Chapter 06 #2
I know why she’s suggesting it, but the mere idea is revolting.
She deserves so much better than a grim ceremony in the prison’s chapel, followed by a nonexistent honeymoon.
There are no conjugal visits in federal prison, so we wouldn’t even be allowed to have what could resemble a wedding night.
But even if any of that were acceptable, I’m not doing this to her, knowing I might be locked up for the rest of our lives.
Bullheaded like she is, she’d probably refuse to divorce for years to come, and I can’t let her do that.
“Lex, spousal privilege,” she insists. “They can’t make me testify if we’re married.”
“I know, but no. I’m not marrying you, Andrea.”
“What is so preposterous about us marrying?” she asks, offended.
“I’m not marrying you for this.”
“Then do it because you love me, and because I love you. It’s not like we weren’t heading there, anyway.”
“In a couple of years, maybe. But this—”
“I thought you didn’t lie,” she dryly cuts me off.
“What do you mean?”
“If we weren’t going to marry for another couple of years, then why do you have my abuela’s ring in your sock drawer, Alexander?”
Fuck … Of course she found it. She was the one who cleaned up after the messy search at my place. She’s been sitting on this for weeks, knowing I planned on proposing soon.
I don’t really know what I can say except the truth, so I stare at the table and explain, “I’d envisioned a long engagement.
I liked the idea of calling you my fiancée for a while.
You’d be my wife for the rest of our lives, so I thought maybe we could have two years of that first. Now you’re proposing that we skip the engagement altogether to become my wife only in name, not in actual function. I can’t do it, Andrea.”
Her eyes are moist again, but she fights off her emotions by blinking a few times. “It’s that, or I’m lying, Lex, so you pick which one sits better with you.”
I sigh, annoyed that I have to lay it all out for her to see. She’s smart enough to understand where I’m coming from, but lets her emotions dictate instead. “Let’s say we do this, get married, and I lose the trial. What then, Andrea?”
“Then nothing. My love for you won’t abruptly vanish if that happens.”
And now she’s being unreasonable again. “You can’t be serious. If I’m condemned, you’ll have to move on. I’m not letting you waste your life away on me.”
“That isn’t for you to decide. It’s my life. I’ll do whatever I want with it.”
“I won’t let you. This is ridiculous. Why can’t you see how absurd you’re being?”
“I’m not being absurd. Regardless of the trial’s outcome, I’ll stay by your side. It’s you or no one, Lex.”
She means it. She really fucking means it. Damned be that woman … And damned be my love for her, which makes it so hard to say, “I won’t let you. If the trial is lost, then we’re done. You won’t visit me anymore, and I won’t contact you again.”
My words work on her, fear flinching in her expressive eyes. “You wouldn’t do that.”
“I would and I will. All I need to do is remove you from my list, and you won’t be able to see me ever again.”
She observes my face intently, trying to gauge how serious I am about the threat. I mean every word, which she seems to understand.
“Lex, please don’t,” she practically begs.
Of course, I’d rather keep seeing her, but I can’t let her waste the rest of her life on me. “I’m sorry, Andrea. If you can’t be reasonable, I’ll do it for both of us.”
“You’re doing it again,” she protests, her voice laced with heartache. “You’re deciding for me, out of some stupid notion that you’re not worthy of me. Lex, please … This isn’t what I want.”
A spark of anger ignites in my chest as I say, “I’m not watching you come week after week, clinging onto me when there’s no hope left. I’m not selfishly keeping you when there’s so much better for you out there.”
“If we lose the trial, we can appeal! There’s always hope, Lex. And for as long as I breathe, I’ll have hope for you. But if you do this—if you cast me out of your life, I’ll—I’ll hate you. For as long as I breathe, I’ll fucking hate you.”
“I know. But after some time has passed, you’ll come to see that I did it for you. You’ll forgive me, and that’ll be consolation enough for me.”
“God, you’re so fucking conceited,” she spits out. “Always so fucking certain you know better than anyone else. But you’re wrong, Alexander.”
The spark has turned into a flame, small but searing. The fact that she can’t try to see past her feelings for one second is becoming infuriating. “Only time can tell who’s right.”
“I don’t need time to know. All of this might have changed your perspective of us, but not mine. Regardless of what happens in the future, I’ll still love you, I’ll still want to be a part of your life,” she utters.
