Just Bent

Chapter Four

It was my first time behind bars that didn't only exist on the television screen. My neck was chilled by the concrete wall I rested on, my angle on the cot causing me to be concave. It was the only position that exacerbated the nausea I'd been experiencing since the back door to the police cruiser closed. Considering the crime scene in this town was next to nil, I had the attention of all the police officers that evening. They were all privy to Chief Olsen's disappointed look, his hand on his holster, his moustache twitching as he worried his bottom lip.

"How'd we get here son?" Good damn question.

I'd never wanted to cry so bad in my entire life. I wanted to break down and sob my throat raw, and collapse in a pile of grief on the floor. The bare thread restraint I maintained hovered over my skin like a thin force field. I didn't say a word. I couldn't say a word. One word and I would crack; I would fall apart. And they would watch. The Chief, his deputy sherif, the cop who had been one my whole life and never became anything other then a cop, and the rookie.

He kept looking over at me from the corner of his eye from his work desk. It didn't face the cells that sat in a row at the very back of the police station, so he couldn't hide the obvious turn of his neck or the flicker of his outside eye in my direction. I knew what he was thinking. I remembered him as a senior from my freshman year in high school. He'd played football; he was all American with high grades and hot shot older brothers who were the talk of the town when they'd left Chrestler in their dust years ago, leaving his mom with a broken heart. His staying had mended it.

I knew what he was thinking because, just like I could recount the last ten years of his life, even though we'd never spoken a word to each other, he could probably recount the past ten years of my life as well. But my life was his worst nightmare and his life was my fantasy. And now once again we found ourselves on the opposite side of things, looking in at each other from the lens of a small town. He'd think where we were made sense. He'd think that there were more reasons for me to be here then not. He would think: it was only a matter of time. He didn't know shit.

"Cole..." I jumped and looked from the crack in the wall I had been fixed on, wondering how it had gotten there, to look at Chief Olsen.

"Do you want to call your mom, or should I?"

I quivered where I sat. No. Don't call her. Don't tell her. Let's keep this between us. Don't do this to her. Don't hurt her by calling her. Don't make this worse then it already is. Don't remind her of how things used to be. I promise I won't do it again. Let me go. Please, let me go.

"Please." My voice croaked. His brows furrowed and he was looking so concerned it hurt. He was shaking his head again and turning away. It took everything in me not to scream out after him. I watched him walk to the very front of the station, to where the day reception desk was, and pick up a white landline. I was about to hurl all over the cell floor.

"Hey Claire," his dark eyes were fixed on me as he spoke into the receiver.
"Cheif Olsen here..."

He turned his back to me and continued talking.

I closed my eyes and breathed.

I saw the Jeep in my head. I saw its white fading into the darkness and I saw the look on Haley's face before we had gone into the store. The stark fear, the overwhelming panic, and then I was back in my room with her again and her face looked so different. She was smiling and giggling, and my muscles ached in remembrance of my bicep curling around her waist, her hips... lips fused and melding and God... Mac's hand is around my throat again, squeezing. He knew. He knew something. Not everything, but he knew. How could he not know? Everyone knew. Haley knew. I was sick to my stomach again in moments.