Involuntary. Of course it was involuntary.
I didn’t mean to kill her.
But she’s gone.
Gone because of me.
Jessika is missing a leg because of me.
Sophie never spoke to me again.
Joanne—she’s the only one I have left. The only one who has been by my side for the last six years, pushing me, keeping me strong, reminding me that one day, one day, we’ll get justice.
Whatever the fuck that means.
I don’t trust the system. No. Not even a little. They didn’t even give me a chance.
Nobody listened when I said she stepped out in front of the car. Nobody heard my pleas. Nobody cared.
“How does it feel?”
I turn at the sound of my best friend’s voice, and my smile is huge. I haven’t hugged her freely in a long time, there have always been eyes watching. Now it’s just us. Freedom.
I scream and throw myself into her arms. The guard standing beside me, who so enthusiastically told me I was ‘free,’ as if I was going to thank him for all his hard work, grunts. He can start doing cartwheels for all I care.
My best friend is here. She’s here. She’s with me.
“I can’t believe you’re out, Callie,” she cries, sobbing into my shoulder as she hugs me tighter.
I squeeze her just as hard, but I don’t cry.
I stopped crying four years, two months, and three days ago. Not that anyone is counting. Hell, I try never to remember the moment when I swore I’d never shed a tear again. The moment I very nearly gave up and considered the many ways I could end my life in a prison, but decided I was strong, stronger than all of it, and I’d get answers. One way or another. I’d get answers.
“I missed you,” I say to her, leaning back and grabbing her face in my hands, feeling the way her skin is soft and warm against my palms.
Her eyes are so bright. She’s happy. So happy.
That must feel amazing.
I wish I remembered how that felt. To laugh. To smile without pain. To feel pure joy. I was an innocent sixteen-year-old girl who thought it just couldn’t happen to me. Isn’t that what we all think? That it’ll never happen to us? That we’re invincible? I thought that. Hell, I was sure of it. All I wanted to do was take my mom’s car for a ride with my friends. In my mind, nothing could go wrong.
How very wrong I’d been.
“I rented an apartment for us, and I’m going to help you find a job,” Joanne says as we walk towards her car. “You don’t have to worry about anything.”
“I’m going to have trouble finding a job,” I tell her. “People aren’t fond of ex-crims.”
She waves a hand. “Nonsense. It’ll be fine. Perfectly fine.”
I give her a fake smile, because I think she’s wrong. I know how hard it’ll be for me out here. I always wondered about the day I got released, how it would feel, but eventually, I stopped thinking about it. Being in there, it became life. It’s funny how you get used to things you’re certain you could never adjust to.
That world—it’s all I know. For now, at least.
I remember what it was like on the outside, don’t get me wrong, but the little things fade away. Having your own space, your own bed, eating when you want, doing what you want—those things, they are a distant memory. But I’m looking forward to getting used to them again.
Once we’re in Joanne’s very cool car, I turn to her and say, “How’s things with you and Patrick?”
She exhales. “Okay, I guess. Living apart is helping, I think living together wasn’t making the situation any easier.”
Joanne married Patrick when she was nineteen. She made sure to send me all the photos. He was the love of her life—at least, she thought he was. She felt like she’d found the ‘one’ and had it all, but as the years went by, and she matured, she realized that maybe Patrick wasn’t what she truly wanted. He got comfortable, they started fighting, and now she’s married to a man she can’t even live with, but she’s determined to give it her best shot. I admire her for that.
“How was he with the idea of you living with me for a while?”
She shrugs. “He didn’t like it, but he didn’t really have much choice, either. I mean, it was that or I leave for good. He wasn’t going to accept me leaving, so he accepted me moving out for a while. He promises to start dating me again, really put the effort in.”
“Is that what you want?”
She smiles; it’s weak, but there. She’s so incredibly beautiful—I wish she knew how much. The way her honey-brown hair flows down her back, and the way her emerald-green eyes light up the room . . . she’s probably the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen. She doesn’t seem to see it, though. “He’s my husband, and he’s a good man. I do love him. We’ve just lost that spark. Besides, getting out of everything now . . . I just . . . it would be so hard . . .”
