Chapter 3
The morning of court, Kara’s limbs feel numb, like her body is ready to sink into the floor and disappear. She didn’t sleep well the night before, even after pouring over the case files. She’d tossed and turned, haunted by rough, phantom touches and cruel memories from long, long ago.
When she enters the shower to prepare for the day ahead, she turns the water on scalding, disappearing into it the way she always did as a teenager when her father was drunk and using her mother as a punching bag, their shouts dulled by the shower tiles.
Kara has long since learned that no matter how long she stands under the spray, she’ll never be able to block out reality long enough. That nothing can quite burn away the angry ashes of her soul.
She dresses in a lovely black pencil skirt, one that hugs her petite frame. It’s long, just barely covering her knees. The blouse she chooses is austere, white with black trim on the collar, shoulders, and cuffs. Kara lightly applies mascara and gently smudges some liner in the corner of her doe eyes. Never quite overdoing it, but just enough to make her look respectably awake.
With her nerves aflutter for court, she gathers her work tote, stuffs her folders inside of it and pulls on her black heels, shiny and sharp. Distinctly, she realizes that her knee joints actually hurt and there are cuts on the backs of her heels. With a huff of frustration, Kara races back to the bathroom, wildly digging for band-aids to apply, to act as a barrier against the raw flesh.
Crap. Don’t be late, don’t be late...Derrick won’t be happy if I’m late.
Band-aids applied, she skitters back into the kitchen to grab her wallet from her purse to shift over to her work tote.
When she fishes her wallet out of her everyday purse, she freezes at the sight of loose cash. She swallows thickly, touching her jaw lightly. She’s lucky that the collar of her blouse buttons up high, hiding the bruising there. She’d used makeup to touchup the mess on her jawline and lip.
The fact that she has to cover anything up makes her grind her teeth together. It’s been years since she’s had to use makeup for such a thing. With a fit of rage, she snatches the money and rips it out of her purse, throwing it haphazardly on her kitchen table. Maybe she’ll burn it later. With a stomach that won’t stop turning, Kara leaves the filthy, vile, unwanted five hundred dollars. The faded green bills stare at her, as if she has committed some horrible crime.
With a rain cloud hovering over her mind, Kara leaves her place, hailing a cab to take her to court, where she finds Derrick Benson and the client already waiting. Ah. Work. The most soothing aspect of her life. With a real smile on her lips, Kara nods to the named partner of the firm. “Good morning, Mr. Benson.” On his other side is one of the firm’s senior associates, Bob Tate, an older gentleman who nods to Kara in greeting as well.
Debra Mills stands behind them, head hung in what appears to be dejection. Or shame. Kara doesn’t want to know what it’s like to have your dirty laundry hung out for everyone to see. It isn’t like the case is a quiet one; in fact, it’s quite the scandal.
The piranhas, ahem , the press teams are having a field day with the whole sexualized situation, naturally.
Their client is an unassuming looking woman, middle-aged, blonde with big blue eyes, a docile air about her. Kara gives her a tight smile, trying to seem comforting, which doesn’t come to her naturally. Comforting isn’t her style. Does she crave comfort herself? Oh, sure. But that’s because her parents rarely could ever be bothered to give her any when she was a child. Her father could only see himself in any room, a fact that in effect made Kara’s mother too bitter to spare affection for her only child. “Are you ready, Debbie?”
The woman shrugs her shoulders in a slight motion, eyes evasive. A nervous, submissive gesture. “As ready as I ever will be, Kara. Derrick, how is today supposed to go? Is he…is he going to be here?”
