there's a long long author's note at the end that i'm BEGGING you to read. thank you!!

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CHAPTER THIRTY

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2019

          Following a long series of bad decisions, I decided against trusting Chase's advice and remained firm on not saying a word about the trial to my parents.

          To say this had disappointed him was a gross understatement of the current dynamic cruising our relationship, but I'd had to make a choice between humiliating myself in front of my parents and refusing to do the one thing Chase had asked me to do. It hadn't been an easy decision to make by any means and I hadn't had much time to think about what I would do when the looming threat of the impending trial hung around me everywhere I went.

          The little time I had to make a decision, however, was spent in heart wrenching agony, and I wasn't sure how much energy I had spent in heaving and sobbing in the strangest places, wracked with anxiety. I barely had any strength left in me as is, and couldn't figure out exactly where to place it, so I went ahead and focused on the task that demanded more responsibility. After all, it wasn't just my dignity that was at stake, even though I hated to hold this much power in my too trembling hands. I had something to prove, not just to a jury, but also to myself.

          I wanted justice. I'd gone on living and pretending I didn't care about it for far too long, when in reality I'd been craving it like a wolf salivating over meat.

          Months ago, I'd been the meat, lying defenseless on a bed, body frail from whatever had been slipped into my drink. They had taken my power, my autonomy, my oasis away from me, turning it into a warzone, and I'd been the prey. They'd seen my terror and were thrilled by it, thrived on it, and it had only made me more desirable, like my vulnerability was a quality. 

          I hated that feeling. I hated feeling so weak and defenseless; I hated knowing that, if I defended myself—and I had—it would be used against me in case I ever decided to press charges—which I had also done—and it would make me look bad. Which of us had acted in self-defense, then? Did the truth actually matter if it came out of my mouth?

          I was the wolf now. I wanted to be the wolf so bad.

          So, I chose myself. I chose my dignity and my self-respect. I chose to preserve the mostly untainted version of myself my parents were still proud of, even if that didn't necessarily match my current reality, and decided I'd deal with Chase's feelings over it later, once my trial-induced anxiety subsided. I told him that no, I wouldn't be reaching out to my parents for help with it, not even for a lawyer, because the guilt would shatter me even further, and I wasn't sure I could survive such a brutal blow.

          I was nothing without my parents' praise and acceptance. I was nothing if I couldn't be perfect.

          Naturally, this would put me at a disadvantage.

          We hadn't lied that day when we were joking about everything at our college being absurdly expensive, and that extended to tuition. Though I'd hated to do so, hating to give those guys an extra second of my time, I'd asked Savannah if any of them had been attending on a scholarship, which she denied, shame coating her figures. Like me, it pained her to have her name associated with theirs, but the reasons were different. Regardless, we knew they weren't struggling for money and, if their families hadn't cut them off following the accusations and the summons, they would have hired some of the best lawyers. Money made the world go round, after all, and reputations mattered.

          Thus, fighting expensive, well-trained lawyers who would destroy my character and my self-esteem just to make those guys look good without the aid of my family's lawyers wasn't ideal. I knew I was being stupid and selfish—the look on Chase's face when I first mentioned it to him was all the confirmation I needed—and the fact that I was subjecting myself and everyone else involved in the accusations to a potential loss just to stroke my ego and prove that I was stronger than everybody else. Wasn't that why those guys had done what they had? Wasn't everything about power and control?

          "Can I see you once I'm out?" I asked Chase, standing in front of the large mirror in the living room of his apartment. It was tall, taller than both of us, and wide enough to comfortably fit both our reflections, but I couldn't help but think I was already taking up way too much space next to him. "You don't have to come with me and, to be honest, it might be safer for the both of us if I'm there by myself, but I think I'd like to spend some time with you afterward, regardless of the verdict."

          He looked up at me, from the opposite side of the room. "I mean, if you think it's the right move . . ." He shrugged. Meanwhile, my brain was too trained to detect changes in attitude and tone to ignore the discreet venom in his words, a clear indicator he was still either pissed off or annoyed at me. The thought of that made my skin crawl, even though I objectively had a more important, impending issue looming dangerously close, but I feared for my emotional state if I had to testify while being so deeply stressed out over this. "I'm not sure whether my opinion would be useful or not. You'll probably just do whatever you want."

