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  “Um, is Logan home?”

  “Hmph. No he ain’t,” she says. “And he won’t be for a long damn time.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Call the Sheriff and ask ‘em,” she says, slamming the door in my face.

  Logan.

  I run back home and tell my mom everything, she tells me to calm down until we know what’s happening. She calls down to the Sheriff’s office and talks to the receptionist. I know she probably isn’t supposed to tell her anything but I also know that they went to high school together and I hope that will count for something. I can see my mom nodding along and speaking quietly into the phone. When she hangs up she walks over to the couch and sits down beside me.

  “What is it?” I ask. “What’s happening Mama?”

  She takes my hands in hers and tells me everything she knows.

  Domestic assault.

  State will press charges.

  Could get up to five years.

  Critical condition.

  All the words blur together and every thread of hope that I had for a future with Logan begins to unravel. But the thing that hurts my heart the most, is that I know he’s sitting in some cell right now, alone and blaming himself. Not knowing that my love for him has no limits. That he has someone here who will fight for him. I can’t crumble now. I can’t let go.

  *

  It’s been two weeks and I still haven’t seen Logan. Apparently when you can’t afford bail, they keep you locked up. My mom tried to make a deal with the Sheriff, said she’d watch Logan and he could stay with us, but he wouldn’t budge. I overheard my mom on the phone talking to my aunt, apparently there’s a county council election coming up and the guy who represents Miracle County is up for re-election and sticking his nose into Logan’s case. He’s using it as a stepping stone for votes, my mom said. I probably wasn’t supposed to hear that.

  I miss him every day. Sometimes so bad that I re-read his letter over and over again until I’m crying so hard that I can’t see. Winter break is over and even though the last thing I want to do is go to class, I do it anyways and I try my best to pay attention and keep my grades up. Soon this whole thing with Logan will blow over and we’ll be starting our life together. I need to stay on track.

  I hear the whispers when I walk down the halls. How could she go out with that psycho? What was her mama thinking?

  I ignore them. They don’t know anything and it doesn’t matter what they think. I know Logan, and we’ll make it through this.

  *

  I graduate high school next month and I then I’ll be riding a full academic scholarship to an out of state University, thousands of miles away. Just like I wanted. Everything is on track and as soon as Logan gets out, we’ll be together and everything will be fine.

  My mom and I are sitting in the back of the courtroom today. I catch a glimpse of Logan and when he looks right at me, I try my best to smile. Just for him. He doesn’t smile back. We still haven’t spoken, it’s been three months since he got arrested. I’ve tried to see him but he refuses. I know it’s because he feels bad, but that doesn’t mean I’ll stop trying. I know he still loves me. I’ve been following his court dates as closely as I can, begging my mom for any information she can get for me. She feels just as bad seeing Logan stand in front of a jury full of strangers who don’t know him.

  Today Brenda Mackenzie is on the stand. Her hair is straight and shiny and she’s dressed proper. She looks like she’s going to church. My mom curses under her breath when Brenda starts to cry, talking about how Logan has always been violent and how her husband has a long road of recovery ahead of him. I want to stand up and call her a liar. Why isn’t anyone calling her a liar? This isn’t right.

  *

  Logan got sentenced today. Five years for domestic assault. I tried not to cry in the courtroom. I didn’t want him to see me like that. He looked over at me before they took him away and his face was so pale. I mouthed the words, I’ll write to you, I love you. But he didn’t have time to mouth anything back before they took him away.

  I should be in bed, but I can’t sleep. Graduation is tomorrow but it doesn’t seem to matter. Not anymore. I tiptoe down the hallway and hear my mom on the phone again, probably talking to my aunt. She’s decided to go and live in Edison with them once I leave. She said she can’t stay here anymore.

  “It’s complete bullshit Lynn,” she says. “That damn Brenda Mackenzie, I swear I could strangle that woman for ruining her son’s life like that. And for what? Folks with half a brain know damn well that councilman paid her off to testify like that. All so he could use the conviction as a bragging right.”

