Guilty

A story close to my heart.

I pulled the smoke back into my lungs, welcoming the cold breeze that was hitting my face. It was too claustrophobic in there, the artificial air made it even harder for me to breathe and the atmosphere even thicker than it already was. I’d been preparing myself for this day for months, reliving that night over and over in my head until it didn’t feel real anymore, a twisted fantasy that once upon a time, I wouldn’t have thought possible. But nothing could have prepared me for what I had just endured. Standing alone in the witness box, a medicine ball stuck in my throat, I was trying to maintain the brave façade that I forced upon myself. Even though my heart was pounding, I couldn’t let him think that I was weak. I kept telling myself that this was one battle that he wasn’t going to win, although deep down, I knew that I had already lost. What was prison compared to the hell that he had put me through for so many years? And besides, I knew he could read me, just like he had always been able to. He could smell my fear. His eyes bore right through me as I stood there, I could feel them burning my forehead and piercing my thoughts, polluting them so that I couldn’t think straight. It was the first time I’d seen him for months and the room didn’t feel big enough.

He was too close.

 I’d built a picture up of him in my mind, imagined him just as drained and dishevelled as I had been. Just as broken as I still was.  But when I finally managed to peel my eyes away from the bitten skin of my fingers, no sign of guilt marked his face.  In that moment, I felt just as naïve as I had been when we’d first met. Of course he wasn’t drowning in guilt; all he cared about was trying to persuade the rest of the courtroom that he was innocent. I was so indescribably angry, but for some reason it was impossible for me to hate him. One glance at that figure I knew so well and it all came flooding back, a wave of memories and emotion eroding my heart until it ached. He had the same look in his eyes as that boy I had met all those years ago and he still had me under his spell. I should have known he was trouble from the start. From the first day we’d met I’d put him on a pedestal, set him apart. He was articulate, funny, charismatic and he had a smile that made me weak at the knees. I never understood why he picked me out from the crowd, I was a shy, innocent girl of sixteen and he was a middle aged teen. Life had moulded him into a boy beyond his years, taught him to be streetwise and given him the tools to manipulate people however he wished. For four years he had me right where he wanted me and I idolised him. We would talk on the phone for hours about anything and everything and he hung on my every word. I knew that he loved me, he told me every day and no one had ever given me so much attention or doted on me as much as he did. It all seemed so perfect. Little did I know it was too good to be true.

 We were worlds apart, from different backgrounds, a forbidden romance. But even so, he understood me more than anyone else, a closeness that I had once loved became something that I resented. I hated myself for letting him in, sharing my world with him until it was no longer my own, everything was ‘ours’. My family and friends could all see it coming, but I was blind to it all. He had shown me things I had never seen before and it was too exciting to let go, he had given me a new outlook on life, an outlook that none of my friends had shared.

“You’re just drifting apart,” he’d say, “they were never there for you anyway.” And I believed him.

It got to a point where I was more surprised to see a patch of unbroken skin than I was to see a bruise, a cut, a scratch or a scar. But when I did find that stretch of perfect flesh, as white as fresh snow, I remembered that he had touched it and that made it uglier than any spot, boil or tumour could have. That night haunted me when I looked in the mirror, the smell of stale cigarettes and whiskey lingered in my nostrils and my head still span from the blur of red bed sheets and fists and sirens.

Exhaling my last breath of smoke, I remembered why I was there. With shaking hands I pushed open the door and stepped inside to hear the verdict. Guilty, or not guilty.

Author's Note

All comments very welcome! If you could spare some time to read and review I'd be very grateful.

Reviews

[Jamie Raintree]

Wow! This was a really interesting read. You had me hooked from the very beginning to the end.

I love the way you reveal the information slowly. The pacing is fantastic. And your word choice sets the mood perfectly. Even though it's difficult to understand why a woman would deal with abuse, I felt like I connected to the character and her emotions for this man and I could understand it. That's the true sign of a great piece.

Your writing is clean and engaging and I'm looking forward to more!

[Lost]

Powerful. Autobiographical, or gritty fiction? Either way, bravo!

[Nish...]

It was wonderful! (sorry, After reading this in a breath, I just couldn't find a better way to express how I felt.)

[Starcaller]

:O It's amazing...tried to give 1,000 lol but it was an invalid answer :)

[Forbidden Love]

Whoa. This is really good. Very intriguing! I love all the details and vivid descriptions. I have to agree with the previous comment! Tight work!