Page 5 of Blackout: Book Two

Chapter Two

Blackie

Booked and processed into the system, I traded my name for an inmate number and followed the correctional officer to my jail cell. The scene in the courtroom played in my head like a bad movie. I wasn’t expecting Lacey to be at the arraignment. I guess I figured she was still reeling from my arrest and as shitty as it sounds, I was hoping she’d be too angry at me to show. You see, I can handle her anger. I can watch her glare at me and let the nasty slurs roll off my shoulders because deep down, I know I deserve them.

But I can’t take her fucking pain.

Especially when I’m the cause of it.

Before I entered the courtroom, I met with Schwartz to go over his plan to have the charges regarding the paramedic dismissed and he revealed Lacey was in the courtroom. I lost my fucking shit and demanded he have her removed from the courtroom. I quickly learned Schwartz didn’t take too kindly to orders. He wasn’t there to rectify the mess I made of my marriage. That shit was on me and I was going to have to face the fact that I had broken Lacey’s heart sooner rather than later.

I thought if I didn’t look at her, I’d be safe. That I’d spare us both anymore heartache. It worked for a while, but while the judge spoke and Schwartz argued on my behalf, I felt her. Not just her eyes as they drilled a hole in my back, willing me to look at her, but her. All of her.

Her love.

Her hate.

Her fear.

And her fucking pain.

The judge denied bail and my biggest fear became our reality. Lacey lost her shit, crying and begging for me to look at her. At that moment, I realized how weak I truly was. I could stand in front of a courtroom and take responsibility for my crimes, but I couldn’t look the woman I love in the eye and take responsibility for destroying her. Any argument I made in regard to her mental health being at risk during the pregnancy fell void as I wreaked havoc on her sanity with my choices. It was that sobering thought that made me finally turn around and give her my eyes.

Seeing her split at the seams, her bleeding heart on display, was too much, and I suddenly realized the monster in her head was nothing in comparison to the one she married. I started to wonder if hiring Schwartz was the right move. If anyone could make this mess disappear and get me back to Lacey and our baby, it was the arrogant lawyer who dazzled judges and dropped jaws. You see, I foolishly allowed Lacey to get inside my head and believed she needed me, that my child deserved a father. But maybe that’s not right. On the streets, in her bed, I’m nothing but the man constantly breaking her heart. The one who disappoints her every chance he gets and has her questioning her sanity. Maybe I was right to think she’d be better off if I remained locked in a cage like the fucking animal I am. Maybe the greatest gifts I can give my kid is a life free from me, a mentally well mother and a pink fucking teddy bear.

That was the last thought I had before the metal bars closed in on me and the lock slid into place, confining me to my cell. The top bunk appeared to be taken but there was no sign of my cellmate. Throwing my linens on the bottom bunk, my eyes sweep around the dingy area. The stench of urine wafts past my nose and I spot the fucking toilet in the corner. Next to it, there is a small metal sink attached to the wall. A tube of toothpaste sits on top with the cap missing. Above the sink is a shelf with two books and a photo of a little boy. If I had to guess I’d say the kid in the photograph is about five years old…maybe six. He has curly brown hair and in desperate need of a haircut. His two front teeth are missing but that doesn’t take away from his adorable smile. As I continue to stare at the photograph a pang of regret hits me hard and again, I’m left wishing I had that grainy sonogram photo to look at.

Instead, I look into the wide eyes of someone else’s innocent child. I’m so lost in thought that I don’t hear the rusty bars slide open behind me.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?”

I turn to face the man posing the question. With his arms crossed over his broad chest, his blue-gray eyes glare at me as the guard slides the rusty bars into place, caging us together. I comb my fingers through my hair, noting his is just as long as mine, but where mine hangs straight, his hangs in waves, matching the little boy in the photograph. Must be his son.

Breaking the stare off between us, I look towards the bottom bunk. As I’m about to side step him, he uncrosses his arms and holds out a hand, blocking me from moving.

“I asked you a fucking question.”

My eyes dart to the hand blocking me before I reach out and wrap my fingers around his throat. In one fluid motion, I toss him against the cinder block wall. He grabs a hold of my shirt and tries to push me off him, but my grip tightens around his neck as I widen my stance and lean my weight onto him.

“Is that any way to greet your fucking new cellmate?” I growl.

“Fuck you,” he hisses, spit flying through his teeth.

“Wrong answer, motherfucker. Now, I’m gonna give you a pass this time because you don’t know me and I’m the guy invading your fucking turf, but if you ever come at me like that again I won’t be so fucking kind.” My fingers dig into his flesh as his cold eyes remain impassive. After another moment, I release my hold on him and take a step back. He doesn’t make a big deal about catching his breath or even lift a hand to his bruising throat. Instead, he points to the photograph of the boy and narrows his eyes at me. With his voice hoarse from the struggle, he issues a warning of his own.

“Off limits.”

I lift an eyebrow but don’t look at the photograph.

“Your kid?”

“You hard of hearing? I said, off limits.”

“Fair enough,” I relent. As curious as I am, I respect boundaries. Especially when it comes to someone’s kid or their woman. “You got a name?”

He remains quiet as he pushes off the wall and crosses the two feet separating us. Without giving me another glance, he hikes himself onto the top bunk.

“I don’t like slobs and I don’t share my shit,” he says, folding his arms under his head. Spreading his large frame over the cot, his feet hang off the edge. If he’s bothered by it, he doesn’t show it. “I get out in three months and I can’t afford any trouble. Stay the fuck out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours. If I catch you lookin’ at my kid again, I’ll slice your throat when you’re sleeping.”

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