WHORE

The stained toilet is nothing but a hole in the cell's floor and may as well be a portal to hell. Then again, I feel like I’m already in hell. I sit and watch a cockroach crawl out of a rusted air vent before it darts across the grubby wall tiles into the shadows.

Slumped on the cold vinyl floor, I listen to the sobs which ghost from under the door. Despite sharing the cell with Daniel, my husband, we don't speak. We're in shock. The reality of our situation is yet to sink in.

But we know it's bad.

Our lives will never be the same. And he is pissed with me because it's all my fault.

I still don't know how it happened. All I know is that I panicked. Panicked and ran. And now my husband of twelve years has a busted nose, a fat lip and a dislocated shoulder. He's always been more of a lover than a fighter. So I've never seen him like this.

It breaks my heart to know I'm responsible.

The cell door opens and in steps a thick-set moustached police captain who seems to run this shithole of a station. Just as he was when he booked us in, he's stuffing his face. This time munching on a meat-packed baguette. Still with a mouthful of sandwich, he orders me to stand. My tired bones ache as I climb to bare feet, my Gucci heels long gone, and my matching dress is covered in tears and smudged mascara fingerprints. I was about to demand my phone call again, but my attention was drawn to a second man. I've never seen him before. His black hair is slicked back, and his eyes are charcoal grey. Dressed in black jeans and a leather coat, he doesn't appear to be a policeman. The two men speak between themselves in Romanian. I can't help but squirm under their stares. They never look at Daniel.

The tall man suddenly speaks to me in English. "Your passport says the United Kingdom. But where are you really from?"

"You have my passport?"

"Yes."

Shit. They had obviously accessed the safe back at my hotel. "I'm… I'm English."

He laughs. "You're brown. Your family from India?"

"I have Indian heritage. Yes."

"Nice. I don't have any Indian women."

Daniel slowly stands from the bunk. "What do you mean? You don't have many Indian women." He grimaces in pain while holding his arm that is fixed in a tight sling across his chest. "She is going nowhere without me."

This is why I love Daniel. Despite everything, he still has my back.

The police captain doesn't seem to like Daniel. He draws his baton. "No talk." And points it at Daniel's face. "Down. Down. Or I beat you like bitch."

"OK. OK." Daniel retreats to the bunk. "Calm down."

The tall man sets his eyes on me. I can smell the spice of his cologne. His thin lips reveal a set of teeth stained by tobacco. "The man. The one you ran over last night. He has just died in hospital."

I scream and fall backwards onto my hard bunk. "No. No. No!"

"It's true."

"I need a phone call. I need a lawyer."

"No. You don't need a lawyer." The man slips a cigarette between his lips. He rummages around in the inside pocket of his leather jacket before pulling out a vintage zippo lighter embossed with an Orthodox cross. "You need a miracle."

"It was an accident."

"You fled the scene like a coward."

"I did. But I panicked.” My eyes burn from my salty tears, and I struggle to see. "There were no streetlights and, and… he was in the middle of the road on a blind bend…." I'm speaking a million miles per hour and struggling to breathe. “The investigations will prove this."

He flicks the zippo, which lights first time. "The victim was called Petr. Forty-nine. An alcoholic and petty criminal. Always in and out of jail. He’s probably been in this cell. Not a pillar of society."

These facts don't make me feel better.

"But he had a family. Three children. One still in school." He burns the end of the cigarette and draws his first drag. "They all must go into care because you killed their father."

"What about the mother?"

He exhales the grey smoke through his flared nostrils like a demon. His wry smile told me he was enjoying torturing me. "She lost her mind to and cheap vodka. She had a bad start in life and never recovered. Her kids will go the same way. They say here, once an orphan, always an orphan."

The facts hit me in the stomach like a sledgehammer. I double over in pain and sink to the floor. My insides twist, and I want to vomit. "I feel sick."

The Captain jabs me in the temple with his baton. "Hit and run. Very serious crime. Also failed breathalyser." He jabbed me a second time. It hurts but not as much as his words. "Twenty years in prison."

"I only had one glass of wine."

Daniel stands up. "Listen. It was me who was driving. We switched seats before the police checkpoint."

"Daniel!"

"It's true."

"Shut the fuck up." The Captain goes to strike Daniel, but I stand up and step in the way.

Daniel was lying. He was fast asleep in the passenger seat, drunk after a friend's party. I gesture for Daniel to sit back down before turning back to the man. "No. It was me. I was driving. He's only trying to protect me."

"At least you're an honest murderer."

He's right. I am a murderer. How quickly can things change?

~

Like most writers, I thrive on feedback. Please leave your thoughts in the comments or inbox me if you want to chat. I don't mind criticism or suggestions as long as they are constructive.