  She pauses.

  “You know how this shit works down here in these small counties,” she says. “He wanted the re-elect and what better way to sway voters than by making sure a violent, dangerous boy gets punished.”

  “She’s crushed, she loves that boy,” she continues. “I gave my statement, said he was a good boy, so did Gary and the guys down at the shop. Didn’t make a lick of difference. All he is to those hotshots is a boy from a trailer park who’s got nothing.”

  I reach up and touch the bird around my neck, quietly walking back to my bedroom. I close the door and lie down on the bed. Nothing is gonna make this better. Logan is alone, when he should be here with me. I wish I could tell him just one more time that I love him and that I’ll wait…however long it takes.

  I want to tell him that he still has me.

  Always.

  Chapter 11

  Logan

  One year later…

  Dear Logan,

  I don’t know what to say, or how to make this better. You won’t see me. You won’t talk to me. I know you feel bad, like somehow you let me down. But I wish you’d let me tell you that I love you. I love the parts of you that aren’t always nice. I love all of you. Please don’t feel bad, or feel like you don’t have me anymore. Because you do. You have every part of me, always.

  I’m leaving tomorrow morning. I’m scared. Scared to move away, scared to be without you. But I’m gonna work hard, so that when you get out, we can pick up where we left off. Because I’ll wait for you Logan. I hope you believe me.

  Please write me back. Don’t forget about us. Don’t forget that you have my heart. Don’t forget that I miss you so much sometimes that I can’t breathe. Don’t forget to come back to me. You and me, right?

  Always.

  Prairie

  I fold up the only letter I let myself keep, the paper thin and faded from being read so many times. I got it my first week here. Each one I got after that, I told them to send back. I don’t know how many there were until they stopped coming.

  I knew the minute they arrested me that this wouldn’t end well. I knew it for certain when they gave me that lawyer who couldn’t even remember my name half the time. The day my mother took the stand sealed my fate. Five years. One down, four to go. If I’m lucky, I’ll be out in three for good behaviour. But I’m not counting on it.

  Every day I think about Prairie. I miss her smile, her smell and the way her hair falls down her back. There isn’t a part of me that doesn’t ache for her every single day. And when it becomes so unbearable that I think I might lose my shit altogether and track her down, begging her to come see me just so I can feel her next to me, I remind myself that I did the right thing…pushing her away. She deserves so much more than me, but I believed her when she said she’d wait for me and I can’t have that. She needs to live, she needs more than I could ever give her. I had to set her free. Free from waiting, free from any obligation her seventeen year old self made to a boy that should have stayed the hell away from her.

  I ruined everything.

  I tuck the letter away and stand as the cell door opens and we’re lined up like cattle. Most of the guys here keep to themselves. My first day here some asshole tried to take the tray of slop sitting in front of me at lunchtime. I smashed the tray across his face and broke his nose. Because it fel
t good, and I knew I needed to. This is survival in here. And for five years it would be my home. When he stood up, he laughed and said that he’d be looking out for me. I was expecting him to get payback at some point, but he never did and he got out a couple months ago. But I still watch my back.

  Once they’ve lined us up and checked our cells for anything that might make our lives easier, they herd us down to the dining hall. Every day begins and ends the same. We eat when they tell us to. We shit when they tell us to and we sleep when they tell us to.

  Nothing ever changes.

  Prairie

  “Will you please just come out with us, this one time?” my roommate, Kerri, whines from her bed while she zips up her black booties.

  “I can’t,” I laugh. “I told you, I have to study tonight.”

  “You’re always studying,” she points out.

  “Scholarship, girl,” I remind her. “I gotta keep my grades up if I wanna stay.”

  “Ugh, can’t you just be dumb like the rest of us?”

  “You’re not dumb,” I argue. “Have fun, okay? And please be safe.”

  “Yes, Mom,” she giggles. “Say you’ll come next time.”

