I'm Here to Fix You

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Chapter 81



“I saw you in the visiting room today.”

I didn’t care to reply. In this prison perps are as talkative as ever. In Rikers, you couldn’t dare say one word, or you may find yourself stabbed in the showers. Here, everyone’s curious about the new fish.

Okay, maybe I did get famous when, first things first, I attacked a guard or two, and wound up in solitary on my first week here. You know how criminals are, so gossipy.

In my defense, the guy was one of those that target the weaker ones. Funny how he thought I would be one. I wonder what is it about me that makes people think they can easily mess with me. Is it the blonde hair? Do I look like a dumb blonde?

Or maybe it’s the money. Like I said, criminals are gossipy, it’s easy to get the word around that the new fish is loaded. Apparently, perps tend to think that if you’re rich, you can’t be a sociopath. Well, news flesh, fellas, I am. I’ve got a pretty high body count that can vouch for that.

“She’s cute.” My cellmate claimed, clearly not getting the hint my lack of response was to send.

“She’s none of your business.” I spat, staring at the ceiling. I don’t know whether it’s because I’m used to a tougher prison, but this one looks relatively calm. Stabbings and fights aside, of course. I got here in a messy period, chain of command was changing, so people got murdered and beaten up quite a lot. But now it’s everything more peaceful, even the war between Block C and Block D seems to have come to a truce.

“Uh ... raw nerve, huh?” My cellmate laughed. “I get it ... bitches be crazy. I hear she sent you here.”

“I sent myself here.” I replied in a sharp tone. “And I would take back that bitches, if I were you.”

“Come on, you don’t hate her one bit? She’s the reason why you’re here, after all.”

I rolled my eyes beneath my arms. God, I miss Rikers. “Like I said, I sent myself here. And I’m gonna ask nicely only one more time: drop the subject.”

“But you do hold it against her for something, don’t you? I saw how you treated her. Say, did she cheat on you? I bet she did. She looks like the kind of bitch that likes it double.”

Ok, that’s it. I leaped to my feet, tired of his blabbermouth, and before he could say one more word, I slammed him against the wall, and wrapped a hand around his neck. “I thought I’d told you to drop the subject.” I hissed, tightening my grip. “Now I’m bound to break at least a limb or two. Protecting my girl’s honor and all that, you know the drill.”

“You think you scare me?” He smirked. “You’re just some posh kid that wound up in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Told you, it’s the blonde hair. I tightened my grip around his neck enough for him to start changing color as I pressed him against the wall. “You just don’t have the slightest fucking idea who you’re talking to, pal.” I couldn’t help laughing. “What is it with you punks? What, do I have to tattoo a swastika on my arm to be taken seriously? I mean, is it the blonde hair?”

He didn’t answer, actually, he was having a few troubles breathing. Oh, right. I untightened my grip, so that he could finally speak. Needless to say he coughed, taking all the air he could get. Predictable. This prison is boring, I gotta admit. At least in Rikers you find the occasional mob boss, here it’s full of low level punks that mostly got caught breaking and entering. The bigger thugs are drug lords, plus one or two murderers.

Although there are the interesting exceptions. The wife beaters. Uh, I like those. You have no idea how loud do they cry for mommy when they face someone that’s stronger than them. And the rapists? Ah ... even more fun. It’s too bad that other inmates get to pedophiles before me. Let me tell you, those that mess with children barely make it through the first week in gen pop, most of them get sent to solitary for their own protection.

Don’t look at me like that. I’ll be here for a long while, I may as well make something of it. I’m on a mission to civilize.

“You’re a crazy one, aren’t you?” My cellmate wheezed, grinning for some reason. “They told me you were a psychopath.”

“Sociopath, actually. But I understand it’s an easy mistake to make.” I shrugged. “Now, if I let you off the hook, are you gonna go running your mouth again?” I slammed him against the wall, just because, enough for his back to make one of those funny noises wife-beaters make. “Because, I gotta tell you, I’m not in the mood for chitchat, and, as cliché as it may sound, I kinda get pissed when you go talking about my girl like that. Or women in general, for that matter.”

He scoffed, laughing his ass off despite the predicament. “What are you, the protector of all bitches?”

I rolled my eyes. “Seriously? Did you hear a word of what I just said?”

“Say, is it sense of guilt?” He smirked. “They say you’re here because you nearly knocked your lady out cold. Is that why now you take it against those like you?”

“For full disclosure, the story is more complicated than that. But yeah, maybe. So?”

“You’re so full of shit.” He laughed, shaking his head.

“Given the place we’re in, I think I blend in pretty well.” I shrugged. “Now, will you shut the fuck up or do I have to make you?”

“Suit yourself.” My cellmate scoffed. “But just so you know, you can beat up me and everyone here, but sense of guilt won’t go away. You did it. Make peace with it.”

“Is that what you tell yourself?” I let go of him, tired of the game, and he dropped to the floor. Okay, I may have lifted him off the ground just a little. Props to him for not getting easily scared. This might be the first time a punk in here doesn’t beg me for mercy. “Why are you here anyway?”

“I tell you only if you tell me.” He bargained, rubbing his throat.

“You said you heard it through the grapevine.”

