Blame It On The Pain Episode 78
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🧏 Blame It On The Pain Episode 78 💞
(Jackson)
I walk into the recreation room and find a seat. I have no idea what’s going on, but Ricardo insisted I come here.
Since there’s nothing better to do, I decide to start playing cards with another inmate.
“Hit or Stay?”
I eye my cards. “Hit.”
Dmmit. I lost. Story of my life.
“Yo, man. That dude on T.V looks just like you,” some guy calls out.
I pick the cards up and begin to shuffle them.
“Yo, man,” the guy shouts.
My card-mate tilts his head. “I think he’s talking to you.” I turn my head but get distracted by my image on the screen.
Then I hear the words that I’ll never forget. “My name is Jackson Reid. There are two things you need to know about me. The first—is that I’m in love with Alyssa Tanner. The second—is that I’m a mur derer.”
“That is me,” I tell the guy.
Me and my entire confession. On the news.
What was Alyssa thinking? I didn’t even realize she still had that.
“A new video has gone viral,” the newscaster says after my video ends. “It’s sweeping across the nation and has garnered the attention of all social media sites.”
My chest tightens. I don’t know if this is a good thing or bad.
Every inmate in the room and a few of the guards start watching the television with earnest.
The newscaster’s face becomes serious. “We at WKWNY decided to take it to the streets of N.Y with our news correspondent Anne Walley to find out what your opinion is regarding Jackson Reid’s leaked confessional tape. Do you think he should stay in prison, America?”
“Sht, man,” the inmate across from me says. “If that was my baby sis. You best believe I would have done the same dmn thing.”
There are a few nods of agreement around the room, but I don’t get my hopes up. These are my fellow inmates, after all.
Anne Walley holds the microphone up to a woman with short blonde hair carrying her puppy in one of those big designer purses. She looks nice, maybe this won’t be so bad.
“Jackson Reid should spend the rest of his life in a prison cell. What is wrong with you people! He’s a ki ller. He shouldn’t be allowed to roam free. You don’t take the law into your own hands. You do the crime, you do the time,” she bellows, before she pets her puppy.
I close my eyes. This is worse than to..rture. At least, I’ll be well prepared for court. I told Ricardo not to waste his money.
I open my eyes as Anne Walley approaches another person and asks their opinion. A male this time. He’s about 17 or 18 and he’s wearing a baseball cap backwards on his head. “I don’t know,” he says appearing to be lost in thought. “I mean, I don’t really like my little sister all that much.” He looks down. “But, if someone ever hurt her or worse, ki lled her. I can’t say that I wouldn’t do the same, you know? I guess I can understand where he’s coming from.”
Anne approaches another bystander. It’s another woman. She’s in her late 30s and she’s holding a crying toddler in her arms. “I’m a Jackson Reid supporter. We need more men like him in the world.” She looks down at her child. “I don’t want my little girl to live in a world where domestic abusers can get away with hurting or ki lling others. I want her to live in a world where there’s men like Jackson Reid who aren’t afraid stand up and get revenge for women like his sister.”
Anne approaches another woman. She’s in her mid-20’s and has a few shopping bags in her hand. “Well, I have a few ex-boyfriends that I’d like Jackson Reid to take care of.”
Her face turns sad. “But in all seriousness. Have you seen that video? Ignore the fact that he’s good looking and actually listen to the pain he’s in, people. The guy lost his sister. She was ki lled by his best friend. Be..aten to de ath. Can you really blame the guy, Anne? I don’t think he should be serving any time. It’s obvious that he’s already suffered enough.”
Anne approaches another person. A man in his late 40’s this time. He has a beard and a few tattoos. “I don’t have a sister,” he pauses. “But I do have a daughter. And if any—” There’s a beep. And another beep. “Put his—” another beep. “Hands on her or ki lled her, you’d better believe I’d find his—” another beep. “and ki ll him with my bare hands!” he screams into the camera before he briskly walks away.
The recreation room erupts in applause. But then Anne approaches another woman.
Oh, god. It’s Momma.
“Jackson Reid is my son,” she says in her Southern twang.
Anne Walley looks skeptical. “I’m sorry ma’am, did you say your son?” Momma gives her a look and grabs the mic. “That’s right. He’s my boy. And this—” The camera moves and I see Tyrone, Shelby, Ricardo and Alyssa. My heart squeezes.
“Is his family,” Momma continues as they all nod in unison. “We love him. He’s a good man, America. He’s not perfect, but he’s got a heart like no one else and a good soul. Judge not, lest you be judged is all I’m sayin’.”
The camera focuses back on Anne. “Well, there you have it, folks.”
TO Be Continued
