“Hello?” I call out. “I need to call someone.”
Nothing but silence.
I try calling out a few more times before I begin pacing the small length of the cell. The floor is concrete…
Hard against my cheek.
And cold…
The air smells like rot…
Like death…
A tear falls from my eyes…
“Ava.”
My attention snaps to the bars.
The branches snap as someone chases after me.
My mother is standing on the other side of the cell. And she’s not alone. Jason is with her.
My mother is wearing a blue dress and jacket, and her heels have mud on the toes. Strands of her hair appear to be damp,like she was rained on. Jason has on a button-down shirt and slacks that have spots of rain on the fabric.
The storm is still going.
And now it’s here.
“What the hell have you done?” my mother hisses at me as her fingers wrap around the bars.
Jason keeps his lips fused, but his gaze bores into me. I refuse to make eye contact with him, though. I wish I could say it was because I give zero fucks about him, but the reality is that the woman he strangled, hit, belittled is still curled up in a ball inside my mind.
I stare at my mother, trying to see past the mask she has to be wearing.
My lack of an immediate response frustrates her to the point where she scoffs, “I’d hoped over the years as you grew up, you’d become more mature and responsible, but you’re still as big of a disappointment as ever.”
I’ve heard of the term breaking point before, but I’ve never felt myself arrive at one until now.
“That’s funny,” I say dryly. “I was just about to say the same thing to you.”
She lets out this dramatic gasp as if I’ve declared a scandalizing secret, but she promptly recovers, her eyes narrowing. “What is wrong with you? It’s that cop friend of yours, isn’t it? You knew him when you were a drug addict, and I’m sure this is why you’re in this mess.”
I feel this internal cracking inside my body, as if my bones have finally given out from the pressure I’ve felt for years. “I’m in this mess because of you.”
She slants back as if I’ve struck her. “How dare you blame me? All I’ve ever done is try to make you do the right things. But you’ve made so many poor choices in your life, Ava. And look where it’s got you.” She gestures at the bars.
I step toward her. “You’re right. I have made some poor choices. The biggest one was believing that because you’re my mother, I should listen and obey you. But that’s the second biggest mistake I’ve ever made. The first is going into the woods that day. Or maybe it’s when I let you handle things.” I wrap my fingers around the bars. “Tell me, mother, how much do you know about that day? Because I’m starting to think you know a hell of a lot more than you’ve let on.” Then, summoning every ounce of strength I have, I slide my gaze to Jason.
I say nothing—I’m not sure I’m ready for that. But I hold his gaze, refusing to look away even when every part of me fiercely begs to do so.
The corner of his lip tilts upward into a half-smile. It’s not friendly. It’s condescending and meant to make me feel small. I’ve seen this smile thousands of times. “Come on, let her sit behind bars for a while. Maybe beingtrappedwill change her ungrateful attitude,” he says to my mother without removing his gaze from me.
Perhaps I imagined the way he emphasized 'trapped.'
But I’ve spent many years questioning my reality. Perhaps my imagination is the truth begging to come out.
About an hour later, Ellis bails me out of jail. We barely speak as we leave the station, and Ellis’s posture is rigid, his hands are clenched at his sides, and his jawline is a ball of tension.
