I black out. There is blessed silence.
I can see he’s still talking, but I can’t hear him. The quiet inside me scrapes me raw, but at least the kicking and hitting have stopped.
I have shut down—reached that place I always did with Jamie when the pain was so much that my brain closed up so I could stay under the covers in the closet.
If you don’t breathe, he’ll think you’re dead and he’ll leave you alone.
Cain, I’m dead. I’m gone. It’s okay. You can stop now.
He watches me for a second longer, searching for something. What? Regret, doubt. A confession. But there’s nothing left to give.
Cain walks out. I lay my head on the cold metal table and give in to the abyss.
5
PRISONER
FAITH
The older deputy isn’t there, just Kyle.
I’m still in a daze—still closed off. I barely remember beingprocessed. Fingerprints. Photograph. Orders.
I follow the commands. Stand here. Sign that. Go there.
I’m being taken to Salem, I’m told, to jail.
The drive is silent. The van smells like piss and old sweat. I stare at my reflection in the scratched plastic divider. I’m scared—I know that—but it’s submerged under cotton. Everything feels dull. I’m disassociating. Pulling away from reality. Breaking into parts.
Marion County Jail is a concrete box with no sky.
Fluorescent lights hum twenty-four hours a day. It doesn’t matter because there is no day here, no night either, only shades of despondency.
The intake officer barks orders like I’m a dog.
Strip. Squat. Turn. Lift.
I do it all because that’s all I have.
They give me underwear that doesn’t fit and a shapeless jumpsuit that smells like Lysol.
My cellmate is a woman named Erin. She’s older, with a face carved from hard years. She doesn’t speak, just nods at me, then lies back down on the cot and stares at the ceiling like she’s waiting for time to forget her.
I curl up on my cot, hugging my knees to my chest, the thin blanket doing nothing to block the chill that lives in my bones.
I can’t sleep. I can’t stay awake. I’m stuck in limbo. An awful silence singes my nerves with how loud it is.
Food is brought twice a day. Gray meat. Cold bread. Something orange that might be fruit.
Erin eats what I don’t. My stomach is full of bile. There isn’t room for food.
“You have to keep your strength, that’s all there is,” Erin grunts.
I don’t know what to say. I don’t know how long I’m here for. I don’t know what happens next.
The hours smear together—shouting from down the hall, metal doors slamming, the occasional sob that echoes too long.
Sleep comes in fragments, full of nightmares.
