Chapter 45 Raiden
RAIDEN
“Are you ready for this, tiny dancer?” Jericho asks me, his voice quiet in the hallway filled with people standing around waiting.
The marble floors and dark oak doors are intimidating as I stare at them, imagining what other people are enduring on the other side.
I attempt to swallow past the lump in my throat that’s been stuck in there since I learned about this court date.
I thought the worst of it was already done before I moved home.
I filed the divorce papers like I was supposed to.
I thought I did everything right. But to know I didn’t, and that even in my weakest moments I was being preyed upon for not bending to the will of a horrible man, it was as if someone had taken a jackhammer to my heart and soul.
The only thing that held me together was Jericho.
He held me in his arms as I shed tears over a past life that I thought I was rid of.
He tucked my head on his shoulder and his blonde hair tickled my nose too many times to count as we discussed what we could expect to happen today.
Am I ready to confront my abuser, in front of all my friends and family so they can see how truly pathetic I was while I was under Josh’s thumb?
No, of course I’m not ready. I don’t know if I’ll ever be truly ready to confront that trauma.
Especially with a crowd. Their judging faces, wondering why I didn’t leave at the first sign of trouble.
Wondering how I went back to him after everything he did to me when we were nothing more than teenagers.
I don’t have the answer and I wish I did.
I wish I had a reason and a justification for what I did, but I don’t.
I wish I could have gone back to that moment in high school, when Jericho asked me about that party.
I should have told him no. I should have told him that I want to be with him, not surrounded by shitty people.
There were plenty of times I could have spoken up and told Jericho how I truly felt and saved us both a lot of heartbreak.
But that’s the shitty thing about life: if everything worked out how you wanted it to, there would be no issues for anyone. And that’s unrealistic, even for me.
Even so, my palms are sweaty and I have to wipe them on my black Tom Ford pants to help myself feel in control.
Jericho reaches for my hand and I let him, no matter how gross it probably feels from his perspective.
He’s never cared about me being less than perfect, and if anything, he’s blind to my flaws.
Or maybe what he tells me is the truth, he doesn’t see anything wrong with me.
He thinks I’m perfect, even if perfect is a far-fetched idea.
I nod my head at his question, attempting to be as perfect as I can for him.
His touch grounds me in the best way. His hand in mine tells me I’m here, you’re safe, I won’t let him hurt you. The same things he’s reassured me of since day one, but I was too young too fucking naive to understand what he meant. To understand the true lengths he would go to for me.
Now I do, though. Jericho wasn’t meant to replace Josh, and Josh wasn’t meant to replace Jericho.
Jericho was my first love and my true love, and how fucking lucky am I to be able to claim he’s both.
I would rather have my heart broken a million times over if it meant I got to live a fraction of my life happy with him.
I’ve fucked up, many times, but even still he stands beside me with his head held high.
I take a little bit of his confidence for myself, squaring my shoulders as we walk into the courtroom.
It quiets down as the two of us walk in, the loud murmurs we could hear coming from beyond the heavy wooden doors are silent now and our footsteps are impossibly loud against the marble flooring.
Our families are on the right, sitting with their backs straight and facing ahead to where the judge’s bench is.
The judge isn’t here yet, and the empty space freaks me out.
My spine stiffens and my body is rigid, so Jericho keeps his hand tightly secured in mine as we walk to take our seats beside my lawyer.
Originally, Jericho wasn’t going to be able to sit up here with me. It was deemed that only the two involved could be past the public barrier. After a long, in-depth description about the mind games Josh tends to play with me, and our history, my lawyer found a way for Jericho to be by my side.
I risk a glance behind me, taking in our support system. Behind us are my parents, Jericho’s parents, Connor, Hollis, Ace, Elijah, Noah, Sophie, with little Damon sitting on the end, wearing his best collared shirt and his hair is braided back in a ponytail, like how I usually keep mine.
I smile, despite the dread building in my gut.
He isn’t here yet, the table to the left of us shows no sign of Josh. Only a lawyer in a fancy suit, with his black briefcase opened on the table with papers strewn about.
I swallow down the bubbling nausea and sit in my seat right beside Mr. Matthis. “Hi,” I say, my voice shaking as I turn to face him. Jericho’s hand is on my leg, the weight anchors me and I rest my hand on top of his, squeezing to show my appreciation.
“How are you doing?” His voice is neutral, not at all concerned. As if we’re having a matcha latte while our boyfriends are playing golf instead of me having to face my soon-to-be-ex-husband.
“Could be better, but at least I’m not dead,” I tell him, genuinely meaning it.
I can practically hear Jericho’s eye roll, but that’s fine.
He doesn’t like that I make jokes about being dead, but I could actually be dead and I think that would be worse for him.
He’ll have to deal with the dark humor until I learn another way to cope.
“Nope, you’re not dead, but you are about to be a free man. And a whole lot richer.”
I don’t care about the money. I’ve seen the articles online, all of them claiming the same thing.
Money, money, money. It’s always about the money.
The truth is, Josh could leave me broke.
