Love & Hate Series Box Set 2 (3-4) - In Too Deep - Skimming the Surface

by Joanna Mazurkiewicz

  “Don’t you dare touch me, you son of a bitch,” I hissed through gritted teeth, then pushed him away. Our eyes met for the first time since he came into the room. My emotions started to swell and for a second it was too much, my vision swam and the floor underneath me moved. I took a deep breath, resigned to my fate, as my broken heart melted in my chest.

  “Just walk then, and I won’t have to touch you again,” he said with an odd, sad voice. Regret, resentment and anger, that’s what I kept seeing in his eyes. It didn’t matter. He was sorry, but it was too late.

  I forced my feet to keep going, to keep walking. There were people on the corridor staring, other policemen and Lee. The bastard didn’t say a word. It would have been so much better to just end this all, better than living in this body, but I was determined to fight this nightmare through.

  We walked through the long, empty corridor and I felt his eyes on me, digging into my skin. I wish that we never met, that we didn’t have any history. This would have been so much easier.

  “Rudolf is alive. I know that you are innocent. I made a terrible, terrible mistake. Maybe my apology is empty and doesn’t mean anything to you, but I’ll fix this, Tahlia. One way or another, I’ll fix this,” he said.

  His words rang through me, but I didn’t stop.

  I kept walking, ignoring him. He wasn’t using my old name, the name that I loved so much when I was a kid.

  “I was so fucking blind, so stupid. Rudolf is still after you and he is most probably the one that set you up, that planted the evidence in your room.” Micah continued talking to me until we reached my cell.

  I didn’t want to turn around and tell him to go fuck himself. I couldn’t speak to him because the pain was unbearable, but I did anyway.

  “You can’t fix anything. You’re lost to me and nothing you say or do will change that.”

  “Tahlia, my God. Why? Why didn’t you tell me you were the girl that I saved?”

  I wanted to spit in his face again, tell him to go to hell, that he didn’t deserve any explanation. Questions started mounting in my head.

  How did he even know?

  How dare he even ask me something like that?

  His eyes were filled with pain and for the first time I saw what was really going on inside his mind. He was tormented, wounded and shot by his own ambition. I was going to prison to die, and it was all because of him.

  “I trusted you and you violated that trust. I never want to see you again. I never want to look at you. Death is better than this, than you. At least when I’m alone I don’t have to feel disgusted anymore that I let you touch me.”

  Chapter Two

  This shit is now real

  A storm of anger passes through me when I think about my short conversation with Micah outside my cell. He walked me back to the cage two days ago and I haven’t seen him since. Maybe he gathered that he is dead to me and I never want to lay my eyes on him ever again.

  I’m alone, abandoned by the one person I trusted the most. I should be glad that this cell is not dark, like that suffocating hole in the wall where I was kept for months. I thought that horror would never end, that I was going to die in there. Somehow Micah found out that I’m the girl he saved, the girl that believed in his promises. Presumably it was Lee that told him, so now I know why he didn’t ask me any questions during the interrogation, why he didn’t even want to look at me.

  I start scratching my arms until my skin is raw, trying to dismiss the familiarity of his touch and the storm of emotions surging through me. Everything about his presence was overwhelming and violent at the same time. First the bastard started sleeping with me just to get information about Suranne’s case, and then he locked me up in prison for a crime I didn’t commit. It may be a nicer prison, but it is still a prison. The similarities of the two men I laid my trust in punch a painfully treasonous hole in my gut. Now after two days he believes that I’m innocent. I can’t get my head around it. Micah won’t be able to fix his mistake. The rat will get to me sooner rather than later and the only option for me is to run.

