Page 14 of Blackout: Book Two

“Did you get that feeling with your son? Did you just know?” I asked him both curiously and desperately. For some strange reason, I needed him to confirm that what I was felt was genuine. That a father’s intuition was every bit as real as a mother’s intuition.

He didn’t answer me.

Instead, Bishop turned his eyes back to me and I swore they were a shade darker.

“Go the fuck to sleep,” he said. “Next time you wake me up, I’m going to shove a pillow over your head.”

Without another word, he climbed the short ladder and got back into the top bunk. I didn’t fall back asleep. I didn’t even close my eyes. The baby’s cries echoed in my head and when the guard opened the fucking bars, I fucking ran out of that cell as quick as my legs could carry me, foolishly thinking I could escape my demons.

Now, here I am, hours later with my fucking lunch tray in my hand, staring at Bishop who sits alone at a table scarfing down a slice of stale white bread. Before I can think better of it, I cross the mess hall and make my way to the table. I don’t ask for permission as I sit in front of him and when he lifts his head to scowl at me, I tip my milk carton towards him, silently saluting him.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he asks as I gulp down the milk.

“What the fuck does it look like I’m doing?” I volley, swiping the excess milk from the scruff covering my lip with the back of my hand.

“It looks like you’re eating lunch with me,” he sneers as I tear the cellophane from the bologna sandwich. Bringing the bread to my mouth, I meet his gaze.

“Then, I guess I’m eating lunch with you,” I say before taking a huge bite out of the sandwich. I cringe as I chew. I don’t know what the fuck I’m eating but it sure as fuck ain’t bologna. Bishop continues to stare at me through narrowed eyes and I force the shit down my throat. The thought of eating another bite turns my stomach and I push my tray towards him.

“I’m Blackie,” I tell him, forcing my eyes back to his. “Seems only fair you know my name after what happened this morning,” I add, sighing as I push my hair out of my face uncomfortably. Swiping the applesauce from my tray, Bishop leans back and removes the lid. Once he’s got it off, he digs his plastic spoon into the cup and lifts his gaze to me.

“Black like the aura of darkness hanging over your fucking head,” he deadpans, shoving the spoon into his mouth as he continues to study me.

It’s a pretty solid analogy.

“Exactly.”

Swallowing, he nods his head and dips his spoon into the applesauce again.

“So, when is she due?”

The question catches me off guard and I’m not sure if it’s because I wasn’t expecting him to ask me anything personal or because I don’t know the fucking answer. When we went to the doctor, he told us Lacey was only roughly six weeks along. I don’t remember him giving us an exact due date, but then again, I was too consumed by the drama surrounding Lacey’s meds to pay much attention to anything else.

I don’t get a chance to answer him, though, because a guard walks up to the table and shoves Bishop’s tray away from him.

“Let’s go,” the guard orders. “Your lawyer is here.”

Bishop fixes the guard with a glare before rising to his feet. He doesn’t get far because the guard raises his hand in protest and eyes Bishop’s lunch tray.

“Clean your fucking mess, Bishop,” the guard demands. For a moment my cellmate doesn’t move and defiantly glares at the prick. But then something clicks and it’s like he remembers what he stands to lose if he disobeys the guard. I watch as his jaw ticks angrily as he reluctantly turns to grab his tray. He doesn’t say another word to me or even glance in my direction. A second later he’s gone, and I’m left alone trying to calculate my baby’s due date. As I count the months, I start to wonder if Lacey had her second doctor’s appointment yet and if she heard our baby’s heartbeat. I picture her alone in Dr. Heltzer’s office, staring at the sonogram machine and my chest tightens.

The guard returns to bring me back to my cell and the second those bars close I contemplate calling her. It’s a shit idea and after the arraignment, I’m not so sure she’ll answer the phone, much less talk to me. Besides, I don’t even know what I’d say. Do I apologize again? Do I dou reveal the truth, that I knew the D.A. had a warrant out for my arrest, or do I continue to let her think I abandoned her with no good reason? I could just ask about the baby and if she’s gone to the doctor. She’ll probably get defensive over that, though. That’s what Lacey does. The minute I show concern for her health or our baby’s she automatically assumes I’m coming down on her, that I’m doubting her strength.

Maybe I’ll tell her why I chose that pink teddy bear and even share the names I’ve been thinking about. I’ll confess to missing the feel of her body curled around mine and that she invades my dreams. I’ll ask her how she’s sleeping and if she still climbs into our bed wearing my shirt. Does she reach for me even though I’m not there?

God, I hope she does.

I hope she’s not consumed by hate.

That somewhere inside her there’s still an ounce of love for me.

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