything happening to the baby while I am incarcerated since the baby will be adopted out. The expecting parents expect a whole child, and not one who may become injured by other inmates.

No one wants a broken kid.

I still remember the day she asked me if I wanted to know the sex of the baby. While I was thankful for her asking, I spent half an hour sobbing when she told me I was having a girl. I relived even more guilt at that point. Elaine, my therapist from when I was younger, stepped back into the picture and would come visit me too, wanting to help me get to a better head space after beingraped, knowing the trauma that I suffered through when I was a teenager.

She helped me find just enough strength to move through each day without being in constant hysterics. The tough topic that we are on now revolves around my mom and what happened to her, why my dad tried to convince me that she left him behind because of me.

While that may hold some level of truth, in most cases, that’s not what happens. Elaine showed me the statistics, women typically abandon abusive relationships, not their children. She may have felt it was better that I remained with him because he had the shelter and necessities I needed to survive as a baby. Leaving me with someone who would have at least made sure I stayed alive was better than losing me to Child Protective Services and the foster system.

Which brings me back to my daughter, Sadie.

I hope her adoptive parents choose to keep her name.

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