CHAPTER SIXTY: FOREMAN

Overcoming love addiction is possible, just as it is possible to transcend co-dependence and rebuild a healthy relationship with ourselves and others. 
-Christopher Dine

With permission from the judge, I was able to trade out Wolf at my table for a family member. Since my only 'real' by-blood family members are the people I'm suing, it came down to Micah or Jem.

I'd be lying if I said it wasn't a hard decision, since Jem has comforted me through every hardship I've had since I got sober, which included actually getting sober, and he knows when to squeeze my hand or when I want to cry.

But I still chose Micah.

Jem and Jamie are now sitting right behind us, able to reach out and hold my hand while my boyfriend holds my other one.

On my side of the room, there is somber looks, anxiety ridden stances and comforting murmurs.

On the other side, where my parents only have a few work associates and Mr. Leta has his consultants, I can only describe what they're doing as silent sneering and if they do make noises, it's just indistinguishable smug drivel.

Banging her gavel, the judge makes me jump. "Poll the jury, Mr. Clerk."

I gulp, looking at Micah, whose supportive green eyes give me enough comfort not to cry but not enough that my hands don't shake. Jem squeezes me, making me sigh and clutch onto both of their hands tighter.

I can practically hear my best friends words in my mind, him grinning while saying "We'll be okay." 

Micah's thoughts are written on his face, which are simply "We better win, or I'm throwing hands."

My lawyer's features are just full of blanketed smugness, though I doubt she knows just how awesome she is. I appreciate this so much, her work is worth every penny. I think she won me this case.

Or, at least, I really hope so.

The jury step into the room, neat in their line, not looking at any of us like they were probably instructed.

"Will the jury foreman please stand. Has the jury reached a unanimous verdict?"

The foreman stands, "We have."

"Members of the jury and foreman, you have heard all of the testimony concerning this case. It was now up to you to determine the facts. You and you alone, were judges of the fact. Once you decided what facts the evidence proved, you then applied the law, as I gave it to you, to the facts as you found them. Have you done that?"

"Yes, Your Honor."

God, I'm probably sweating so much right now but I'm not letting go.

Don't cry. Don't cry. Don't cry.

You're strong, you've got this.

Breathe.

The clerk, who I admit I haven't been paying an ounce of attention to, stands up. "Bradley and Candance Ferro."

"Present," My parents say, standing up, taking me aback.

They've been in court rooms many times so they knew everything that was coming their way but this entire thing is new to me. 

So, I simply didn't expect roll-call this late in the game.

Without further instruction, my parents stay standing but their lawyer sits and the clerk turns towards the jury. "Hold up your right hand. What say you, Foreman, are the defendants at the bar guilty or not guilty?"

People think they have a good imagination but many don't.

Can you imagine what makes an addict tick without ever being addicted yourself?

Can you describe depression off the top of your head without using the words tired, dark or sad?

Imagine that you can't keep your eyes open because the light hurts too much, or because you're seeing things and don't know what is real and what isn't. Imagine that you can't go on walks because you have the urge to jump off of every tall building you can see, or wake up someplace you're not supposed to be. Imagine that the sound of a door opening and your parents talking makes your heart beat so uncomfortably fast that you sleep outside for three days while high on crushed Xanax tabs that your parents watched you take.

Imagine that you're sober for the first time in four months after two benders and several weeks you don't remember, and your whole body hurts like you got the flu the day after getting hit by a car. Imagine that hearing noises and opening your eyes make it worse and hearing your heartbeat is a curse because it never ends. Imagine you feel empty all the time and you can't think or talk or concentrate and for a while you convinced yourself that you liked feeling this way like other people but you don't.

Imagine not being able to walk, to literally not be able to put one foot in front of the other without falling down, and your head feels like it's going to explode and you have the worse cotton mouth you've ever experience and you're not even high. Imagine not being able to sleep at night and being constantly exhausted during the day for weeks on end while your body is going through detox. Imagine that you're only a month into the recovery program and you're already figuring out ways to kill yourself while in a mental institution.

