Two Punks In Love

Quickening

Kat, rewind to the same morning

I plump the body-size pillows beneath the macrame comforter in this guest room, turn out the lights, tuck a few hair extensions in the top of the comforter, and ease out the french door's that exit from the large, private guest suite in Ashlynn's rambling old mansion. It is so ridiculous that I sneak out of her house like a teenager-- except instead of sneaking out at night, I'm sneaking out first thing in the morning and letting Ash think I'm sleeping until two o'clock in the afternoon. Ashlynn and Leed are hovering over me like the world's most obnoxious parents. They would demand to know where I've been going every day for the last four, I have no good excuse for disappearing for the largest part of each day.

Yeah, I'm hanging out every day on the couch of my grief-stricken ex-boyfriend while my fiancé is conveniently locked up in mental health facility, kay? And probably the next day, too. Maybe the day after that. Because Colin actually needs me, while Trace, apparently, needs his manager and his lawyers.

Yeah, right. They would absolutely freak. Leed and Ash, like everyone else in my life, are dedicated to protecting Trace from whatever might cause him distress. Which includes me, right now. Marley has offered to go with me to see Trace, but she's told me that we need to do everything we can to make the visit calm and positive. Because if Trace gets overly worried about me, he will leave the facility to come see about me. They can't keep him there—he signed himself in. Yet, he really needs to be there until his evaluation is completed and his new meds are somewhat regulated, so the best thing I can do for Trace is not create any stressors or justifications for him to leave.

Reading between the lines, I know what Marley-slash-Jasmine was trying to tell me: Girl, you can't go see your man like this— cryin' and actin' all crazy. You gotta stow your shit if you're gonna stand by your man.

Apparently I'm no Ride-or-Die like Jaz, because I'm shit at stowing my shit.

I don't know why I literally leak tears all the time now. I can't help it. Maybe it's because my heart is breaking for Trace

I press my face to the rough exterior brick of Ashlynn's house and begin to bawl.

I know that Trace is guilty of doing something extremely violent and heinous, but he can't go to jail for it. He just...can't.

But even as I sob, I know he very well could. What he did is so serious, he could go to jail for a very long time. Our kids could be in elementary school by the time he gets out. He would miss...everything. My kids would grow up...fatherless for their most formative years, and when Trace finally came home, they would never truly be able make up the deficit with their father.

And Trace? He's not like Bodie. He couldn't survive the violence of prison unscathed like Bodie. He would not come back to me the same man. And he would never get over not being there for our kids. I'm not even sure he can get over what he did to Manning. Even though I can hardly blame Trace for it, I know he will blame himself.

That's the hardest part to believe. What Trace actually did that to Manning. The police showed me the pictures, when they questioned me. I guess they wanted me to see what the father of my unborn children is capable of, but it's just unreal to me that Trace could beat someone until he shattered bone. Marley has explained to me over and over that it happened because of Trace's PTSD, that he had some kind of break, and that he really needs to be isolated from any potential triggers until he comes to understand exactly what triggered him and why he did what he did. That's why she wanted him to go to residential care.

Because she doesn't trust him in his rock star lifestyle right now. She's afraid he could have another violent episode.

What am I supposed to do with that? I can't believe that Marley would think Trace would ever hurt me or anyone he cares about. Then again I can't believe he could break Manning's face with a camera. Yet he did.