Page 98 of The Games We Play

As I walk through the door, the quaint room has multi-sized lockers surrounding it with a few benches in the middle. The fluorescent lighting is piercing to my irises, and the stench in here is like taking a whiff of a carton of milk ten days past its shelf date.

I scrunch up my face in disgust. It’s partially a relief that Nathan has had to live in a sewage smelling cell if this is anything like the jails.

“Put all your belongings in the locker, including all the jewelry you are wearing. Follow the instructions on the inside door jamb and pick a code of your choice, then I’ll meet you over here for a pat down.” He points at the corner of the room, a four walled cement cubby specifically for ‘pat downs’.

I was prepared for this. Well, I expected it. I know this isstandard, but it’s all surreal that this is happening, and just behind that door I’ll come face to face with Nathan. After all these years, I finally get to say what I need to say to the person I need to say it to.

I place my belongings in the locker and type in a code, 0722. It clicks in place as I close the small metal door and step into the corner of the room.

The guard glances at Seamus, then to me, giving me a once over before squatting down and cupping my ankle, patting all the way up my leg, then repeats the same on the other. He runs his hands over my waist and between my legs. There is nothing sexual about it, but when I turn to look at Seamus, his face is fire engine red. I can practically see the heat steaming off his head. He could probably fry an egg on top of it.

His fists clench at his sides while he tilts his neck from one side to the other, huffing out a long, drawn out breath. His eyes are dark as he pins the unknowing guard with a look that could kill an army.

Groping Guard makes me jump when his hand lands on my torso. He presses them underneath my boobs and into my ribcage, then moves his hands over my shoulders, down my arms, before grabbing my wrists. He flips them over, using a firm grip to inspect my fingernails.

I flinch and pull back on instinct.

My mouth drops open and I apologize, not wanting to seem suspicious. “You startled me.”

“You’re good to go in,” he says as he gestures his arm toward the door.

I step through the archway and pause as Seamus steps into the space I was just in for this pat down, and the guard clears him.

Seamus places his hand on the small of my back, guiding me through the doorway as we enter the visitation room. The air isstale, the space is vast, and it’s filled with metal, circular tables. It smells just as bad as the locker room.

Seamus’ lips graze my ear. “Pick a table in the middle of the room. I’ll have my eyes on you the entire time.” Then he steps to the side, blending in with the wall at the back of the room.

I walk toward the middle of the room, as he instructed, and take a seat.

My hands begin to tremble at the realization that Nathan is just outside this room, waiting to come in. He must know by now that it’s me, and that is both terrifying and liberating.

Breathe.

I remind myself as I close my eyes and draw in a deep inhale through my nose, expelling everything out of my lungs through my slightly parted lips.

Opening my eyes, I realize my back is facing Seamus and I’m not sure how he wants me to sit. Pressing into my feet I stand, glancing back at Seamus. His brows pinch together in confusion as his foot drags forward, before a loud clang catches both of our attention and the metal barrier separating us from the inmates opens.

My ass plops down on the seat, feeling as if I need to hide myself behind the table while Seamus steps back, pressing his back against the wall.

The men scatter in different directions, looking around for whoever it is that is visiting them. I keep my eye on the line of men as they disperse out before one of them stops next to me.

His arms are covered with tattoos that are barely visible under the thick layer of hair coating his forearms, and he’shuge. His body is able to block the entire table next to mine as he looks down at me with a lopsided smile.

“You should come back to see me next week, darlin’.”

I steel my spine and lift my chin. Before I can respond with a stern no, I’m interrupted by a far too familiar voice that makes my stomach burst and my throat constrict.

“Beat it, Charles. This one’s mine, and she’s here for me.” I side-eye my view fromCharlesto the man who has consumed too many years of my life.

My rapist.

It took me years to call him that, to claim it. Not just the title for him, but the ownership of who he is to me. The word is vile, but what he did is worse. He deserves to wear the title as if it were tattooed permanently on his face.

I’ve thought about forgiveness and allowing myself the thought that he could change, he could become better. I would hang onto the advice of my therapist, telling myself to forgive so I could move on. But as he sits in front of me, forgiveness can never be given, because I can see in the dark orbs of his evil eyes, he’ll never earn it.

My eyes quickly scan his body. His once boyish face is rough and hard. His body isn’t excessively lean and fragile like I expected. He looks strong and healthy. Like he spends a majority of his days working out. He wears a smile like he enjoys the luxury and time he has.

“Mimi,” he sits down across from me, intertwining his fingers as he places his hands on the table, “to what do I owe this pleasure?”

---