Monday, April 18th
Ronan
I don’t think I can do this.
It’s a quarter past seven in the morning. My dad, Steve, and Penny are downstairs, ready to head to the car to drive to the courthouse where I’ll be required to face my mother for the first time since she almost killed me.
We were about to head out the door when I felt the bile rise in my throat and I made up some quick excuse for needing to go back upstairs. And now I’m here on the bathroom floor, having just thrown up the little bit of water I was able to get down this morning. My skin is clammy and the anxiety clawing at my chest makes it feel as though someone is sitting on my rib cage.
Fuck, I can’t do this. Is running away an option? Maybe some kind of witness protection program? All I want is to disappear into thin air. I can’t do this. I kneel on the tile floor, my forehead resting on my arms draped over the cool porcelain toilet bowl. And I try to breathe. In five seconds, hold it five seconds, out five seconds.
Repeat.
Repeat again.
It's not working.
I pull my phone out of my back pocket, swipe to unlock it, and dial Cat’s number. Medicine.
“Hey,” she says when she picks up, her voice like salve to my racing thoughts.
“Talk to me,” I plead, my breathing labored, my voice raw from the stomach acid forcing its way up.
Her breath hitches and she’s quiet for a moment. I know she can tell I’m not okay right now.
“I was thinking we should go to the beach this weekend,” she says. “I know it’s not super warm yet, but the past few days have been so mild, and it would be fun to make some hot dogs over the open fire, don’t you think?”
I close my eyes, letting her voice wash through me. “That sounds nice.”
I’m exhausted already. Not a shocker, I guess, considering I didn’t sleep a lick last night; I was way too damn anxious to rest. The only positive was that I was awake just after midnight to call Shane and wish him a happy nineteenth birthday. I didn’t actually expect him to answer his phone but was so grateful when he did. He stayed on and talked with me for over an hour, trying to alleviate some of my anxiety. The universe really did make up for my shitty parents with the friends it brought into my life. Who needs parents when you have friends who would help you bury a body?
“Maybe I’ll bring that light-blue bikini, and we can hop in the hot tub. Or maybe I’ll let you carry me into the freezing-cold ocean,” she says, making her voice sound lighter than I know she feels.
“Okay.” I’m pretty sure I sound as drained as I feel.
“And afterwards, I think I want to just sit with you, be in your arms, feel your warmth while I run my fingers up and down your arm, maybe kiss your lips here and there to remind you of how much I love you.”
My chest tightens. The words finally break out of me. “I can’t do this, baby.”
“Yes, you can. You’re the strongest person I know, Ran. And you won’t be alone. We’re all there with you. You’re not alone with her. You’ll never have to face her alone ever again. I promise. Where are you right now?”
“On the bathroom floor.”
“What are you doing there?” She’s trying to make a joke.
I manage a tired chuckle. “Throwing up. Really sexy stuff happening over here.”
“Oh, yes, my wildest fantasies coming true,” she says. “Here’s what you’re going to do, sweet boy.” I love it when she calls me sweet boy. “You’re going to get up and brush your teeth. You’re going to remember who the fuck you are, and then you’re going to do this thing and get it over with. I’ll be there the whole time, only feet away from you, and if your mother so much as twitches in your direction, I will choke that bitch.”
That does it. I start to laugh at her, at the image of my perfect girl trying to come to my rescue. Fuck, I love her.
I stand and face the mirror, my pale, worn reflection staring back at me. “Thanks for the pep talk, baby.”
“Anytime. I’ll see you in a little while.”
We hang up and I do as she said. I brush my teeth again, then meet my dad, Penny, and Steve downstairs.
My dad squeezes my arm. “Ready?”
“Nope,” I say, walk out the door, and get into the backseat of my dad’s black Tahoe.
It’s a huge car considering where we live, but given that Steve, my dad, and I are all over six feet tall, a car like this makes sense. We can’t possibly all squeeze into a sedan, which is something my dad realized when Steve and I hit puberty and shot up overnight.
After Cat left last night, my dad spent some time talking to me about what to expect today, how the courtroom was set up, where everyone was sitting. It was his attempt to take some of the unknowns out of the experience, and I’m glad we make the car ride to court in silence today. Steve tries to talk to me a couple of times, but I can’t concentrate, his words flowing right over me as I look out the window.
At court, we’re met by Darren Cooley, the D.A. I spoke with him a few times while I was in Montana. He’s the attorney prosecuting the case and he spent hours yesterday prepping me for my testimony. I’m not sure I can ever be truly prepared for what awaits me, though.
