Page 99 of The Games We Play
I swallow thickly at the distinct sound of his voice. It hasn’t changed. It pierces me as it echoes through my eardrums, bringing forth the terror from that night.
For a moment, I feel like I’m falling. Dizzy from the adrenaline coursing through my body and torn between being fragile and weak, but still so mad and angry.
My eyes sink down into my lap and I feel like that eighteen-year-old girl again, sitting in the courtroom as everyone else spoke for her, about her, like I couldn’t hear what they were saying.
I refuse to be that silent girl again.
Sitting to my full height, I confidently lift my chin as my eyes take in the weak, sorry excuse of a man.
“You don’t deserve an appeal, and I’m going to do everything in my power to make sure it’s not granted.”
“Ahhh.” As if he’s possessed by Lucifer himself, he chuckles. Like I’m joking, or what I’m saying won’t be taken seriously.
“How did you find out?” I remain silent, not answering his question as he shrugs. “Doesn’t matter. By this time next week, I’ll be outside of these walls, enjoying what I’ve been missing out on for the last ten years. Basking in the pleasures of what you took away from me. And nothing you do is going to stop me from that, sweetheart.”
“The parole board will hear my story. They will see the pictures of what you did to me?—”
He slams his hand down on the metal table, interrupting me.
“The parole board doesn’t give two shits about your story. Texas has too many prisoners and not enough cells to hold them. Mycrime,” he air quotes with his fingers, “is nothing compared to what some of these other guys in here have done.”
“You raped me and almost beat me to death,” I grit through clenched teeth.
“You wanted me for years, and when I finally gave it to you, you claim I took advantage of you because it was a little too rough for you. You women are all the fucking same.”
I’m stunned for a moment as I try to understand what he’s saying. But there is no use. It’s impossible to understand someone who has made up an entire relationship in their head. Who justifies their actions because of their delusional interpretation of reality.
“Is there a remorseful bone in your body for what you did to me?”
He leans back, shaking his head as he chuckles to himself. “Ididn’t do anything to you. All those years you flirted with me, you were begging me for it.”
I tilt my head, appraising him, realizing this isn’t the first time he’s given himself that excuse, nor will it be the last. Nathan Simmons is a natural born predator. Someone who will never take no for an answer and will always take what he wants. Right, wrong, or indifferent.
He leans forward over the table and aligns himself closer to me, whispering, “Do you know the things they did to me when I first got here? The things I had to do to get to where I am now? I dream of the day I can pay back my sweet Mimi with the same pain and suffering you’ve caused me, and it will come. It will come very, very soon, sweetheart. In fact,” he pauses, lowering his voice even more, “I’ve always wanted to visit Seattle.”
I gasp at his knowledge that he knows where I live.
“You think you’re the only one keeping tabs on things?” he asks, smiling from ear to ear. “You’ve gotten to live your fun little life, free of restrictions on that cute little cul-de-sac. You even have a white picket fence and everything. It’s adorable.”
Dipping even closer to me, so he can lower his voice, he vows, “I will come for you, Mimi.”
His rancid breath wafts through the air between us, and I screw up my face in disgust as his threats hit my chest like a ton of bricks. My lungs deflate and I gasp for air with the knowledge of what he knows about my life.
Turning to avoid his stare, I scooch back in my seat, attempting to create some distance between us. As I lift my hand to tap my shoulder, he slams his palms down over my wrists, pinning them to the table. Pressing into the joints he knows all too well.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?”
42
SEAMUS
My eyes bounce back and forth between Mimi’s hand and Nathan’s mouth, as I read what he’s saying to her.
He claims what he did wasn’t a crime. Saying she begged him for it. Justifying his actions, acting like the complete narcissist that he is.
This is fucking bullshit.
Glancing around the room, I appraise the guards as they monitor the inmates. The same number of guards match the amount of cameras facing toward the visitation room. Footage that would miraculously disappear if they needed it to.
