I have to get back to her.
Would I steal those car parts all over again to give her back the gift of her mother’s car? Yes. I would just be more careful. If I’d taken more precautions, I might be inside of her right now at the lake. She’d be milking me with that tight, sexy pussy, titties wet from my mouth. I can’t even fathom how good she’d taste between her legs while carrying my baby. I’d kill for a sample of it right now. One lick and I’d come on the dirty floor of my cell.
Why didn’t I tell her I love her sooner?
I was in the middle of declaring my love, my intention to marry her and raise our baby together as soon as I got released, but they tased me. They tased me and she passed out and I’ve been in hell even since. Pure fucking hell.
I lunge to my feet and wrap my hands around the bars, pressing my face between the metal slats until it hurts. “AYLA.”
* * *
Ayla
My father found the pregnancy test in the trash can three weeks ago.
Ever since then, my home has become a prison.
I won’t allow my daughter to humiliate me by walking around school with a swollen stomach. My daughter, a teen mother? God almighty. No one is going to find out. What would they think of me? Your mother would be humiliated. I can either send you to live with my brother in Montana or, by God, you’ll stay in this house until you’ve delivered the bastard and put it up for adoption. Your choice.
He wouldn’t listen when I told him I wanted to raise the baby.
I could never give this life I created with Flynt to a stranger. I just couldn’t.
I want to bring up this baby, even if I have to do it by myself.
It’s likely that I will have to do it alone. My memory of the afternoon Flynt was arrested has started to take different shapes. My grief and panic over being without Flynt is clouding everything. But I remember his anger and irritation. I remember him shoutingthis isn’t over. That’s the last thing he said to me. And now I’m starting to wonder if he was referring to our argument not being over, as opposed to our relationship.
Why else hasn’t he called or written evenonce?
There has been no communication and every day he leaves me in silence is like another brick being piled onto my chest. I force myself to eat for the baby, but it’s like choking down dust. Living without his touch and his voice and scent and presence is an unbearable state of being and I cry. I cry so much, I’ve run out of tears.
I don’t even know when he’s being released from prison. I called the police station, but they only snickered at me, obviously recalling my behavior the day Flynt was arrested. How shamelessly I needed him. How shamelessly I still do. My body isstarving.
Does he hate me? Does he wish me dead because I’m the reason he went to prison?
I’m lying on my side in bed, but restlessness forces me up now, passing through the house like a ghost into the backyard—the only outdoor space where my father will allow me to go. When I hear an electronic whir as I step onto the grass, I glance up and spy a camera mounted to the roof. He’s watching me from work, making sure I don’t leave. I’m not sure how he’ll punish me if I disobey him, but I can’t risk being thrown out onto the street when I’m pregnant. When this baby arrives in seven months, they will need a roof over their head.
With a broken sound, I lay down in the center of the perfectly manicured lawn on my side, curling into myself and dreaming of Flynt and those afternoons at the lake.
He’ll never take me there again.
But at least I have the memories.
Maybe in time I’ll learn to be grateful for that.
* * *
Flynt
Three months have passed by the time I’m let out of prison.
I’m released on a Wednesday morning, and I tear through the gate like a madman, my bones rattling with desperation. She’ll be in school at this hour, so that’s where I’m going. There is no way in hell I’ll bother stopping at home or tracking down my first decent meal in ninety days. No. Fuck that. She’s the only fuel I need.
There is no one to give me a ride back to town, so I take the bus. Passengers eye me warily, some of the women even disembarking the bus at the sight of me. I find my reflection in one of the windows and acknowledge that I’ve changed. Endless, scorching misery will do that to a man. I’ve packed on about ten pounds of muscle, my tattoos have climbed up my neck to the underside of my chin. There is a look in my eye that promises death to anyone who tries to stand between me and Ayla.
After an hour, the bus lets me off at the stop in town and I march through town, heading straight for the school, ignoring the expressions of alarm on the faces of people that I pass. Ayla won’t be alarmed and that’s all I care about. I exist solely to see her again.
I’m worried about one thing and one thing only. Going back to prison. Because that’s what would happen if anyone laid a finger on her while I was gone. They’ll have to throw me back behind bars covered in blood.