Lying in court, no less.
I cringe. It’s really not a good look. Best case scenario, it appeals to his demon side, and he appreciates my efforts to protect him in return. Worst case… nope, not going there either.
When I step into the courtroom, the chilly air sends goosebumps up my arms. My fingers reveal a slight tremble, and I clench my hands behind my back in an attempt to look strong, confident, anything other than what I’m feeling right now, which is like I’m about to puke.
The buzzing of the air conditioner is loud in my ears, or perhaps that’s just my nerves drowning out the murmurs of the prosecution as their cold eyes track me. Ro’s attorney nods, her fierce glasses and mile-long heels giving me a confidence boost. Just having her on our side feels like a win, and I hope it translates to one at the end of the day, too.
When they march Ro into the courtroom, my breath hitches in my chest. He looks haggard, like he hasn’t seen the sun in years and isn’t eating enough. No makeup, no silver jewelry, nocolorful clothing. Then his eyes meet mine, and a part of me relaxes while another part low in my stomach tightens. His hazel eyes sparkle despite the tense situation, and he grins my favorite lopsided grin.
My heart pinches in my chest when I realize how much I’ve missed him.
I try to smile back, but it feels wobbly, so I stop. He doesn’t seem phased as he’s escorted to his seat, and plops down next to his attorney. This is the closest we’ve been in weeks, and I’m dying to race up the aisle and touch him, kiss him, pull him into my arms. Maybe also slap him for doing something so reckless and stupid.
The next few hours last an eternity. My throat is parched, but I only take sips of water as I fear I won’t be able to keep anything more down. Ro periodically turns around in his seat to wink, grin, or waggle his eyebrows at me. I can’t return his playful gestures. I don’t know how he’s handling this trial with a smile.
When I’m called to the stand as a witness for the defense, I steel my spine and clench my fists, determined to do the best I can to get Ro out of here. I’m sworn in, although I really don’t understand what swearing on something I don’t believe in is supposed to do, and then I sit down and face a plethora of terrifying faces. Even Ro’s attorney is intimidating, despite knowing she’s fighting for us.
She stands and walks around the desk, then leans back against it. I think she’s going for nonchalant, but the woman is a powerhouse, and nonchalant isn’t in her repertoire. I start to relax, though, when she goes through each question we’ve already practiced multiple times. I give the same answers, and she nods each time. I take that as approval, giving me another little confidence boost.
The prosecution’s cross-examination isn’t nearly as bad as I was expecting. Sure, the attorney is a big bully-looking man, butI’ve dealt with plenty of those in my life. The big boss isn’t here. There’s another man sitting at the desk that I don’t recognize, but I don’t get a chance to wonder about it. His attorney dives in, throwing question after question at me, all the while our attorney continually interrupts to object.
I hear calls of, “leading the witness” and “speculative” and “irrelevant” among others, but much of it I can’t keep up with. I answer as best I can, relying on our practice sessions to get through them all. My brain is spinning, my breath starting to speed up as anxiety takes root, and I wonder what will happen if I get up and leave.
Before I have to find out, the judge calls for a recess.
My eyes dart to Ro, but he’s already being dragged out of his chair and escorted to the back of the room where he came in from. His eyes are locked on me, concern edging out the smile he’s held on to until now.
“Lor.”
I see more than hear him call my name, but his attorney steps between us, and we’re cut off.
“Take a breath,” she says, her voice no-nonsense. “You’re doing well.”
Surprisingly, her unconcerned attitude actually helps. I’m able to draw in a slower breath now that everyone’s eyes aren’t on me while attorneys talk over one another in a verbal battle I don’t understand.
“Here,” she says, handing me a bottle of water. “Drink.”
I take a few sips, and my eyes wander around the room.
“Don’t look at them, look at me,” she says.
It pulls my attention away from the media lining the seats, and back to her with her badass suit and stabby cat-eye glasses.
The free time passes before I’m ready, and I’m called back up to the stand.
“You’ve stated the defendant was with you all night,” the prosecuting attorney says. “In what ways could he have snuck out?—”
“Objection,” our fierce attorney calls out, her voice steely. “Again, leading the witness.”
“Sustained,” the judge says.
The other attorney dips his head to the judge, then turns dead eyes back on me. My thoughts are already spinning again.
“Is there any chance the defendant could have left your presence during the night without you knowing?”
“No,” I say.
Keep it short and sweet, don’t elaborate if you don’t have to.That’s what Ro’s attorney keeps telling me.