  I lie back down on the bed, wiping away the hot tears that keep rolling down my cheeks. Crying won’t help. I have to pull myself together and fight. I’ll plead not guilty tomorrow and wait to see what happens. The cops won’t send me to real prison, not until the trial is over. Tequila might be the only person that can get me out of here, but I can’t call her. She protects her privacy like a lion and I can’t let anyone know that we’re connected. For some reason the tears just keep streaming down my cheeks. I’m falling apart, going back to that phase straight after Micah rescued me, when I was drowning in black waters, when every day was a struggle. I barely existed then, like I barely exist now. The rat hasn’t laid his hand on me for three years; Micah was the man that I was never afraid of, the one that I allowed into my twisted world.

  He thinks that he can fix my ruined life, career and dreams. It’s too little too late. From now on it’s just a ride straight to hell. The man that I love and hate at the same time has no chance of redemption. Tomorrow morning I’ll be in front of a judge; then things will move quickly. Micah is an arrogant, self-absorbed man that will do anything to get what he wants. No one will believe the rat is alive and no one will believe that he is after me. I’m on my own like I’ve been since Micah left me in that hospital room when I realised that he never intended to keep his promise.

  ***

  “Rise and shine, Sanderson.” I hear the voice of that pig officer that was supposed to keep an eye on me. He bangs on the metal door just to wind me up. Several moments later he opens the door and walks inside my cell, invading my personal space. I bet my eyes are puffy and red. That won’t give me any good points. In about an hour I’ll be in court, telling the world that I’m not guilty.

  “I’m up,” I hiss at the pig when he approaches. I suck in my bottom lip, sadly realising that my piercing is gone. When I arrived at the police station and the booking process started, I had to take all my piercings off. Micah wasn’t even there, but I was waiting around anxiously, knowing that he would show up just to make me uncomfortable. His apology, his regret meant nothing. He couldn’t get me out of prison, out of what was just about to happen. The moment he entered my perfectly balanced world I was screwed.

  My guard barks at me to turn around and then puts his handcuffs back around my wrists. After being stuck in the cage for two days, I’m getting out. It doesn’t matter where I’m going or who I’m going to see, I’m glad to see the sunlight again, inhale the fresh air and feel the cold wind brushing over on my skin.

  The guard pushes me out of the cell, and we start walking through the long corridors, passing other cages, some filled with people, some empty. I have a feeling that the rat might not try anything until I’m in the real prison, filled with inmates that he can bribe. He can’t afford to be exposed so soon, to draw attention to himself, but when he comes for me I’ll be ready.

  A few other officers join us when we are just about to step outside, entering through heavy metal doors. The pig stops and another policeman says something to him. Then we turn and he walks me away heading towards the back door. I’m surprised that they haven’t locked me up in a proper prison after booking. To them I’m just a cold-blooded killer, a woman without a soul.

  The sunlight blinds me instantly when we step outside. My anxiety rises. Months and months of therapy helped, but now I’m back to square one, feeling like my chest is cracking wide open. After entering the protection program I was forced to start over, to pull myself together just to live. It didn’t matter that I was safe, ripped away from the rat. I was still petrified of people, men especially.

  One of the cops interrupts my grim introspection.

  “The paps are outside, someone must have talked.”

  I despise journalists. They have more than likely already lynched me and I know that the rat is getting off on my suffering.

  I inhale the fresh winter air and shiver with cold. The pig push
es me towards the van, telling me to hurry up. A moment later I spot Micah standing by the fence watching me from a distance. He is alone, his arms folded over his chest. My heart shudders in my chest, then it bleeds. I want to picture him dead, lying on the ground in a pool of blood, because then the pain might ease a little, it might finally stop ripping me apart. I hate that he is hurting me like this, after what I told him. That man doesn’t give up.

  The pig barks at me to move. I want to look away and forget about Micah’s existence, but I can’t. The sudden pull of energies shuts down the stream of hatred, releasing feelings that I buried when Micah betrayed me. Everything starts moving in slow motion and then time seems to stop. We are both staring at each other, and even from a distance I can tell that he is raging inside. Fury overshadows his features as his chest rises sharply. The frustration, regret and anger. He’s pushing himself to stay away, to act like he doesn’t care. I want to laugh in his face and slap him until he can’t lift himself up. The emptiness that fills me is like a virus that keeps spreading, getting into all the nooks and crannies in my body.

