Page 53 of Burn

The hallways are busy with the hurried guys I spend my days with. They rush back and forth, all with the goal of getting to the visiting area for Saturday visits. Not me, though. I move like a dead man walking, dragging my feet.

The last time my parents called, I was such a jerk. I told them I didn’t want to see them and to stop visiting. That was three weeks ago, and today, when the tones went off for visiting hours, I walked back to my room, certain no one would be here for me today. Imagine my fucking shock and disappointment when the door to my room swung open and CO Torrance stomped in.

The guards have shown me exactly how worthless they think we are, and just how fucking awful they can make things if we don’t behave, so the minute I registered him, I scrambled to my feet. He looked me up and down, lip curled in disgust, spit on the floor of my room and told me to, ‘get my ass to the visiting area.’ My stomach dropped, and he reveled in my reaction, taking the opportunity to remind me to keep my fucking mouth shut.

“Sir, yes sir.”

It’s been seven weeks out of fifty-two. I’m really not sure I can get much more broken than I am at this point, but I also have the overwhelming feeling I’ll find out. So here I am. Dragging my ass down the hallway, through the chaos, toward my visitors. Visitors I told to stay away from me, that I don’twant to see them. The truth is, I need them to stay away from here.

Torrance shoves me from behind so hard that I stumble forward, and my body screams in response. My muscles ache in places I didn’t know possible, but I pick up my pace, and when I round the corner and see who’s waiting for me, I bite the inside of my mouth to keep myself from an outward reaction. Both of my parents sit at a large table, their hands clasped together, hopeful, excited looks on their faces. Next to them, my two best friends. The two guys who shouldn’t be here. Visits are reserved for family, and these two, while they’re my brothers, are absolutely not my family.

“Don’t forget where the fuck you are, Liberty,” the guard grits out in a low voice. “We can make this so much fucking worse for you if you open your fucking mouth. We can make this so much worse forthem.”They love to remind me of what will happen if I tell anyone about what happened here. I can’t bring myself to speak to him, so I nod instead. He reaches for the door, adding one last reminder, “It would be such a waste to see you end up like that loser friend of yours.”

The door opens, and the cool air of the room wafts over me. Unlike the rest of the facility, the visiting room is kept at a cool temperature. I’m sure to give families the impression that it’s notthat badhere. The reality is that outside of this room, the place stinks, it’s too hot, or too cold, the food, blankets, and everything are old and tired. This room, however, gives the impression that it’s state-of-the-art. The guards are friendlier in here. They smile, laugh, and pat us on the back.

I steel myself as I approach the table, fighting back the emotions that bubble up in my throat from seeing the four people who mean the most to me in my life. Ronan jumps upfirst. His hair is longer, and he darts the few steps to me, wrapping me in his arms.

“Holy fuck, Libby! We missed you, man!” I believe him. His tone is so warm and excited.

Colton is right behind him and wraps his arms around both of us, “You have no idea!”

They release me and step aside, granting my parents access to their only baby boy. My mother, usually the strongest person I know, looks at me with glassy eyes. She’s more hesitant than my friends as she steps up and wraps her arms around my neck. It kills me, but I keep my arms at my side, my fingers twitch with the need to hug her back. My dad watches us. He watches the way I don’t return her embrace, the cold, detached look etched into my face.

After a couple of minutes, my mother releases me, spinning around and pulling a tissue from her pocket to dab at her eyes. My dad steps up, pulls me into a tight hug, and whispers into my ear, “You okay, kid?”

I nod, and he steps back, rounding the table and joining the others. I take my seat on the other side. There’s a beat of silence before my mother asks, “What happened to your eye, Adrian?”

You know how most moms will pick out cutesy pet names for their kids? Not mine. She’s strong, smart, and what some might call cold. My dad taught me work ethic, empathy, and to laugh. My mother taught me strength and resilience. As long as I can remember, I’ve been Adrian, or ‘you little shit.’ Never anything cutesy, not even now when she’s studying the deep purple that surrounds my swollen eye.

Over their shoulders, the guards have lined up together to keep watch on the room. They’re zeroed in on us. Narrowed eyes, tight, flexed jaws that remind me once again to keep my mouth shut.

“Nothing,” I say, averting my eyes.

Ronan and Cally jump in to update me on school and the hockey team, but I tune them out, not wanting to hear any of it. I scan the room while they talk, watching the guys talk to their families. No one came to see Nash. He’d been so upset that day, and now no one will come to see him ever again. Images flash through my mind. His broken and beaten face. The way the guards laughed and pointed at him while he struggled to breathe. My nightmares are haunted by him. I think I might always be haunted by him, haunted by my inability to help him.

Inability? No. I could have done something. I’m a coward, and I did nothing.

And he fucking died. On that cold utility closet floor.

“Adrian?” My dad snaps me back to the conversation.

I close my eyes, taking a deep inhale, my pulse thrumming through the bruised flesh under my eye. The room smells like a cheap air freshener. Something the warden uses to create a certain ambiance to support the lie he feeds to parents about the type of place he runs. When I open my eyes, four sets stare back at me, full of hope and love.

“What?” I sound like such a piece of shit.

I am a piece of shit.

“Your brothers are talking to you,” my dad says, a cheeky smile on his lips. “You should listen to them.”

Get mean, Adrian.

“They’re not my fucking brothers,” I growl in response.

Colton and Ronan look like I punched them directly in the guts.

Please forgive me for this.

Colton leans forward, lowering his voice, “Okay, narc. Shut up.”

---