Imagine that you're in the one place you're supposed to be able to get help but your dad is able to pull you away from meal times and yell at you for three hours, after which your mother just tells you that she'll be proud when you complete the program like she's not giving you another reason to quit. Imagine that realizing you don't want to kill yourself takes longer than planning to kill yourself. Imagine that you realize your body doesn't want you to give up.

Imagine.

Maybe you'll have a good imagination, even if it might make you a little sad.

The problem I've encountered is just that -people imagining the things I've gone through with no real experience of what it's like and making assumptions.

Often, those assumptions are false.

And right now, based off the small diamond-in-the-rough things that people have been told about me and the things I've gone through, they have to make a decision about my life even after hearing from a more...creditable source.

Because they're high-class business men who have made a good reputation for themselves.

The people on the jury might not have ever tried drugs or had depression or dealt with abuse. And good on them, I would love it if in this single court room it was only me who had to deal with something like that.

But I don't think I am.

I also know however that the ones who really don't know anything I've been through. They won't get it.

Addiction is dark and terrifying and lonely.

It's a killer.

And I beat it, I beat it.

And all my parents have to say about that is I should have either beat it sooner or died from it.

It really, genuinely, in a not-trying-to-be-funny way makes me wonder what the fuck is wrong with them.

They need to take a hard look in the mirror, both of them, and maybe ask themselves not why I would do drugs when I lived with people like them but why I wouldn't.

It's like my parent set their personal standards on their home life so low and then had the audacity to consistently fail to achieve them that it's actually a little funny that someone could be this bad at parenting when they actively chose to bring a life into this world.

Right now, I'm just hoping the jury came to the same conclusions it's clear that the judge has -my parents and their lawyers are undeserving pricks.

The broken boy is rigid beside me, leg bouncing nervously and dark eyes on the ceiling.

We all hold our breath.

I can't describe the amount of anxiety in me, all from the suspense on waiting for a single answer.

Then finally, it comes-

"Guilty."

I melt into the table with the amount of relief that flows through me, my hand unable to clutch to Jem's anymore but my boyfriend's arm is now wrapped around me.

"Guilty of child abuse upon each indictment?"

"Yes, sir. Guilty of unnecessary and cruel discipline, neglect, threats and two counts of abuse."

"What counts?"

"One minor-" Minor? "-count of mental abuse causing the state to demand fines unto the plaintiff of upwards of three million dollars and one count physical abuse, causing the state to demand of at least two years of patrol."

God, what about my business -my people?

"And the legality of the rights to the rehabilitation center?" The clerk asks.

"All rights to the plaintiff with a charge from the defenders, with two years worth of their income needing to be paid."

My lawyer frowns at this, like it's not good news, but it's a lot more than I expected.

There was a better way to solve this and they wouldn't agree to that. I wish they had. I don't want to see my parent's reactions -not knowing if they're angry or devastated. 

The rest seems to merge into white noise as I bury into Micah, shaking but happy. The only thing I manage to catch is the judge saying "The jury is thanked and excused. Court is adjourned." before my best friend is wrapping his arms around us -followed by Jamie.

I giggle as they pull away, wiping my tears. "I love group hugs."

My boyfriend grunts, rolling his eyes but grinning all the same. He loves hugs, so I have no idea what he's being so sour about.

"I'm so glad you won this! I'm really happy for you," Jamie tells me, squeezing my upper arm. "Your life is about to get better."

Smiley widely, I wink at her. "So is yours. And every staff member-" Besides Lorenzo who I'm firing. "-and patient."

I changed my life and I did it in the right way, that in itself is an accomplishment but now I can help even more people. In really weird way, that makes me happier than winning the case.

Without a warning I'm picked up and spun in a circle by Micah, who places me on the ground only to kiss me on the forehead and crush me into his chest.

"What's got you in such a good mood? Winning?" I giggle, hugging him back. 

"This just reminded me how much I love you," He says, dark eyes gleaming with that one look I've yet to name. "And it feels amazing."

Wrapping my arms around his shoulders, I go up on my toes to peck his lips -making him chuckle before kissing me back.

"I love you too."