  Then before I know it, I’m shoved inside the van and Micah is gone. Another officer tells me to take a seat. I swallow my tears, hearing the faint whisper of reason. Maybe he has a plan and maybe I have a chance to fix everything.

  “You’re going down, missy,” the cop that is with me says. I look back at him and wonder how long it will be before I have a breakdown, like I had with Tequila. My thoughts are racing, and I sense an oncoming anxiety attack. I can feel it in my bones, pushing its way up to the surface. I’m trying to skim, to rise above the surface, but I can’t.

  The drive to the court is short, and by the time I’m dragged out of the van, the paps are already surrounding the entrance. The word must have gone out that my hearing was set for today. There is only one court in Braxton, so there is no escape. I try to ignore the questions, the flashes, but it’s clear that I’m losing control. My breathing speeds up, but whoever is leading the whole circus gets me inside the building pretty quickly.

  Moments later I’m shoved into a small room. The guards are doing a search, and while their hands are on my body, I feel like I’m skimming the surface, just barely. Within seconds I’m taking long pulls of air, feeling his hands on me again.

  The rat whispers into my ear.

  You won’t escape this time. You’re mine to keep forever.

  Sweat rolls down my back, people are talking to me, but their voices are muted. There is no sound and the world around me starts spinning. I only see their twisted faces. I want to slap myself, keep fighting the fear, but the walls are closing in around me. Everything falls apart. His hands are everywhere, trying to violate me again, over and over.

  I can’t keep shoving these feelings away, and there is that other person trying to tell me that it’s time.

  “Move it, girl. I don’t have all day,” says the guard, grabbing my shoulder.

  This time I lose it and start screaming. My vision goes blurry and everything else turns into a nightmare. Rat detested when I opened my mouth when I shouldn’t have. He always had very twisted ways of punishing me for being disobedient.

  The guard that is supposed to keep an eye on me pales and lets go of my arm. I keep screaming at the top of my lungs, tangling my hair, like the anger is twisting my thoughts, my cells, like the world around me is falling to pieces. Within moments I’m no longer alone. A lump forms in my throat, and I’m beginning choke on my fear. I cover my ears and just let go of the frustration that Micah planted in me. I start shaking badly, not able to sit still.

  People are talking, standing close, and for some reason I can’t stop screaming. It’s like I’m going back to that hole in the wall.

  “Get her out of here, now!” shouts someone.

  “But the hear—”

  “She isn’t stable enough to stand in front of the judge,” says someone else. The rat is pulling my hair, burning my skin and humiliating me in front of his friends. I can’t close my mouth. It’s all happening in my head and I can’t stop screaming.

  Soon I’m taken away from that small cramped room.

  I don’t remember what happens after that. The rest of my memory is blurry. For some reason I wake up hours later in a different cell with a window and a toilet, immediately wincing at the smell of antiseptic. Moments later I remember what happened to me. There is no sign of any injury or wound, no sign of any pain or aftershock. Inside I feel numb and empty. I lost the plot back in court, allowed my imagination to get the better of me, forced myself to remember those bad times. Three years ago when I started the therapy, the psychiatrist told me that I panic when I’m not in control and then let the old fears in. I see now that this is what happened when I was just about to stand in front of the judge.

  When Micah was with me, I felt better and my attacks were sporadic, and after being together for weeks I didn’t worry about anxiety at all. When things changed and our relationship became more intense, I pretended that I was his ex-girlfriend, Steph.

  I rub the nape of my neck and then lift myself up to look out the window. I recognise that it’s still daytime. The sun is hidden behind the clouds. If I have a few more attacks, maybe the cops will be stupid enough to move me to psych, to classify me as mentally unstable. There I’ll have my opportunity to run. Rat is most likely not sitting around; he is already planning how to get to me.

