What the fuck?
“Mr Chandler sustained serious head injuries and it’s unclear when he will be able to be moved back to the prison,” she continues, meanwhile, I feel like I’m swimming under water with no way to reach the surface.
Intensive care unit.
Attacked.
Unconscious.
“So, he was attacked in prison?” Cal asks, seeing that I am struggling to respond.
“Yes,” she confirms. “Let’s just say that men who lay their hands on a woman are seen as some of the worst in there, and once word travels around, there is no escaping it.”
I feel sick.
Attacked.
Unconscious.
“We will be in touch when we have news of any progress, but until then, I’m afraid we are at a stand-still.”
“Thank you for letting us know,” Cal says as I feel like I am in a daydream.
“If you have any questions, you have my number,” she says before I am vaguely aware of Cal leading them out of the room and I presume out of the house.
A few moments pass by as the words continue to play on repeat in my mind.
Attacked.
Unconscious.
Just like I was so many times.
I come to when I see Cal crouch in front of me, his hands resting on my knees as he looks at me with worry.
“You still with me, babe?” he says. I place my hands on top of his as the emotions swirl around inside of me.
Attacked.
Unconscious.
“Yeah,” I whisper with a nod of my head.
“Talk to me, tell me what’s going on in your head,” Cal says.
“Promise you won’t judge me?”
“I promise,” he says, even though I see the clench of his jaw. I have no idea what he thinks that I am about to say, but I bet it isn’t what he is thinking.
“I feel sick,” I begin, hoping that off-loading my thoughts doesn’t make him see me differently. “But not because he’s been attacked. I feel sick about myself, and about the fact that I felt a moment of happiness that he is in pain and suffering. He gets to feel what it’s like to be helpless whilst someone kicks the shit into him. He gets to feel a fraction of what I felt for months, and if he wakes up, then he gets to go back and live in fear for however long a judge may see fit.
“He gets to be a victim, but it’s all his own fault, whereas I never had a say. He deserves to hurt, he deserves to feel worthless and like his life isn’t worth living. He deserves all of it, and me thinking that makes me the bad one. It makes me like him, doesn’t it?”
“No, it doesn’t,” Cal says as he wipes away a tear rolling down my cheek.
“It does, it makes me like him because he used to smirk when I cowered.”
“Lucy, baby, you’re nothing like him,” Cal says but I don’t listen, I’m too wrapped up in how there is an evil part inside of me that is no better than Michael.