          A wave of ice cold heartbreak washed over me as I lowered my hands, satisfied with my pearl earrings. With my blazer, pressed cotton blouse, culottes, and Oxford shoes, at least I looked the part—I looked prepared and confident, though whatever little confidence and faith in myself I'd managed to build had been shot down.

          It wasn't necessarily his fault, I reminded myself, and thought of the saying hurt people hurt people. Deep down, I knew he hadn't meant it and we were both under considerable stress, not to mention I was well aware I needed to suck it up and be stronger about my hurt feelings, but it hurt like a punch straight to the heart. And yet, I kept convincing myself I needed to stop acting like a spoiled child whom people couldn't say a negative thing to.

          The film industry was brutal, a truth that had been drilled into my mind for years on end, especially now that I was in school and wanting to pursue a career in it, and no one would spare poor little Penny's feelings because she was unable to grow thicker skin. No one in that courthouse would try to protect my feelings anyway, not when my designated attorney was focused on getting a conviction no matter what it took and when the defense team would undoubtedly pull an ad hominem on me to secure a not guilty verdict.

          What stung the hardest was that Chase was supposed to care.

          I knew he did, I really did, but a tiny, weak part of me was still hung up on my hesitation that night after I left his apartment, reeking of Chinese takeout. Albeit brief, allowing myself to reconsider everything we'd been doing—for his sake, mostly, not mine—for one moment had almost succeeded in digging its claws in my mind. I'd forced myself to blame it all on paranoia and fear caused by both my anxiety and the overwhelming possibility of confirming my suspicions about me being a shitty partner.

          I couldn't pin this on him, not when everything stemmed from me failing to not let my neurotic people pleasing tendencies seep into and contaminate every single relationship I found myself in, regardless of its nature. They often had the exact opposite effect they should, as I inevitably ruined everything by projecting my insecurities onto the other person and spiraled into a cycle of self-sabotage just so I could prove my anxieties right.

          "Okay," I muttered, stepping away from the mirror. I didn't know why I'd come all the way here just to get ready, arguing I couldn't stand the thought of being alone with my mind one minute longer, but it felt ridiculous now that I'd come to the conclusion I was invading his personal space. "You know I value your opinion. This is something that concerns the both of us, so I really don't want to make decisions while only considering what I want."

          I was digging myself a deeper hole with each dumb word that came out of my mouth. By saying that, I was proving his point that I hadn't thought about anyone else by myself by dismissing his advice, but, even if I didn't get to believe in myself and my ability to make an informed choice, I could always take comfort in knowing I had, at least, spoken to Ingrid. She'd agreed with me, pointing out it would be empowering to take control of the narrative instead of letting my unfortunate circumstances dictate my worth, but she'd been reasonable enough to remind me that yes, I'd be an underdog. Neither my choice or her opinion were unfounded, but I feared for what would happen if I told Chase that, considering he didn't like her one bit—something that sometimes brought me great relief, knowing she couldn't steal him away from me—and I didn't want to spark another argument. Not because of this. Not right before the trial.

          "Look," Chase said, with a sigh barely escaping his lips. "I'm not trying to stress you out right before you testify, but I was just trying to help you. You asked for my help, then disregarded everything I said."

          "I didn't. I took it into consideration, but I had to do what was best for me—"

          "Is it really? Is this really what's best for you?" I spun around to face him, but he was already looking at me. Taking a leap of faith, I crossed the room until I stopped right next to him, towering over him for once in my life, but all I'd ever wanted was to feel like an equal. "You know how these cases usually work out. It's terrible, but it's true, and you should be going in there with the best defense possible." Tears stung the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away before they could cascade down my cheeks. Hadn't I already victimized myself enough unfairly? "Even if it's good for your ego, even if it sounds like a good idea on paper, you don't know what's going to happen in there. The defense attorneys will tear you down to devalue anything you say. They'll use the party, the drinking as arguments to invalidate your story. How can some . . . basic, state-appointed attorney ever provide you with proper armor for that? Who will protect you?"

          I exhaled. All this time, I thought I'd been doing a tolerable job at pretending to be strong, but he was right. I was at my breaking point and I knew any jabs at me would destroy me on the stand, which was unthinkable. I needed the validation of being seen, of being believed, and even Chase's belief in me appeared to be wavering. What would I do?

          "I can't go back now," I whispered, as his hand pressed against the back of my thigh to pull me closer to him. "I made my bed."