  “I will…try to come next time,” I say.

  I dodge the skirt she throws at me as she heads for the door. She closes it behind her and I breathe a sigh of relief. I reach up and touch the bird around my neck, sliding the charm back and forth on the chain as I lean back in my chair and close my eyes.

  Some days are okay. Some days I’m just a college freshman with too many classes and no social life. Other days, like today, are worse. Today I can’t stop thinking about Logan or about the shoebox sitting underneath my bed with exactly twenty-five letters that he’s returned to me unopened over this past year. He kept the first one I sent and gave me one reply. A reply that I have memorized.

  Prairie,

  I have to let you go, if you ever loved me, please do the same.

  Logan.

  When I got my last letter back, still sealed, my words unread, I forced myself to stop. Not because I don’t love him, but because I do. He has his reasons for pushing me away and it kills me, but I have to let him go…for now anyways. I have to let him do what he needs to do. I can’t be selfish.

  I glance at my alarm clock and figure I might as well head for the campus library. I’m not going to get any studying done here tonight. I pack up my books and lock the door behind me, making my way down the narrow hall of the dorm and through the front doors. It’s already dark out but the campus is well lit and it’s Friday night, people will be coming and going at all hours. As I walk, I remind myself to call my mom tomorrow for her birthday. She’s been living in Edison with my aunt and uncle for the last eight months and managing the front desk at one of the motels in town. She works mostly evenings, but she says she likes it. My uncle renovated their garage since they never use it and turned it into her own little guest house. She’s even been dating. I miss her like crazy but I have finals until next week before I’m free for the summer.

  I don’t know what I’m gonna do, try to find a job in Edison I guess and save some money. Kerri has been begging me to go back to New York with her, but I politely refused. She’s nice and fun, but living with her for an entire year and then spending a whole summer with her might actually kill me. I wanna see my mom and be around things that are familiar.

  I don’t let my mind wander back to Logan, mostly because it hurts too much and also because I need to focus on finals. I’ve managed to make a few friends here but none of them, not even Kerri, know about Logan. They wonder why I don’t date and I suppose I could tell them, I’m waiting for someone. But they wouldn’t understand and I like keeping what Logan and I had together to myself.

  I step around the corner and take my keys out of my pocket, holding them tightly in my hand as I cross the only unlit patch of grass before I’ll reach the library. I think for a minute that I hear someone behind me but I shake my head and keep walking. You’re paranoid. One too many campus safety videos for you, Prairie.

  It happens so fast. One minute I’m walking and the next, I’m being pulled backwards. I swing my hand out, the one with the keys in it, but I’m clumsy and all I hit is the air. I can smell the garbage from the dumpster and I realize I’m being drug in a back alley. I’m shoved against a brick wall and it hurts so bad that I sink to the ground, wincing in pain.

  “Look at that, she’s practically begging for it,” he growls.

  There’s two sets of legs in front of me. Both in denim, both wearing plain black running shoes. I glare up at their covered faces and try to scramble up. Sudden pain in my stomach has me keeling over, coughing as my eyes fill with tears. He kicks me in the stomach again. Harder this time and I can hardly catch my breath.

  “Man, don’t kick her or she’ll pass out,” the other one says. “It’s more fun if she’s awake.”

  I feel bile begin to crawl up my throat as I roll over and try to stand. I see my bag laying on the ground, my books tossed aside in the mud, along with my phone.

  Rough hands grab me from behind and force me to the other side of the dumpster. I kick, I swing my arms, I try so hard to fight but there’s two of them and they’re so strong. I cry, I beg.

  “Please, don’t, please,” I plead, my voice hoarse.

  “Shut her up,” he demands, slamming me to the ground, my shoulders and back scraping against the loose gravel beneath me.

  The other one covers my mouth with his hand. He’s wearing gloves. I bite into the leather, screaming against his palm as loud as I can but no one can hear me. He hits me across the face and everything begins to blur. I hear the hiss of my zipper and feel the cold air on my thighs. He pulls my pants down to my ankles and rips my underwear off my body. I focus on the brick wall beside me and suddenly he forces himself into me, the pain nearly blinding me as I cry out over the lump in my throat.