Derrick Benson is a good-looking man in his mid-forties, a clean-cut figure with a down to earth nature. His dark hair is only beginning to show signs of grey and his eyes are always smiling. A likeable man that people enjoy working for. “Both sides will present their cases. As we spoke through, we are going to present that what happened to you was legitimate rape. You may have been willing to be at the club, and you may have been willing to engage with Max Dotaire, but you were put in a situation where your ask to stop was ignored and you were subsequentially taken advantage of most grotesquely.” He pauses to catch Debra’s eyes in his calm gaze. “We want to push for First Degree, but the judge will likely downgrade it to Second Degree rape. In regards to the establishment, the Dark Mirage hasn’t put enough guard-rails in place to protect its clients and the club failed you and likely many others that may have been exposed to people who shouldn’t have the power to harm others unchecked.”
Seeing her look of nervousness, Derrick sighs. “To your final question. I’m afraid he will be here, Debra. But, he can’t harm you. He’ll be sitting with the defense. On the other side of the room.”
Debra nods her understanding, giving a tired smile. Kara pats her on the arm with a wane shifting of her lips; she feels for Debra, but finds herself prevented from relating too closely. Dangerously. “You’ll do fine. The worst he can do is look at you, Debbie.”
The blonde nods, wiping at her eyes.
Gesturing to the courtroom, Derrick asks the group, “Shall we?”
He pauses at the large doorway as Bob and Debra filter into the nearly empty space first. Derrick must see something on Kara’s face, because he stops her with a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Hey. Hey . Don’t forget to breathe. You’re looking pale.”
Gah . She doesn’t want him to think she isn’t ready for this case. It’s such a good opportunity for her to work with him directly. A stellar opportunity, in fact. She wants him to look good in front of his client; bringing him down is her biggest fear. “I’m just…nervous that I’ll let you down. Is the opposing counsel as good as you say?”
Derrick’s face darkens. “Don’t worry about the opposing counsel. Leave them to me. Keep sharp on the files, on objections, discrepancies…and we will be good. This is a tough case. A long haul. And, if we win, there could be a promotion in the cards for you. You’ve worked hard; it’s time to get your toes wet. This will be good experience for you.”
“Aye, aye, Captain,” Kara says with a grin, feeling bolstered by his praise.
It’s one of those things that’s stayed with her forever; her father had always played favorites between Kara and her mother when he could be bothered to notice them. One week you were the Queen of the Castle and the next week…you were lower than a worm crawling through a corpse.
It was a horrible cycle; the desperate longing shared by mother and daughter alike to receive a scrap of affection, only to receive it at the expense of the other. Then, the winds would always shift and once more the indifference would take over, infusing the victims with loss and confusion.
Always wondering what they had done wrong, why they weren’t up to his standards.
God, he’d always been so charming when he wanted to be, her father. He liked to spin them up and watch them unwind like sick little toys. He played his games to keep himself from being bored, because he loved whirling them around like a freakish carousel that they were all chained to in equal misery.
Hell, her father had played her mother straight into the grave, after all.
At her seat beside Derrick, Kara shuffles her papers studiously, not thinking about how praise makes her feel, about how her stomach had flipped when Derrick had shown her kindness.
More and more people start filing into the courtroom, including the honorable Judge Canry, an older man with wild tufts of white hair sticking up from his head. He scowls distinctly at the empty table where the defense team is expected to already be seated at.
Judge Canry pulls out a gold pocket watch and looks at it with a dour expression.
So, they wait, fiddling in their seats.
Just when it looks like the Judge is about to hold the absent team in contempt for being late, the doors open and opposing counsel strolls in with lazy appeal, looking clean-cut in finely tailored suits. They amount to a trio of well-dressed men and Kara can only assume one is the named partner of the opposing law firm, the infamous Nicholas Havenwood-Calais that Derrick is always complaining about.
She’s never seen him before, but she’s heard others groan in dismay around the office when they hear he’s on the opposing side of a case.
“Calais is the kind of man that gives the rest of us a bad rap,” Derrick would always say with a grimace on his face. “He’s a viper in a suit.”
Kara eyeballs the assembled enemy, mentally categorizing them. Sunshine in the slate grey, Trouble in navy, and Rugby in midnight black.