  Someone appears outside the bars. Luckily for me it’s not Micah. I can’t handle seeing him again acting all apologetic and regretful. It’s the pig guard, and he is with someone else, a guy in an expensive suit. Behind them there is a woman that looks like a nurse, wearing a blue uniform.

  The guard opens the cage and let’s the two visitors in. I scramble back on my bed, already knowing that they’re here to evaluate my mental well-being.

  “Tahlia, I’m Doctor Roland. The inspectors were telling us that you had a panic attack back in the courtroom?” he asks, as they walk toward me. The police moved me here for a reason and that’s a positive sign. It’s going to be a while before I’ll appear in front of the judge again.

  “Panic attack, anxiety attack … whatever. Sometimes I feel like I’m losing control. Everything should be in my file, that is if you had a chance to read it,” I tell him.

  He nods and then proceeds with asking questions. The usual, things that I’m used to. It’s been a while since I’ve spoken to any shrink, but who knows? Maybe it’s time. Why do you think this keeps happening? What are you afraid of? Do you think you can tell us what happened that night when Suranne died?

  I tell him whatever he wants to hear, whatever might keep me away from being stuck in the cell. I might delay the process, but in the end I’ll be going on trial. Micah catalogued enough evidence to link me to the murder, to make me guilty. Someone went to a hell of an effort to set me up—the bag with Suranne’s hoodie, the blood, everything fit right in.

  My body starts to tremble when I think that rat was in my room, touched my things, looked through my pictures.

  After half an hour and more pointless questions, the doctor leaves. The nurse stays behind, holding a small blue box. She is most probably going to check my pulse and take some blood. I hate when people touch me, and I hate the fact that I couldn’t embrace the fear back in the court. The only person that saw through to the real me was the man that I hate so much right now.

  I finally look at the woman: she is short, has an oval face and chunky fingers. She is searching for something in her bag, standing up. A moment later when she looks back at me, I know there is something wrong. Her smile officially is creeping me out. I’m not ready at all for what comes next. She punches me unexpectedly, crushing my nose, and I topple forward, hitting the side of the bed. A sharp pain shoots down my arms and face. She sticks a needle filled with god knows what into my arm. Before she depresses the plunger I get my bearings and push her down, digging my fingers in her eyes. I start screaming like I’m going crazy again. She lets out a jarred
scream too, launching herself on me again. We struggle for a moment, twisting our bodies, until she lets go of my arms, backing off to the rear of the cell. I rip the needle out of my arm, tossing it on the floor.

  “Rudolf sends his greetings, dear,” she whispers and then attacks like there’s no tomorrow. Her expression is neither cold nor warm. The nurse is a heavy woman, older but strong. She twists my arms and slams her elbow in my ribs, knocking the air out of my lungs. The pain paralyses my muscles for a split second. That move injects me with new energy and I roar, ready to kick her arse.

  Chapter Three

  Good memories

  “He knew exactly what they were planning to do with you,” snarls the nurse killer, stretching her neck to the side like she is ready to finish me right now. The police in Braxton need to get their shit together. They obviously don’t check their staff, don’t vet the people that are visiting their violent criminals. What the hell is going on here and why is no one running down to my cell to help me? Is pig dead or something? Or has he been paid off?

  Greta, or whatever her name is, most likely was trained by one of rat’s people. She easily pins me down to the floor, digging her sharp nails into my skin. I try to use my other hand to bash her, but she only laughs, easily blocking me. Her uniform smells of burnt clothing, and that catches me off guard. When I try to twist her arm, she uses her fists to punch me in the gut over and over until I can’t catch my breath. Whatever tricks Tequila had taught me aren’t working and I’m getting beat up like a child on the playground. The nurse killer wraps her long chunky fingers around my neck and starts squeezing it. My vision blurs out as I try to pull away her hands, taking as much oxygen as I can. Fear slowly begins to shut down my defences the longer I go with no air getting into my lungs. Blood drops down from my nose, and my head feels like it’s just about to be split in half.