He could take every cent I have, but as long as he lets me have my freedom, I couldn’t care less about the money.
There’s no monetary value I can put on knowing that at the end of this court session, I will no longer have any ties to the man who has tried to ruin my life over and over again.
It wasn’t enough that he couldn’t have me, but to pull life-saving measures away from me because he didn’t want anyone else to have me? That should be a crime.
The clock ticks in the courtroom, the silence is an eerie omen and I can’t relax into my seat no matter how hard I try.
The door in the back of the courtroom swings open, the hinges creaking from the force.
I keep my head facing the front, refusing to acknowledge the devil himself as he walks in.
He thought he could intimidate me, try to get me to break the calm composure I’m faking right now by waiting until the last minute to walk in, asserting the dominance he fakes so well.
Jokes on him, I refuse to bend to his will anymore. I will never break again. I will never beg for someone to love me, just for them to give me scraps. I will never have to worry about my partner cheating on me, gaslighting me, or using me for what I can offer.
I look at Jericho out of the corner of my eyes, his blonde hair is neatly styled today, the short strands pushed back out of his face with my hair gel.
He even let me put a layer of brown mascara on his eyes, drawing attention to his green irises.
The green irises that meet mine and there’s strength in them, devotion, dedication. All of that is reserved for me.
I don’t know how I ever got lucky enough to have Jericho in my life, but I’ll never take it for granted again.
Josh struts in, and sits beside his lawyer.
I can feel the vibration of him dropping unceremoniously into the chair like he doesn’t have a care in the world.
He thinks he’ll get everything he could ever dream of.
He already had access to all of my money, most of which was from our accounts.
He had me by the ball and chain, and now that I’m free from the shackles, he has nothing left.
This court date is his one last hail mary to get something out of me.
Even if it is the knowledge that he signed the papers, but only because he wanted to.
Not because I asked him to, or the lawyer, but he decided he would.
Until the term narcissism used to describe one of our former head choreographers, I never truly understood the word.
I thought it was something people used as an insult when they were angry with their partner.
Like ugh, you’re so narcissistic you only care about yourself.
Which, yes, is still the right way of using it, but I didn’t know what it meant.
Narcissism goes beyond caring only about yourself. It's the need to put others down because they will never live up to you. It’s keeping people as things and objects, things to own rather than someone to build a connection with and share a life with.
Josh never cared about me. Never once was there a nice word about me uttered out of his mouth.
He liked how I looked when I wore the clothes he picked out.
He liked when I went out with him to corporate dinners and enthralled people with stories of my travels- but only when Josh was present for those travels.
There was never a moment I had by myself, and looking back on it now I feel foolish for ever thinking he truly cared about me.
He doesn’t care about anything, except himself and his ego.
I was nothing more than a ballerina in a music box, putting on a show when he decided. Not because I wanted to or enjoyed it, but because his words were law.
The bailiff makes an announcement, but through the fuzz in my ears I can’t comprehend the words he’s saying. Instead, I’m following the queues of everyone else as they stand, waiting for the judge to enter.
Jericho’s hand secures mine, his warm, calloused palm anchoring me to the ground as a woman comes flowing in from the back chambers in a long, flowy, black gown that drags across the floor with every step she takes, her heels clacking against the floor as she takes measured steps towards her bench.
I blacked out at some point–probably when Josh stood up and addressed the Judge in that perfectly put together way he cons everyone into believing his bullshit, the same way I fell for it. I have to hand it to him, he's smart and when he was sucking up, I thought for sure we were done.
I shut down, letting my body carry me into the depths of darkness and waiting for the gavel to bang and keep me locked in this terrifying nightmare.
A slap on my back jolts me out of my thoughts and I swing my head around to look at the person who just made contact with me.
It’s my dad and he’s smiling wildly with tears streaming down his face.
The insane expression on his face has me cutting my eyes to Jericho to see what’s happening right now, the insanity on my dad’s face has me questioning how much I truly missed out on.
But Jericho isn’t doing any better, if anything, he’s doing worse than my dad. He’s just holding it together, but I can see him starting to crumble.
“You did it, tiny dancer.” Jericho’s voice breaks on the last syllable of my nickname, the crack dramatizing the moment and making me realize that holy shit. I did it. I faced my now ex-husband and I came out on the other side unscathed.
I’m free. Free from Josh. Free from the overbearing needs and demands.
I’m staring at Jericho and the freedom coursing through my veins has my body moving before my mind can catch up.
I palm the back of his head, cupping his neck and twirling my hand through his blonde strands as I drag his face down to meet mine in a kiss.
His lips pressed against mine, and the tears he was holding back joined our kiss in a medley of soft moments.
His taste on my tongue and our families around as they watched what was going to be the day that I was strong.
But the only reason I was strong was because of this man right here.
He showed me my worth, that I don’t deserve to be treated like I’m less than just because.
I’m lovable and beautiful and there’s more to me than what’s on the surface.
I can be caring and show empathy. I love deeply and fully.
And there’s no one other than him I would rather have by my side.