With Darren is a young woman whom he introduces as Rachel Lozano, another deputy D.A.
“She’s just observing,” Darren says, but I get the feeling she’s here to babysit me while I wait—not in the hallway, but in a small room just off to the side of the main courtroom—to be called so I don’t inadvertently have a run-in with my mother.
Rachel whisks me away into seclusion. I don’t like that I didn’t get to see Cat at all. I was hoping to at least catch a glimpse of her before I enter hell, but there goes that hope.
“See you soon, bud,” my dad calls after me. I look around at him, wishing someone could make all of this stop.
The room Rachel leads me into is small and illuminated by unnatural fluorescent lights. There are no windows, only a large wooden table and some chairs around it.
“Is this usually where you lock up your witnesses?” I ask Rachel when I take a seat.
She laughs. “Only in special situations. Attorneys also use this room when awaiting a verdict or to meet with their clients outside the jury’s earshot, or to confer on strategy during hearings. It’s an all-purpose room, but today we’re using it to shield you.”
“So you are here to babysit me. I figured as much,” I say with a shake of my head.
“That obvious, huh?”
I nod.
“I’ll hang out with you until Darren calls you. He’ll send me a quick text when the bailiff is on his way to get you, and I’ll walk in with you and the bailiff, who will then lead you to the stand and you testify. I’ll take a seat in the audience behind Darren.”
“Sounds like a walk in the park.” I’m nauseated again.
“Ronan, I know you’re scared. I’d be worried if you weren’t. But you’re going to do great. Just focus on Darren. Nobody else. Pretend it’s just you and him in there. Answer his questions the best you can, and before you know it, it’ll be over,” Rachel tells me in a warm, soothing tone.
“Just like that, huh?”
She nods. “Just like that.”
Rachel tries to engage me in small talk, probably to distract me, asking me all kinds of random questions until her phone buzzes and my stomach is instantly in knots.
“Okay,” she says, raising her eyes to me. “Darren just texted; the bailiff is coming to get you right now. Remember, Ronan, deep breaths. Just focus on Darren; don’t worry about anything or anyone else.”
My heart is frantic in my chest as I stand. I keep clenching my hands into fists, then unclenching them to stop them from shaking, but it doesn’t work. They feel cold and numb.
The door to the small room opens and a police officer in full uniform enters the room.
“Hey Rach,” he says with a smile, and she raises her hand in a greeting. “You ready, Ronan?” he asks me as if we’ve met before. He turns, and I follow him with Rachel walking behind me. I keep willing my feet forward, but my entire being screams at me to turn around and get as far away from this place as quickly as possible. I feel like I’m walking into a lion’s den, my muscles coiling like tight springs, making my neck and shoulders ache.
Too soon, we arrive at the heavy wooden double doors, and I step into the courtroom, sheer adrenaline moving me forward. To my absolute dismay, the courtroom is full of people. Everyone’s eyes are on me, though I don’t dare lift my mine to look around and find the people who are here to support me, trying instead to stay in the zone and focus on what I must do. I can’t tell if the courtroom is dead silent or if the sound of my heartbeat drowns out any noise around me.
I follow the bailiff down the narrow walkway between rows of benches to my left and right and to a wood barrier. The hairs on my neck stand. I can sense my mother’s presence even before I see her. It’s like my body is finely tuned to know when she’s around, to anticipate danger. Right on cue, my senses go into overdrive, that well-trained fight-or-flight response activated and putting me on high alert. I can hear people shuffle behind and next to me, someone is whispering quietly, and cars are going by the building outside; the courtroom smells like cleaner and mahogany, and it’s really fucking bright in here, but cold, the A/C set too low for the mild spring temperatures outside.
I look up and lock eyes with her—my mother, my tormentor. I want to hold her gaze, to let her know I’m not afraid of her anymore, but the truth is, I am. I’m fucking terrified; I’m scared to talk about everything she’s done to me, to recall the memories, even those I’ve buried deep within me. Walking up to the witness stand, I feel like a child again, helpless and at my mother’s mercy.
The moment I get to my seat and turn to face the audience, however, Darren Cooley positions himself directly in line of my mother’s view of me, blocking us. I give him a grateful look as he nods almost imperceptibly at me. The bailiff makes me raise my right hand and takes my oath to tell the truth. Then I sit, and Darren begins my direct examination about seventeen years, two months, and twenty-six days of fear, pain, and violence.