“That’s your mistake to make, Andrea, not mine. I won’t enable you by feeding your delusions that we can make this work.” I might have been more cruel than needed, but like her at this moment, I’m not in full control of my thoughts.
She stands up, so mad at me that her hands shake.
The sadness in her eyes and the conflicted tear that runs down her cheek are a stark contrast to the vehement resentment of her expression.
“Fuck you,” she hisses, distraught. “Fuck you for not respecting my own choices. Fuck you for thinking you’re doing the right thing. ”
She picks up her coat and slips it on, glaring down at me the whole time.
The idea of her leaving doesn’t sit right with me. Not when we’re pissed at one another. But there won’t be any reasoning today, not with our emotions as high as they are. That’s why I ask, “Are you still coming tomorrow morning?”
Since she came alone, she suggested she would sleep at her parents’ tonight, then return in the morning before heading back to Seattle.
She snorts. “You can’t be serious. I’m not even sure I want to come next week.”
My chest tightens at the idea. Although I’ve made up my mind about what’ll happen if I lose the trial, I still want to see her until then.
These visits, despite being frustratingly short, are all I have to look forward to.
My weeks have no days anymore, none that matter but Saturday, when my freckled dork comes to visit.
“Take care of yourself,” I say once her coat is all buttoned up.
“You too.”
For the first time, she leaves without giving me a hug, without telling me she loves me.
I remain at the table for several minutes after her departure, trying to get a hold of my unruly emotions.
My bottled-up feelings seem to be gathered in my chest, making it uncomfortably tight.
I’m mad at myself and at this whole situation more than I’m mad at her.
And the more I relive the argument, the worse it gets.
I did this to her. To us. I fucking ruined everything. That’s why I’m trying to fix it.
She’ll see. Maybe not right now, but she’ll see I’m right. It might take her a few weeks or months, but she’ll understand why I’ve cut her off and why it’s better that way. God knows she’s clever enough to get it.
I still haven’t calmed down when a guard notices that I’m alone. He comes to get me at the table and leads me out, back into the cold hallways of the block. Six days and twenty-three and a half hours until Andrea returns—if she’s forgiven me and comes back.
Two men step in front of me just as I’m reaching my cell.
One’s short but bulky, the other tall and slim.
Their skulls are shaved, their pale skin covered in tattoos.
Although I can’t see one, I’m fairly confident there’s a swastika somewhere in there.
I’ve seen them around before, hanging out with the white supremacist crowd.
I’ve avoided them well, but that changes today, it seems.
“Trouble in paradise?” the short one snickers.
“What?”
“I saw you in the visitation room. Your lady looked upset.”
There it is again—that primal instinct warning me of pending danger. The short hair on the back of my neck rises, my senses sharpen, and my entire body becomes alert and ready.
“That’s Andrea, right? Andrea Walker,” he continues. “Saw her name in the papers. Says she’s your girl.”
“What about her?” I mutter, fists clenching at my sides.
“See, my brother here’s rollin’ out next week. But his old lady split—took off with some chump and all his cash. We figured you might wanna help him put a little something in his account, to help with his new start. Call it a favor, one white man to another.”
“Why would I do that?”
“To help out your own kind,” he sneers. “’Cause if you don’t, well … my buddy might have to find comfort elsewhere. Maybe with that fine little piece of yours.”
The vile little man smiles, exposing a couple of rotten teeth among a row of yellow. How such a man can think of himself as the “superior race” is beyond me.
I’m still trying to decide on a course of action when he elbows his tall friend to say, “She’s a pretty little thing, you’ll see. You’d never guess there’s brown blood in there.”
As my knuckles collide with the man’s nose, I feel my chest loosen a little, some of the tension leaving me.
Beating a couple of neo-Nazis to a pulp is a great way to blow off some steam, isn’t it?
It’s not like I have a choice because my body acts faster than I can command it to.
Before I know it, I’m tackling the taller one to the ground while the short one lies next to us, holding his nose with a whimper.
All I see is searing red wrath as I punch into the pliable skin.
This goes beyond these two men. It’s as if the anger I’ve been containing for weeks is coming out at once.
Rage at myself, at the situation, at what was stolen from me, at my poor luck …
It all boils down to this moment, to these two repulsive men who were at the wrong place at the wrong time.
I don’t care if they deserve it or not. In my heart, I know they do.
And it feels fucking good to let it all out.
This is essentially physical therapy, and I fucking need it right now.