  “Damn this bitch is tight,” he groans.

  I begin to gag on my own vomit, tears blinding me. He shoves himself into me so hard that it feels like I’m being torn open. I try to kick my legs up but I can’t. He’s so strong.

  Once he’s done mumbling and groaning, they switch positions faster than I can register and it starts all over again. The pain, the shame. Rough hands. I go numb. It’s the only way I’m going to survive this. I think about that day at the swimming hole with Logan. He was so gentle with me.

  When the second one is done, he grips my hips so roughly that I know he’ll leave bruises. Reminders. He stands up and stumbles a bit, giving me one more kick to the ribs.

  All I can think when he pulls his pants all the way up and I watch their retreating forms disappear into the shadows, away from my broken, used body is, it’s not supposed to be like this. It’s supposed to be with Logan, not like this. Not like this.

  I was waiting for him.

  They leave me in the alley and all I can do is stare at the wall, hypnotized by each jagged brick, lit up by the dim glow of the full moon above me. Eventually I sit up slowly and run my fingers through my hair, clumps falling out where they took turns grabbing it so hard that they pulled the strands right from my scalp. I stand up and breathe deeply through the pain between my legs. When I look down, I see blood smeared across the insides of my thighs. I carefully pull up my pants and find my torn underwear, shoving it in my pocket. I wipe the tears from my eyes, reaching for my bag. I grab my phone and try to steady my hands.

  I don’t know how much time has passed from the moment I called 911 until now. I’m wearing a thin paper gown and every time I shift my weight on the exam table, it crinkles beneath me. I gave my statement to the officers that picked me up, I tried so hard to remember every little detail. I think about calling my mom but the thought of telling her what happened makes me sick to my stomach, so I don’t. When the nurse comes back into the room she gives me a sad smile and asks me to lie back on the bed. I told the one police officer that they used condoms, but she said that they would s
wab me for DNA regardless. I should have fought harder. I should have scratched and clawed as hard as I could. I should have been stronger.

  “Honey, just try to relax, okay? I’m going to be as gentle as I can,” the nurse says.

  I know I’m clenching my thighs shut. I keep telling myself to relax but I can’t. Tears roll down my cheeks when I feel her gloved hand gently touch my knee. She encourages me to let my legs fall open and eventually I do. She pokes me. She prods. I know she’s trying not to hurt me but the steady throb of pain between my thighs is making me tremble.

  “I’m sorry sweetheart, I think you’re going to need stitches,” she says.

  I should have been stronger. I should have fought harder.

  It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I was waiting for Logan.

  Part Two

  The Present

  Chapter 12

  Logan

  4 ½ years later…

  The blood fades from my bruised knuckles and swirls down the drain, the hot water sliding down my back. Another fight, another chunk of change. I tilt my head back and let the water run over my face, welcoming the sting against my bruised flesh. I deserve it for getting any kind of satisfaction from this shit. I continue to watch the blood disappear and run my hands along my ribs and chest, washing away another night at the warehouse.

  I flip off the water before it has a chance to cool and step out, wrapping a towel around my waist. I swipe the fog from the mirror above the sink and force myself to hold my own gaze. The pinkish-red bruise on my right cheekbone where that fucker clipped me is beginning to change colour already, darkening to purple. I run my ink covered hands through my wet hair, taking a ragged breath. I’ve been out of prison for six months now and I’m still adjusting. Being locked up fucks with your head; the days bleed together until you stop even bothering to keep track. At least I was smart enough to keep busy during the day. I got my GED and took some mechanic courses when I could and signed up for whatever work duty they had. But it didn’t mean shit at night, laying on a lumpy cot in a steel box where my thoughts were the only company I had. Regrets, what-ifs, it was a fucking slippery slope into self-pity.