As much as I’d been tempted to demand she stay home that night, I knew Gianna going to prom was a big step in her recovery. In a twisted way, I reluctantly felt gratitude toward Gage for convincing her to attend.
I phoned Gage every Monday afternoon to get an update on my girl. During the calls, he answered any questions I’d thought up. Even when I acted like a stalker, asking what she wore that day or what she’d eaten. Despite talking to her most weekends, I had a desperate need to know everything she’d been up to and whether or not she seemed to be improving.
According to both her and Gage, life for Gianna had been drama free. Gage claimed she seemed happier and less introverted at school since he’d started there. I’d called him out on his feelings for her a couple of times, threatening him with bloody harm. The guy swore only purely platonic feelings existed on both sides. On release from juvie, if there were stars in Gage’s eyes when he looked at my girlfriend, I’d make sure those stars moved above his head when I knocked his ass out.
So far the guy was a good investment of Ian’s money.
Gianna had visited me several more times since February. Each time, she appeared less uncomfortable around me. But that could be wishful thinking on my part, because she was nowhere near like she used to be. The old Gianna had always been ready to throw down verbally with me at the smallest provocation. Maybe I wasn’t the same as I used to be around her either.
Each time she left, it got harder to let her go. Not that I had any choice. The end of visiting time was like everything else in my life right now, totally out of my control.
It was embarrassing and emasculating for Gianna to see me like this, not even in control of when I ate or showered. Dictated to on how much I was allowed to touch my girlfriend.
If I was a selfless person, I might have set her free to find someone more deserving of her, a guy who wasn’t a loser locked up in juvie. However, I was a selfish bastard and I’d never willingly let her go. She was my girl, the only girl I wanted, and when I got out of here I could reinvent myself into the kind of guy who deserved her.
A glance at the caged clock above the door told me I had thirty minutes before my mom would arrive for visitation. For awhile there, I’d wondered if my parents were getting back together. With so many joint visits, I’d had reason to suspect. When my dad told me a couple months ago that my parents were going to start taking turns visiting me, I’d ruled reconciliation out. At least they seemed on friendlier terms than they’d been since their divorce.
The Saturday before my birthday in March, both my parents and Gianna had visited me on the same day. It was the first time my mom had seen her since the attack and she’d started crying, making Gianna the encounter awkward. My dad had skillfully diverted my mom’s attention, saving Gianna from further tears.
For Gianna’s birthday in April, I’d asked my mom to have a huge bouquet of flowers delivered to her house. The following Saturday Gianna had visited in a upbeat mood. At that time, I’d presented her with a self-portrait of me which Ms. Singh had instructed me to paint.
Getting to my feet, I motioned through the open doorway to the guard that I was finished and left the private room designated for phone privileges. The same guard accompanied me to the art room, where I grabbed my most recent paintings and piled them carefully on top of each other. For months I’d spent all my free time in here, painting dozens of works.
My painting frenzy had been an outlet for the anger and resentment coiled tight within me. I knew my sentence was coming to an end, but even the three remaining months seemed never-ending. Whenever allowed in here, I’d taken advantage. The solitude of painting was cathartic, especially when I had the room to myself. It calmed the demons clawing at my insides.
With the stack of paintings, I made it back to my cell just as they called my name for visitation. Following the two other guys with family visiting, I hauled my heavy load. The female inmates with visitors were already seated at tables. A girl with hard eyes, a recent addition to the facility, sat with an elderly woman who cried into an old school handkerchief.
I empathized with the old woman. Youth corrections sucked and it was especially unfair to the inmates’ loved ones.
In June, Gianna’s ballet academy would perform for several nights. It pissed me off I wouldn’t be there to see her dance because I was a locked up degenerate. She’d said it wasn’t a big deal and that she hadn’t gotten any of the leads, but I felt inadequate as a boyfriend because I couldn’t be there to support her.
I was sure Gage would be there. Douchebag Jared, too, since Cece actually would dance one of the leads.