Sara fishes for the first aid kit under the sink and gives it to me as I grab the chair nearby and put on gloves. “This looks deep,” I say and then raise it up while addressing Sara. “Bowl of water. We need to clean it up first.” She nods, and in a second, it’s by my side. As I clean it, Kathy hisses. “I told you not to cook without your glasses.”
She chuckles. “Since when do I listen, child? Besides, I have a genius doctor tending to me.” Her words are salt she slowly rubs into my wounds. I used to be all those things.
But not anymore.
Instead of dwelling on it though, I reply, “We don’t have much equipment here or even at the nurse’s office. One of these days, you’ll need a licensed doctor.”
She just chuckles again, and I roll my eyes. Explaining something to this stubborn woman is almost impossible, yet in a way, her scolding warms my heart.
Maybe because in this awful place, she’s become one of the few people who has showered me with love, even if I didn’t want it or know what to do with it.
After I lost my baby girl years ago, she came to my hospital bed and took care of me as if I were her own child, reading stories to me and patting my hair while murmuring “everything will be okay.” I wasn’t even sure she was allowed to do it, not that I questioned it much.
Once I got discharged, she ordered Haley and Sara to look after me as well, so they brought me food when I continued to sit in my cell and stare into space, rubbing my stomach over and over again.
I thought if I did it enough times, it might bring my baby back to me, even if all those thoughts were irrational or impossible. How can you explain that to a grieving mother in the clutches of depression?
Whenever I ventured outside, there were always women either spitting in my food or pushing me in the hallways, trying to corner me to deliver blows or knife wounds.
I never felt a thing, didn’t even struggle, because what was the point?
It could never match the pain killing me from the inside, so maybe I even hoped for them to finally succeed and make fucking Zachary King happy in delivering the news to him that his wife’s murderer was finally dead.
As I slowly put the stitches along her wound, she asks, “You’re meeting a lawyer today. Any clue why?”
“Probably the usual. He’ll take my statement and then promise to handle it all better. And then he’ll show up again with the same routine.” To be honest, I’m surprised he is still handling my case. He did a shitty job of it the first time around, so I’m not sure why he still shows his face here.
Is it his lawyer pride or what?
The judge granted Phoenix Hale ten years of prison with no chance of parole, plus a million-dollar fine I’d never be able to pay, considering my medical license was taken away from me and everyone turned their back on me.
Not one visit, not one letter.
It’s like I never existed to them.
Even my best friend, Leiken Sawyer.
Kathy huffs, her face twisting into a grimace. “I told you to use my guy for years, but you refuse.” Despite her care for me after the loss of my baby, she didn’t interfere with me besides the basic needs and kept away from me.
However, with the constant new messages from Zachary, and me not doing anything to avoid them, she put a stop to it and offered me support when I lay beaten up and bloody, barely holding on to this life. As I found out later, she was one of the most important people here.
Another funny thing about this place?
People still want to live and dream no matter their circumstances.
So, with Kathy’s veto, it meant a stop to the harassment for good.
Physical, at least, not that it brought much relief anyway; what was one more scar on my body?
They are meaningless.
“You shouldn’t eat so much candy. It’s bad for your health,” I suggest, making one last stitch and placing the bandage over it after adding the ointment for better healing.
“A woman’s got to have some treats in this life, kid.”
Well, it’s hard to argue with that, especially if most of my life will be spent in this shithole.
“Hale, you have a visitor!” the prison guard shouts as she motions for me to come closer.
I get up and, with a nod to Kathy, leave the place and trail after the guard.
We go through various hallways as she finally stops in front of the cell for interrogation and searches my body for any kind of weapon.
Satisfied, she presses the button for the doors, and they slide open with a loud clang as she points inside. “Go. You have one hour.”
I step inside and frown even more when my gaze lands on my visitor.
The woman sitting behind the only metal table in the room is not my lawyer.
She looks around my age, and her dark hair is styled in a tight braid that is thrown over her shoulder.
Her lean body is covered in a tight black dress. She rises from her seat and extends her hand to me. “Phoenix, hi. My name is Lydia King.”
I blink several times, taken aback by the family name but then curse inwardly.
There are hundreds of Kings in the world; for sure she is not one of them. Those people must hate me viciously, even if the patriarch of the family, Anthony King, always gazed at me with sadness in his eyes and almost regret. Most of them didn’t come to court, but he was there for his son, who never even spared him a glance.
However, it doesn’t change that they must share their feelings about me with Zachary and have helped him turn my life here into a never-ending nightmare. Sometimes when I lie in bed, I hate Zachary King so much my entire body trembles.
Because of his hate, I lost my child.
And even though it means nothing to him, I will never forgive him for what he has done to me.
We sit down opposite each other, and I notice a thick folder between us and shift uncomfortably, not knowing what to expect and disliking the slight fear traveling through my system.
What’s going on here?
She watches me carefully, her gaze sweeping over my orange uniform and the cuts on my hands. I quickly hide my nails and my palms smeared in dirt as shame and embarrassment wash over me.
Next to her, I’m nothing but trash on the street; she even smells nice, probably using some expensive perfume. Sebastian used to bring me those all the time during his travels abroad. According to him, his woman deserved the best, and he would make love to me for hours after that.
A smile pulls at my lips at the memory, but it’s quickly gone.
I’m not his woman anymore and never will be again.
In this place, I learned another thing.
Hate and love are the same emotions, because they have the power to turn in the blink of an eye. And part of you can still love a man who you considered the love of your life but despise him for how he betrayed you without looking back.
But my torn-to-shreds heart has no place here. I need to focus on the woman and her agenda. “Excuse me, but who are you?”
She smiles at me, although it doesn’t reach her striking brown eyes. “I’m a lawyer. One of the best in the country.” At her age? Highly doubtful, but I keep this observation to myself. “I came to get you out of here.”
“Uh…” Oh shit, now I know for sure she is lying about being the best.
Is she one of those crazy lawyers who needs some famous case to kickstart their career? I’ve had a few of those come over the last three years, but each one of them left disappointed.