Chapter 37
37
ERIC
Two Weeks Later:
“Are you sure you want to be in the same room as him?” the victim’s advocate asks me for the fifteenth time since we entered this stupid sterile waiting room at the jail. “You have the right to testify from here and it will weigh just as heavily with the board.”
I wish I could have Mattie here with me, but he’s waiting outside with Spencer and Donnie. They have already given their testimony. The board seems to be trying to alternate between those of us who want to see Rafe Dennison rot in prison for the rest of his life and those who want him released. Unfortunately, there seems to be more witnesses for their side because this is taking forever.
“Alright, you’re up,” the squirmy little man tells me when the light above the far door starts to blink. “Last chance to do it remotely?”
I shake my head and approach the door. He pushes a button and the door is pulled open by a guard on the other side. Taking a deep breath, I cross the threshold and come face to face with the monster who stars in every fucking nightmare I’ve had over the last five years.
Rafe Fucking Dennison is sitting handcuffed to a metal table. I’m kind of disappointed to see that he’s wearing like grayish scrub looking clothes. I’ve been imagining him in orange which is so not his color, but I guess this works too. He looks sickly, even with the muscle he’s packed on in the last five years. Then again, that might have something to do with the absolutely gigantic bald spot he’s sporting on the top of his head. He looks like one of the three stooges, except more ridiculous because of how much his face looks like a neanderthal sculpture that was run over a few times.
“Please have a seat Mr. Mendleton,” the guy in the middle of the long table in the front of the room says while pointing at a seat just inside the door I came through. Great. I get to face him the entire time.
“My surname is no longer Mendleton,” I tell the board. I’m not going to have them let him out on a technicality because they can’t keep accurate records.
“We are aware of the change of your name, young man,” another member of the board says with a bite in his tone. Fuck. Did I piss them off already? “We are also aware that the attorney for this gentleman here has already been held in contempt for violating your privacy and releasing your name to the press, so we will not speak it for the record, just in case.”
Nodding my agreement, I sit down and get sworn in by the guard who let me in to the room. I wasn’t expecting this to be like a mini trial, and my memories of the other times I’ve been on the stand flash through my mind. My pulse starts to race, and my leg bounces erratically in an attempt to release the sudden rush of adrenaline.
“Are you alright, Mr. Mendleton?”
I look up at the table full of old dudes and struggle to hold back the scathing remark that wants to come out. Swallowing it down takes more effort than I expected, but I close my eyes to picture Mattie.
Mattie loves me. Mattie is waiting for me. No matter what happens today, I won’t lose him.
“Super Mattie will always rescue his Sparkles.”
I chuckle at the memory of the words Matt whispered in my ear before I went into the waiting room. Opening my eyes, I meet the confused gaze of my monster. At that moment, I realize something. Even if this asshole walks free today, he is a convicted sex offender. He ruined his life when he did what he did to me.
Turning my head to the board, I give them a small smile before answering them.
“Just a small panic attack, gentlemen. I get them from time to time when I experience something that reminds me of the events of that night. For example, I cannot be around root beer or anything that smells like it. Which is a true pity because before that night, I loved old fashioned soda shops and root beer floats. Now, I can’t even be around birch trees without hyperventilating.”
“Do these attacks happen often? Are they debilitating?”
I spend the next twenty minutes or so answering questions about my various triggers and how the event five years ago has affected not only my quality of life, but my personal relationships as well.
“We’ve received statements from more than a few individuals that you have had no issues with sexual relationships over the last five years which is part of the reason this gentleman’s attorney was successful in getting this hearing. He argued that his client’s actions were exaggerated for dramatic effect, as you are on record as being a very flamboyant individual, being employed as a performer in a cabaret type club.”
What the fuck? Deep breaths…
Digging my nails into my thighs, I work to calm my breathing before answering. I still can’t stop clenching my teeth, but they’ll have to deal with that.
“My job has nothing to do with how many dicks have gone up my ass… Shit… Sorry. Please don’t hold me in contempt or anything, but I hate being slut shamed. I’m a hypersexual demiromantic and there is absolutely nothing wrong with consensual adults coming together to have some fun as long as it’s not deceitful.
“It’s true that I have had about twenty times a plethora of sexual partners since that night. For years, I used sex as a way to punish myself and attempt to rewrite that night in my memory. I was disowned by my family and kicked out, penniless, because I refused to drop the charges against Mr. Dennison and his teammates. I stood up for myself and was constantly shunned and mocked by the very police and attorneys who were supposed to help me.
“For months, I had constant pressure to turn away and pretend it never happened. But I refused to allow monsters like them to get the opportunity to hurt someone else the way they hurt me. In the end, I was raped by the justice system in a way that destroyed me worse than what Mr. Dennison and his teammates did to me.
“He destroyed my body. He gave me nightmares and panic attacks. But my experience with the police made me fear the people who are supposed to mean safety. They made me feel like it is me against the world and that the world doesn’t want me in it.”
The members of the board are looking at me like I’m speaking another language, but I push on while they are letting me.
“Sex was my way of taking control of those fears and feelings. What Mr. Dennison and his friends did was outside of my power. After that night, I never had sex that wasn’t on my terms. I was ALWAYS in control of every single facet of the interactions, including negotiating restraints if I felt I wouldn’t be able to physically overpower my partner if I felt even the slightest bit that he could take control. Sex was my outlet when the rest of my life would spin out of control. So, yes, I had a shitload… Sorry, buttload of sex over the last few years to stop myself from following through on the thoughts that the world would be better off without me in it.”