Page 15 of Blackout: Book Two

Chapter Six

Blackie

I didn’t call her.

Shocking, I know.

Instead, I tried my best to bleach Lacey and our baby from my mind by doing a hundred push-ups. It didn’t work. Lacey is still a very vivid thought in my mind and now my fucking arms feel like they’re on fire. I’ve conceded the only way to escape this hell is to succumb to a different one and as soon as Bishop returns from his visit with his lawyer, I’m going to find out how I can score. Drugs don’t have to be your thing to know how and where to get your hands on them. My cellmate might be a loner, but something tells me that man is an observant motherfucker. The quiet ones always are and Bishop is going to point me in the right direction. He’s going to be an accessory to my demise.

So, this is how the story goes.

This is how it ends.

Man sees girl with the sad eyes.

Man falls in love with her.

Marries her.

Puts a baby in her.

Then he sends the whole fucking thing crashing down with the help of his unsuspecting cellmate.

The bars on the cell squeak open and I lift my head from the cot as Bishop enters. He clenches his fists as he stares ahead. I don’t have to follow his gaze to know his eyes are on the picture of his son. It’s always the first thing he looks at when he enters the cell. Hell, he goes straight for the photo the minute he wakes and before he closes his eyes, he gives it one last glance. The man misses his boy, that much is clear. However, right now, he’s looking at the photograph like it’s his damnation. Like that boy, he cherishes so much is dead to him.

As the guard closes us in and disappears out of sight, Bishop starts for the photograph. Curious, I forget about my own fucking problems and swing my legs over the edge of the cot as he viciously swipes the photo from the wall. Something unintelligible escapes his lips as I rise to my feet and I watch as he tears the photo in half.

It takes me a second to process what he’s done before I spring into action.

“What the fuck are you doing?” I ask, wrapping my hand around his forearm.

Whatever went down with his lawyer has him twisted and before he does something he can’t take back, I try to stop him. He spins around, dropping the torn picture and rears his free fist backward. Before his knuckles can collide with my jaw, I grab his wrist, blocking the punch. My hold on him tightens and I push him back against the sink. His nostrils flare with anger and his cold eyes narrow into tiny slits. Still, I don’t relent. If anything, his anger fuels me.

“Get the fuck off me,” he hisses, trying to break free from my grasp. My adrenaline spikes and my grip tightens. I can’t fucking help myself, but I might as well be somewhat useful by helping this poor bastard.

“Man, what are you doing?” I ask, glancing down at the photo. “That’s your fucking kid. Do you have any idea what I would do to have a goddamn photo of mine? To know I didn’t fucking imagine its existence or that the love I feel for it ain’t a fucking a lie?”

Just saying those words cause my throat to close and I struggle to tame my own emotions. I’d cut my fucking heart out to go back in time. Three weeks ago, my life wasn’t much better than it is now. I was feeling the pressure of my club and looking for any excuse to get high. But I could climb into bed with Lacey at the end of the day. I could rest my hands on her belly and talk with her about our child. I could look at the sonogram photo and dream of what she’d look like. If she’d have her mommy’s dark eyes and her heart-shaped lips.

Three weeks ago, there was a light at the end of the tunnel.

Now, everything is pitch black, and all I got are my fucking nightmares.

And here this fuck is, destroying the memory of his boy. Maybe it’s not a big deal to him. After all, he doesn’t need a picture to honor his son because he knows what it feels like to hold him in his arms. He knows the sound of his laugh and I bet he’s memorized his smile.

“You want some fatherly advice, Blackie?” he sneers, wrangling one hand free. He snatches the other back and takes a step closer, getting in my face. “You’re better off not knowing your kid. At least you won’t get attached. The kid will be better off too. He won’t be disappointed. I mean, look where you are. You think you’re any good for your kid? That you can give it everything it deserves. That you can love him. Protect him. That you can fucking heal him from the pain you cause because if you stick around, if he gets to know you, you’re only going to hurt him. You’re a fucking animal locked in a cage just like me and odds are, that’s all you’ll be.”

His words slap me in the face. They fucking sting but then again, the truth usually does. Biting the inside of my cheek, I remind myself this ain’t about me and I bend to pick up the pieces of the torn photo.

“Leave it,” he shouts as I straighten up.

Lifting the two halves, I study the boy for a moment before turning back to Bishop and holding the image up so he sees his sons toothless grin. This man has no idea how lucky he is.

“Look at him,” I demand.

“No,” he croaks, deliberately ignoring the damaged photograph. His jaw clenches and his features contort. “Don’t you fucking get it? I can’t look at him,” he seethes.

I can see this is going somewhere dark and uninviting. A place that sucks you in and strips you of your soul only to spit you out in pieces. I’ve been there. Hell, I’ve got a foot in the door. If I was smart, I’d leave him alone and respect his limits. But I’m not smart. I’m the fucking king of bad decisions.

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