“YouBrokeMe”—Eminem(feat.BillieEilish&NF)
“You take care, kid,” Griz said as he prepared to leave. He was getting released, and I experienced a sense of melancholy at the loss of the only friend I had there. Sure, he was a gruff bastard, not overly nice, but loyal to his word.
Over the past year, not a single motherfucker in the place fucked with me. Exactly as he promised. He’d also been a pretty cool cellmate, and I wasn’t looking forward to who I got next. Not that I was scared; it was simply about trust. I’d gone from the clean-cut boy who had been terrified when the bars had first closed behind me, to a more hardened man. Not completely heartless, but Lila’s death killed a little part of me that caused me to wall off my heart.
It also left me with a burning vengeance and a desire to see Luis Trujillo with a bullet between his eyes. The authorities had accessed the security feed in Lila’s home and believed the cartel boss was with the men who had shot Lila and her family. Unfortunately, the footage wasn’t extremely clear, and the bastard had rushed back to Mexico before he could be questioned or arrested and had successfully evaded extradition on several things since.
“I’ll be fine. You stay out of trouble, old man,” I said with a smirk.
“I think our last workout showed I’m no old man,” he said with a slight lift at the corners of his lips. We’d worked in the shop together and had been workout partners every day after chow. I might’ve been a fit athlete when I came in, but I’d matured. Broader in the shoulders, I was stronger and buff as shit now. That might be another reason no one messed with me.
“Whatever makes you feel better,” I said with a grin.
“You finish your degree. I’ll be in touch when you get out. Contact the number I send. Tell them Griz told you to call. I think you’ll be right at home there.” He gripped my arm as the guards called for him. He had few belongings, since he’d left most of his shit behind for me.
I nodded but didn’t make promises I wasn’t sure I could keep. I’d been busting my ass to get my college degree since I’d gone to prison. He had pushed me when I wanted to give up. If I said it wasn’t worth it because it wouldn’t matter, he always replied with “bullshit.”
“Keep your head down and you’ll be okay,” he said before following the guards out. I watched him leave with a heavy heart.
Over the year that Griz was there, we’d become as close as two convicts could be.
I also figured a few things out that I didn’t tell him. Obviously, he knew there was something different about me. Still, there were certain things I didn’t share with anyone.
One thing was that I could see dead people. No shit. Call them ghosts if you want, but a lot of them were more like residual energy. Occasionally, there was the type people imagined ghosts to be—one of those was both a pain in my ass and a reminder of my fuckup.
It also didn’t take me long to figure out all I had to do was concentrate, will myself to disappear, and I did. Not that I let anyone know that—I wasn’t an idiot. I also had no idea why I could do it.
Once he was gone, I did every program they offered, yet still, emptiness filled my days. Between school and the work I did, I didn’t have a lot of time to think. Every penny I made that didn’t go to my reparations to Kip’s family, I saved.
It was after the sun went down that I dreaded. Each night, I was pulled into the distorted and dark world of my guilt.
It wasn’t always the same. Some nights I was lying on the ground and someone started zipping me into a black bag. I kept trying to tell them to stop, that I was still alive, but the words wouldn’t come out. Other nights I was in my truck and Kip was beating on the windows, begging me to save him. Covered in blood, with a twisted neck and mangled arm, he screamed as he slammed his fists on the glass. Red smears covered the barrier between us until I couldn’t see him anymore.
Oh, and we couldn’t leave out the nights when Lila haunted my dreams. Then I usually woke up, heart banging out an irregular beat, clawing at my neck to breathe.
“I don’t know why you’re still here,” the hazy image said from the corner of the bench I was working at in the prison shop.
“Because my time isn’t up,” I quietly said so no one heard me but the fuzzy figure that wouldn’t go away.
“That’s not what I mean,” it said.
In frustration, I paused and looked up at him after scanning the room to see if anyone was paying me any mind. “Well, what the hell else are you talking about?”
“You were supposed to be with me,” he said, sounding confused.
My heart dropped. “What?”
“You weren’t supposed to make it,” he clarified in a matter-of-fact tone.
“Then why am I here?” I asked, but the figure appeared to shrug. I dropped my head back to the motor I was working on as my heart raced. “Okay, then why are you still here bugging me?” I muttered.
“Why can’t you let it go? You didn’t kill me. It was an accident, and it was my time to go.”
“Yeah, well, the judge and jury saw things differently,” I muttered.
“That’s the other reason I’m here—it’s my family’s fault you’re in prison. They shouldn’t have pushed for it. I was already gone. You coming here didn’t bring me back. Instead, they wasted your life to make themselves feel better about me being gone. I couldn’t leave you here alone,” he said, sounding sad.
Words escaped me, and he faded away to do whatever he did when he wasn’t around.