Robyn

~Chapter 31~

Days tortuously turn into weeks, with nothing but the mundane to fill my time, and when my time is not being used, my mind plays fill in the blank. Some may say the fences that surround prisons lock you in, the guards, or even the grey concrete blocks that comprise the walls, but I know its your mind that ensnares you in a place like this. In a place like this, your mind is your worst enemy and your only true friend.  Books have helped, conversations with other inmates and my job too, but at night its my mind I return to. A place tormented with what ifs, maybes, and what nows. All questions I don't seem to have the answer to.

To make matters worse, Jun and Brielle have decided to do the interview with Diane Kelly. I'm not sure how they could possibly feel comfortable discussing our lives with the world in a space like that. We were sensationalized throughout our arrest, trial, and subsequent sentences. It's been months, nearly a year since our sentencing, and when all seems to be settling, now they want to conduct an interview. 

Brielle and Jun have a right to tell their stories however they see fit, but I can't--not now. A part of me wishes that I could just fade into the background, be forgotten, and maybe, in the wasteland of forgotten memories and people I can find myself.

"You don't have to watch it, you know?" Grace states. Her voice trembles, a reminder of the war her body is withstanding. 

"I know, but I want to see them." I need to. "It's been so long and who knows," I stop myself.

"Trust me, love I understand."

In that moment, I realize it's been a while since I last saw Grace. Earlier on in my sentence she would come at least once a month, but I haven't seen her in at least two. "How are you doing?" My fingers curl around the phone, anticipating her response. 

"I'm fine, sweetie."

I sigh. She's lying.

"I'm as good as I can possibly be."

There's a silence that reverberates between us, filled with everything we want to say. "And Ryland?"

She sighs, and I can envision the soft smile that crosses her face, a smile of reassurance. "He's doing well. I'm trying--"

"Don't. I know he's not ready to talk to me. I don't think he ever will be." It's the most heartbreaking concept to accept. I may never talk to him again. I think this possibility is what makes my conversations with Grace even more meaningful. She's my last connection to him. "Grace?"

"What honey?"

"Thank you so much," my voice shakes as I hold back the emotions fighting to free themselves. "You--your--I." I pause, "I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart. Call me tomorrow okay? And if you watch it tonight, please, please make sure you're okay."

"I will." We give each other our goodbyes, and I hang up the phone.

The day drags on, burdened by the knowledge of this looming interview. I lay in my cell, looking up at the ceiling. The interview is suppose to start soon, and I need to see them, but I'm still so afraid. My stomach churns with nerves I can't pinpoint.

Get up.

I breathe, flip onto my stomach, stuffing my face into the pillow to give a stifled yell.

Get up.

I sigh, and will my body upright to climb down the bed. Half willingly, I drag my body through the corridors, each step feeling like I'm lugging bricks on each leg. When I finally enter the recreation room, the eyes of the inmates all turn their focus toward me. I glance around the room quickly seeing Francia and Dee near the front of the room.