Love and hate
Vera’s heart skipped a beat as she ran outside to see Joan covered in blood. As much as she was horrified to see Bea in her present state, she almost felt relieved that it wasn’t Joan stumbling down instead of her.
This was all her fault. She’d been foolish enough to go along with Bea’s plan, and now her carelessness had brought a code Black on their hands. What a poor excuse for a governor she was.
“Bea? Bea? Can you hear me? The ambulance is coming. Will, Will! Listen to me, it’s okay I’ll stay with Smith. Please escort Ferguson back inside with Officer Stewart, now!”
-Should we bring her to medical?
-No, she seems fine, just in shock. She’s been through this before. It’s not her first time attacking somebody. Just-just get her into protection unit! Now!
-Yes governor.
Will’s reluctance to leave Bea’s side showed in the manner he grabbed Joan’s already cuffed wrists by one hand and pushed her in the back, with Jake Stewart’s grasp on her right arm. Will was fuming with rage, but so was Joan, who wasn’t paying any attention to the guards. She looked over her shoulder to the scene behind them as they were pulling her back inside: Bea Smith in a pool of her own blood, displaying that disturbing smile that would be forever engraved in Joan’s mind, as the symbol for her imminent defeat. How could she have lowered her guard like this by underestimating her opponent’s capacity to turn things around? Bea was clever, and since Joan had removed Ally from the picture, or so she thought, Bea had nothing to lose. She should’ve known better than to assume she’d evaluated all the risks with her. And there was Vera, kneeling beside her, with Bea’s blood on her hands. Yes, Vera was behind all this, of course she’d planned this whole thing with Smith. She was as much to blame for whatever the outcome would be. Joan knew that Vera had wanted her to pay for what she’d done, but that she would plan for her death was something she’d never anticipated before. Perhaps she was mistaken about Vera, maybe she too was ready to act for the greater good, as long as it really did benefit the ex-deputy. If things had gone as planned, Vera would’ve had Joan’s blood on her hands, and that redefined their positions significantly from where Joan stood. It officially ruled Vera off the list of potential allies, and brought her at the top of her enemies, out-ranking Will Jackson. Whatever she would do next, she would work towards destroying that backstabbing little mouse, if the recent events hadn’t already sealed the little governor’s fate...
***
Joan had been staring at the wall in front of her for the past seven hours since stabbing Bea Smith with the screwdriver that had her handprints all over it, along with her winning opponent’s blood, and would keep her locked up in here for a while longer... But she didn’t want to think about it too much. For some reason, all she could think about was Vera. Her Vera. How could she have turned against her in such ways? To wish for her death, only to never have Joan walk out free again and to remain Governor of Wentworth? Surely she would have calculated the risks better than that, and realized that such a scheme would only put her on the spot. No one would believe that Bea managed to achieve that on her own. Finding evidence of Vera’s implication in plotting would be easy. Either Vera was completely lacking of strategy, or she had pulled enough strings to feel confident about this whole conspiracy. After all she had friends among the professional community and allies among the board now. This was an organized attack against the person of Joan Ferguson, and Vera was the mastermind behind it, using Bea to execute it. In a way, Joan liked to think that Vera had turned into everything she accused her of embodying. Joan didn’t know whether to be proud or disgusted by her hypocrisy and betrayal at the moment, but it seemed clear now that her former deputy wasn’t the same little mouse she thought she’d only molded into a respectable prison officer.
A worried expression soon replaced Joan’s smile as something shifted in the way she perceived things. She was realizing that there was something off about her own feelings and ways to approach the case of Vera. Despite her profound anger and need for revenge, Joan couldn’t bring herself to hate Vera as much as she’d hated all those before her who had stood in her way and had been removed.
She weighed up whether she would have gone to the same extreme lengths as to eliminate Vera had their positions been reversed, and found both with shame and dismay that she wouldn’t.
She pursed her lips as she felt a cool tear slide down her cheek while coming to the realization that Vera hated her enough to flirt with the idea of having her killed, like she did her mother. She’d actually put the idea in motion. Yes Vera was capable of it, and it hurt her now that she’d been the target because deep down she knew that she could never have wished for Vera’s death.
Joan had never felt so conflicted, so defeated. For the first time in ages, she felt like dropping the weapons. The words “it’s possible to love and hate at the same time” had never rang truer.
A stern voice from the other side of the transparent wall broke her out of her trance: “Ferguson.” Joan didn’t move, she continued to stare emptily at the grey wall she faced, turning her back to the person who’d hurt her, who had hurt her on that very spot when she’d torn a letter written by her hand, letter addressed to the only person who’d ever come close to the child she’d never had.
The voice was now barely audible as it seemed broken, reflecting Joan’s pain: “Joan,” said Vera almost pleadingly as she opened the door and came inside. Sat on the bench, still not facing her, Joan tried to remain impassible in order to blink away the fresh tears that were threatening to overtake her. If one of them had to break in front of the other first, it would be Vera.