CHAPTER 29
Jordan
I have always been a believer in the power of therapy, I’ve witnessed first hand how it helped my bestie. Pete was reluctant at first—maybe not reluctant, but in denial that he needed therapy after he was drugged at Jacks, the same bar I was shot at. Maybe I need to find another waterhole? That is a thought for another day. When Pete finally relented and went to therapy, he came out a changed person. He now has the ability to recognise his triggers and boundaries and the coping mechanisms to combat them. Pete's husband Gavin went for decades without seeking help for his trauma and now the big grumpy bear is having open and difficult discussions without needing to turn to alcohol.
I’m not one for medications if I can help it. The doctor gave me antidepressant pills after the shooting to help me regulate my emotions and fears, and I made sure that they were a temporary thing. I didn’t want to rely on them for the rest of my life. Not that it’s a bad thing, it’s just not for me. I threw myself head first into therapy instead. It’s now been eight weeks since the incident and six weeks since I had a panic attack in the middle of the street.
My therapist, Bryan, started off having zoom calls with me in my apartment. He encouraged going outside—small distances at first. Just making it out of my apartment to the parking lot alone was a massive achievement. We worked our way up to meeting at the park. We walked and talked; lots of people around us on their daily jog. I froze up a few times, but Bryan talked me through it and I realised I could do this. It was okay to be afraid, but I shouldn’t be allowing fear to rule my life.
That also applied to my relationship in a lot of ways. My fear of commitment is likely stemming from something in my past. That is still a topic of discussion in our sessions. One day I will get to the bottom of the reason I kept Eric at arm’s length for so long. For now, though, we are very much together. All in love and shit.
I returned to work a few days ago, my shoulder healed and my physical therapy completed. I have a full range of movement, and the only time I ever feel a twinge from it is when the air conditioning has been cranked up too high in the office. Although I fully expect to feel some phantom pain from it today.
This morning is Jace Kemsley's sentencing hearing, and after much thought and discussion I decided to give a victim impact statement. Blake has also decided to speak about his experiences with Jace. I understand how hard this must be for him. Jace is his brother, after all, but it turns out that we never really got even half of Blake's story. The abuse he was suffering at his brother's hand for years deserves to see the light. This guy should have to face the consequences. In other words, we want the judge to throw the fucking book at him.
Not that this is going to be easy for anybody. Standing up in a room with your abuser—or attempted murderer in my case—and airing out everything that has happened to you because of one man is no mean feat. Blake is being so brave. He’s written down everything he wants to say to his brother. Nobody has read it. Not even my parents, who fought the system to get Blake emancipated and then moved him out to LA with them.
I’m sitting at the back of the courtroom. Eric to one side and Blake at the other. My mom and dad are here along with all of the guys from Savage Ink and a few people from the shelter. The level of support from all of these people has been nothing short of incredible. Even the fact they all showed up here today, knowing how difficult this is going to be. I agreed to go first to give Blake a little more time to gather himself.
Having gone through law school, I am no stranger to public speaking, but still my palms are sweating and my heart is pounding hard when I watch them escort Jace into the courtroom and sit him at the defendant’s desk. He keeps his back to us, likely he has been told to do so. Rich Lough, the DA, told us this morning when we arrived at the court building that Jace had waived his right to speak for himself today.
I squeeze Blake’s hand as the judge starts to explain how the proceedings are going to go. They will first hear the impact statements, then go over the charges before the judge hands down his ruling. I don’t fear Jace Kemsley anymore, but the thought of standing up there and telling everything to a courtroom full of people: the attorneys, the press, and a bunch of random court-surfing strangers, has me feeling sick to the core. Nausea is roiling in my stomach, threatening to have me running for the bathroom.
“Mr Bell, are you ready?” the judge asks, and I nod slowly as I get to my feet, hating that my legs are shaking right now. Moving up to the podium and the microphone that has been set up for us, I quickly clear my throat before unfolding my notes. I didn’t want to read from a script. I wanted this all to come from my soul, but with my nerves fraying, I'm glad I brought some backup.
“My name is Jordan Bell. Jace Kemsley shot me in cold blood outside a bar on my birthday. Thankfully Mr Kemsley is a terrible shot, allowing me to stand here today and witness justice being served first hand.
“I am here today to tell you how my life has been affected since the shooting, and why I believe that Mr Kemsley needs to be locked in prison for a very long time so that he cannot do this to the next person who stands up to him for being the bully that he is.
“You see, the reason that Mr Kemsley shot me was because my boyfriend and I stopped him and three of his friends from beating up a teenage boy in the alleyway at the side of my apartment building. The teenage boy turned out to be Mr Kemsley's younger brother. By bringing this boy into my home and getting him the help he desperately needed, Mr Kemsley believed my life should be forfeited, and he was the judge, jury and the executioner.
