“The thought of looking over my shoulder for the next ten years was unappealing. So, I took matters into my own hands.”
I twist around to face him directly. “What do you mean?”
He pokes his tongue into his cheek and then winces as if it hurt. He must have felt it in his throat.
“I was going to become the psycho that everyone stayed clear of. I just didn't give a shit anymore.”
“Oh, Jacob.” I lean into him, pressing my face into his neck but being careful not to hurt him anywhere. “I'm so sorry.”
He gives a slight shake of his head before writing more.
“I almost had him. But then three of his guys turned up and pinned me down.”
I close my eyes, trying not to picture it, but no matter what, I see him being held down while some crazy guy stabs at him and then leaves him there to bleed out.
“I just don't know what to expect when I go back.”
“Go back?” I sit up so I can face him again. “Jacob, you aren't going back. You're free again.” Then, at the completely bewildered look on his face, I add. “I made my father undo everything that he did to you.”
He appears shocked, speechless, relieved. For a full minute, he just stares.
I can't believe that since he woke up, he's been sitting here expecting to be sent back to prison, but of coursehe wouldn't have known all that transpired while he's been in here.
“I'm sorry, it should have been the first thing that I said to you.”
He shakes his head at me with a slight smile beginning to form, lifting his cheeks. It feels so good to see it again that my heart flutters, feeling light andhappy.
“I was wondering how you were able to be in here with me and why there were no handcuffs.”
For a moment we just sit there smiling at each other while I play with his fingers in my hand. The relief coming from him is almost palpable. Contagious.
“I'm just sorry he couldn't do anything about your original charge or the registry you're on.”
His smile falters for a moment. Like he only just remembered all of the shit from the past ten years, what his life is like, and the root cause of this whole situation. It's as if a dark cloud slowly develops over us, dimming the brightness from his eyes from moments ago.
But then he focuses on the notepad again.
“How did you get him to undo what he did?”
“Uh, well,” I start and then fidget with my own fingers a little.
Firstly, I tell him how I ended up with the video to begin with. Then I'm telling him the whole conversation that I had with my father and how I didn't actually wantto go through with it, but I was desperate.
And while he's not thrilled that I had to threaten to use the video of us and he's glad that I didn't release it, I think he's more happy that it worked and that he won't be going back to prison.
I also tell him how I most likely won't be hearing from my parents again and that I was told not to come crawling back to them when I need help. I'm okay with that.
We continue to chat back and forth, me talking and him writing things down. We both apologize for the things we said but never meant the night of the fire.
But ever since I brought up the fact that my dad was unable to change anything from before this incident, there has been something there.
He keeps looking at me almost as if it's the last time, every time.
His hugs are a little tighter.
His touches linger a little longer.
His smiles are a little sadder.