Sunshine, because that one appears to be the youngest of the three men, around Kara’s age. Feathery, soft-looking blonde hair and pale eyes, a sparkling watch and fancy Italian shoes. Cute, with an open face, probably a quick laugh, too. Trouble has sharp features and an aloof expression, paired with cold eyes. He’s got an athletic build that the trim navy suit is clearly tailored for. His aura of confidence is marred by the disdain that seems to hover about his lips. Rugby simply looks like he belongs on the field, tasteful stubble on his strong jawline and a hint of a nose that’s been broken once or twice before. A tall man, half a head taller than his counterparts, with dark hair and even darker eyes. He’s got a barrel of a chest and probably sounds like thunder when he speaks.
Kara notes this all with a small amount of scorn, naturally. Idly chewing on the edge of her pen as she creeps on them as they pass by. A bunch of former frat boys let loose, is what they are.
None of them look concerned. All three, in fact, appear to find the occasion beneath them, because Kara hears a few choice words about golfing float by in their wake. Ah, yes, expensive golf outings are so important.
Trailing behind the three lawyers comes the two defendants; the Dom who committed the heinous offence against Debra, Max Dotaire, along with the owner of the Dark Mirage ; Paxton ‘Pax’ Brooker. Both men look unconcerned, smiling and whispering to each other.
Kara scowls; these fruitloops think they have this in the bag.
When everyone is situated, Judge Canry gives the defensive counsel a hard stare, drumming his fingers loudly. “Did you have more important engagements this morning, Mr. Havenwood-Calais? Is my court an afterthought for you now? I’m not above fining you to make the lesson stick.”
Of the men seated, Trouble in the lovely navy suit leans forward. In seconds, he transforms from being carved out of stone to beaming with a sharp smile, his perfect teeth so fucking white. “My apologies, your Honor. You know I value your judgement with the utmost respect.”
Kara does a double-take before leaning closer to Derrick, whispering, “So, that’s…?”
He barely nods. “Unfortunately, yes.”
Somehow, she’d imagined he’d be Rugby. Hulking and aggressive. Not…sleek and cultured looking.
Judge Canry doesn’t look impressed in the least, seemingly muttering something under his breath. He gestures with his hand absently, as if dismissing Calais entirely.
Then, the proceedings begin.
Kara watches as Derrick gives his opening arguments, standing with a certain elegance as he speaks to the crowd and the jury. He’s serious, earnest, and paints the defense in quite the terrible light. “To summarize,” he concludes, “I’m going to prove that the defense took advantage of their power, especially in Mr. Dotaire’s case, to rape Debra Mills. Not only was she taken advantage of, but the Dark Mirage did not step in or protect her person when she screamed for help. What sort of establishment hires people that torture others for enjoyment? And I don’t mean ‘torture’ with the crack of a whip or slap of a flog; I mean hanging someone from the ceiling with a hook in their anal cavity as they scream to be let down, only to be raped once released from suspension. The Dark Mirage is grossly negligent and is well aware that many of their employees have criminal records. Thank you.”
The Judge inclines his head, “Thank you, Mr. Benson. Well spoken.”
As Derrick returns towards their table, Trouble stands up to replace him in the front of the room. With a shark grin, he wiggles his eyebrows at Derrick in passing, head turned so the Judge can’t see. Derrick scoffs.
Where Derrick is elegant when giving statements, this man is electric and Kara can’t take her eyes away as he passionately states his piece for the defense. She tells herself she’s only paying such close attention because it’s her job to, but there’s something about him that’s magnetizing.
That, and he’s absolutely awful. Awful, because he’s spinning his tale like Debra is crying rape after being ashamed of what she did with her Dom, that’s she’s a known masochist, that Trouble’s got pages of her blog printed out to share with the jury, things written in her own words about how she enjoys ‘the lifestyle’ she’s found in the Dark Mirage .
But, damn, he’s good at making it sound like the reality. Kara feels her stomach sink slightly; Derrick wasn’t joking when he said this case would be tough. He’s smooth. He could talk his way out of a dark alley mugging.