“Thugs tend to make things bigger.” He shrugged. “Come on, we’re both gonna be here for a while. You especially.” He laughed. “Is it true that you’re collecting additions to your sentence?”

“Maybe.” I shrugged, sitting on my bunk. “But I’m also counting on being transferred. This place is boring.” I yawned.

“The guilt you carry must be real deep.” He – I think I don’t even know his name – mused.

“Don’t you have a book or something?”

“Come on, be honest, is it just the bit-sorry,” he raised his hands in mock surrender when I glared, “your lady there. Is it just about her? All this guilt, is it just because you nearly killed her?”

“What makes you think I’m gonna tell you?”

He shrugged. “Because you so badly want to, let’s be honest. It’s been 3 weeks, you need somebody to talk to.”

“Nah, I’m good.” I lay down, yawning. “And if you shut that mouth trap of yours, I’d be even better.”

“I think you badly need to vent. And soon.”

“I think you need to shut the fuck up. And soon.” I spat. “Unless you wanna try something harder than a little squeeze.”

He shook his head. “I know those like you.” He claimed. “Death doesn’t scare you. Life does. You actually think death may set you free. And you’d want it. Yet you hold back.”

“When did you get a psychology degree?” I scoffed, tired of his ramblings.

“Come on, let’s be honest, you’re a piece of shit. But do you seriously think this is the answer?”

I frowned. “What?” I raised my hand to look at him, and there he was, grinning his ass off for some reason.

“Not that I don’t like having you down here, Jakey, but ... really? You know this is just a temporary solution.”

“What do you know about-” I cut myself off, and blinked my eyes. Sitting up, I placed my feet onto the cold floor, and raked a hand over my face. When I looked back there, he was gone. I’m starting to think I’ve been here too long. Maybe it’s time to go back to gen pop.



I paced the room back and forth, trying to breathe properly, but I couldn’t really make myself. My mind was travelling so fast and so frantically, I couldn’t even pinpoint each and every thought.

“This is insane.” I told myself for the third time. “Insane, insane, insane!” I bit my lip so hard that I nearly made it bleed, but I couldn’t care less. Those words kept spinning in my mind relentlessly, and I just couldn’t understand whatever meaning they could have.

I’m a murderer. I’m a murderer. Jake told me that. He did. At least, I think I remember he did. But why? And what did he mean by that? Ugh! Why can’t it just be everything like hearing a bell ring? Why does it have to be so complicated? It’s been months!

Sighing, I dropped onto the bed, trying to think straight, but how can you, when you realize that your ex-boyfriend actually confessed to you that he murdered someone?

All this time, I didn’t want to believe what Tess told me, I wanted to hear it from his own voice ... but it turns out that he did warn me. He did say it.

Is it true, then? Did he kill his ex-girlfriend? Was he abusive? And if he was with her, was he with me, too? Is that why he keeps saying that what happened to me is entirely his fault? Is that it? Was I wrong all along to believe in his innocence?

I mean, what if I just convinced myself he was good because I wanted to? What if I was blinded by an attraction that, clearly, runs way deeper than the simplest sexual pull?

I lay on the bed, and exhaled, frustrated. Maybe I read it all wrong. Maybe I just want Jake to be important, but he isn’t, or rather, he shouldn’t be. Maybe he’s right, we had something, but we should give it up. Maybe I tell myself it’s because I know he can help, but in the end, I’m doing all this just because ...

I sighed, covering my eyes with my arm. What if, against my every reasonable cell and judgment, I ... started feeling? What if, what Jake says, about the deceptive eyes of love, is not true, but ... it’s becoming so?

I mean, I don’t love him. Of course I don’t. I don’t even know him, it’s obvious I cannot love him. But ... what if ... okay, what if I’m actually developing feelings for him, and that’s the only reason why I’m insisting so much? Or worse, what if I’m just as shallow as your average person, and I’m only here because he’s hot as hell?

My whole life is a blur, I don’t even know what to believe anymore. Every feeling, every emotion, is weird. So maybe I haven’t really seen it until now because I hid it pretty well. Maybe I hid it to myself, after all, that wouldn’t be new, would it? My own brain hides a whole life from me, so it wouldn’t be surprising if it chose to hide developing feelings for a man that, clearly, the brain itself is trying to protect me from.

Ugh, this is so fucked up. I don’t even know what to think anymore. When they told me about amnesia, I thought, okay, how hard can it be to recover my memories? I’ll just have to talk to people, take notes, force my mind to go where it doesn’t want to. And that’s where Jake Watson comes in. Because if there’s one place my own mind doesn’t want me to go, that’s the one where memories of me and him are kept.

So, my past life is a blur because I don’t remember anything, plus my own brain forces me not to, because of the trauma, and at the same time my parents don’t say it all. My life in Boston is also a blur, because nobody here speaks the whole truth, and the one man that actually could basically sent himself to jail in order to keep me away.

At this point my whole existence is nothing but drama added to more drama wrapped up in drama. Amazing, huh?

I’m even afraid of reading that letter. What if it just confirms what everyone’s been telling me? I mean, Jake said it would open my eyes. He wouldn’t point me to it, if he knew it’ll convince me to let go of him and of anything we may have had in the past. Hell, he pointed me to it precisely because it would do that.

So what do I do?

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