“He thought that my life should end because I stopped him and his friends beating up a defenseless child. That is what speaks volumes for the character of this man. Mr Kemsley should not have the privilege to walk around free with a mindset like that.
“I know that I will never be free from the trap that night triggered in my head. I used to walk around the city streets with my head held high, but now it is on a swivel. Even though I know that my attacker is in jail, my mind will not let me rest. If I cannot have freedom, then Mr Kemsley certainly does not deserve it. Thank you, Your Honor.”
My heart is pounding so hard it's roaring in my ears as I sit back down and immediately press in against Eric's side. The whole time I was up there, I kept looking at Jace’s back. He didn’t turn around of course, I didn’t expect him to, but he sat with his posture relaxed. Not a care in the world. It made me want to scream at him in rage.
“Mr Kemsley, are you ready?” the judge asks.
I turn to look at Blake, who is white as a sheet, and I offer him a small smile.
“You got this, kid,” Eric whispers to him, patting his back as he passes us to take his place behind the podium.
I watch Blake’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows hard. He looks so young and scared. I want to run up there and hold his hand, but I think he needs to face his brother like this in order to find his freedom.
“My name is Blake Kemsley and the defendant in this case is my brother. I wish I could say that I was here to plead for leniency or tell a fond story of my childhood with my brother in the hopes to appeal to your softer side. That is not what I am here for today.
“I was thirteen years old when my junkie mother overdosed on heroin in our one-bedroom apartment. My dad was long gone, likely suffering the same fate. Not that I could really call either of these people ‘parents’, because they cared more about their next fix than they did their kids. I grew up with hunger being the factory setting and school something I could only dream of. I slept on the floor in our apartment and mostly just watched whatever was on TV.
“It didn’t seem so bad when I was a kid, because I had my brother with me. He was older and he would always manage to find food. I idolised him for a long time. When my mom died, my brother was eighteen and he had a job at a local car wash. I guess CPS didn’t look too far into it. One less kid for them to worry about. Jace got enough money to send me to school. He helped as much as he could with my school work and he kept food on the table.
“Until he didn’t. Until drugs and booze became more important. Until I became nothing but a punching bag for him and his friends to torture. He found lipgloss in my room. A girl in school had given it to me. I was gay, not that I ever told my brother that. I guess I didn’t need to, though. He knew and he took that as a valid reason to make my life miserable. The beatings, I got used to. Hiding my bruises became second nature to me; it’s not like my mother was shy about raising her hand to me even as a toddler. Yes, the beatings I could take.
“What I couldn’t take was constantly being told I was vile and disgusting. I was nothing in this world and I deserved every ounce of pain that he and his friends exacted on me. The torture was relentless, and I realized that I had two options: run and live, or stay and die.
“Every second of every minute of my life I have lived in fear of my family, the people who are supposed to love and protect me. I stand here today to ask you to please give me as much time as possible to live without the fear of my brother finding me and killing me like he promised many times. Take his freedom and give me a chance to live. Thank you, Your Honor.”
My heart aches for Blake. Hearing about his life, how he never really had a chance to live. Yet he is this exceptional young man. I doubt I will ever know that depth of strength. Standing as he comes back, I throw my arms around him and hug him to my body. I feel another set of arms embracing him from behind, then another and another until we are essentially in a cuddle pile. Blake will never go another day without knowing what being loved feels like. Not only from my parents, but from everybody here today.
“I’m so proud of you,” I whisper, not ashamed that tears are streaming down my face. I wouldn’t be surprised if there wasn’t a dry eye in the court right now. “It’s over, Blake. It’s your time now,” I assure him. Whatever he wants to do with his life, I vow I will do everything in my power to make it happen for him. This is his chance at a redo. Parents who love him. A brother who would walk through fire for him and a very large extended family. “We’ve got you, remember?”
None of us move or lift our heads until we hear the judge asking for Jace to stand up.
“Mr Jace Kemsley, you have pled guilty to the charge of second degree attempted murder and being in the possession of an illegal firearm. You will remain incarcerated for twenty years, with the possibility of parole after no less than fifteen years.”
He goes on to talk about appeals, but I block it all out, looking at Blake. His tear-stained face actually has a smile on it.
“Now it really is over,” I tell him, hugging him back against me. “You never need to see him again.”
“It’s over for you too, Jordy,” Blake reminds me.
I just nod, looking over his head at my boyfriend, who is watching us with watery eyes.
“I love you,” I mouth at Eric, just to see his smile widen.
“I love you more, Lashes”, he mouths back.
I always thought I would get the ick hearing a guy tell me he loves me. Not Eric, though. I will never get sick of hearing it from him, and I doubt I ever will.