          "You don't have to sink along with that ship. You know that." Chase looked up at me, the blue shade of his eyes rivaling that of the summer sky. "Don't give them any openings to doubt you. Don't fail for any attempts to bait you into doubting your story."

          I wrinkled my nose. "Is this the Savannah thing again? Am I about to be gaslighted by a bunch of uptight, prissy lawyers?"

          One of the corners of his mouth twitched. He was thawing. "At least you can see it coming."

          "We'll see."

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          I survived.

          Though the odds had been stacked against me since the moment I walked into that frat party, though I'd made things harder for myself just to prove a point, I survived. The beauty—if one could call it that—of a closed court was that everyone involved had been sworn to secrecy, and no one was watching, so the odds of my presence in the courthouse reaching my parents' ears were slim. It had left me more at ease, as there had been barely any people in the room while I was testifying, and the same applied to the other girls. The Sixth Amendment defended the right to a public trial, but the girls were terrified of retaliation, so a lucky compromise had been found. I would be safe. So would they.

          I'd painted my nails to fight off the urge to bite them down to the quick as I waited for all testimonies to be done for the day, despite knowing it would be a lengthy process. I doubted a decision would be made the same day, so I held on to the moment I'd finally get to leave and the walls stopped closing in on me.

          People came and went, but no one exchanged glances. No one spoke. No one checked up on each other. I sat in the corner of a meeting room, staring down at my knees, and prayed no one would notice me there, but I couldn't blend in with the beige walls. I was too tall, too awkward, too lanky to be invisible when I needed to be.

          I waited. Seconds turned into minutes. Minutes turned into hours. Time moved at an agonizing pace and my nerves grew exponentially, morphing into a gelid vortex in the pit of my stomach. I was so nauseous I could barely stand or walk to unlock my joints, let alone see straight, so I eventually gave up on pacing around the room. I could tell it was annoying the other girls in there, as I'd found them rolling their eyes as soon as I passed them, and I'd rather be caught dead than be perceived as troublesome.

          An odd feeling prickled at the back of my neck, the threat of upcoming doom freezing me in place, and I finally understood what people said about boiling water. If you stayed in there when it was still heating, if you got used to the temperature rising because it used to be comfortable, you wouldn't even notice when it started burning off your skin and peeling it off your bones. You just sat there, unable to move, unable to jump out, and you let those terrible things happen to you. That was how I felt then, glued to the same spot in the corner I'd been occupying for hours at that point—when I wasn't pacing around the room like an idiot—and my restlessness was doing nothing to help me out. When I wasn't drowning, I was burning.

          It felt like entire days had passed since I'd walked in through the front door when they finally dismissed me, returning my phone so I could finally have some contact with the outside world. I was informed there would be no verdict today, that there would be follow-ups in the near future, and that I were to remain available for future summons. Even as I stepped outside and greeted the late afternoon golden hour, everything in me still felt locked and stiff, like it was far too early to chant hallelujah.

          I was warm, though. I hadn't felt warm in months, following one of the harshest winters to date, and the sun enveloped me in a tight hug as I rushed down the steps. They were tall, like I was walking down the stairs of a palace, and the innocent side of my mind, the hopeless romantic buried deep inside of me, expected to find my prince waiting for me at the bottom, hand outstretched to take mine.

          There was no one waiting for me. There was no one waiting for me in my car and, as I locked my doors and stared at my reflection in my rear-view mirror, my heart pinched. The girls had left and met up with friends, family, lovers who had been waiting for them, offering a comforting shoulder, and none of them would be going home alone.

          I was. I swallowed the lump in my throat before it transformed into a sob—I refused to drive while weeping like a baby, with tears clouding my vision—and prayed the invisible eyes watching me wouldn't find me pathetic for crying in my car. It was mostly because my loneliness was so overpowering, a powerful reminder of what my future would hold, and I simply wasn't well equipped to deal with it. I could handle being alone, but feeling lonely was something else entirely, a sign everyone around me had given up on me like I wasn't worthy of their attention.

          "Stop," I told the girl in the mirror. She mimicked my scowl, my furrowed eyebrows. The summer air had returned some of the color to my skin and to my cheeks, though it was far from the healthy gold tone I'd gotten accustomed to growing up, as I'd barely had the opportunity to fly away to sunny destinations. Every environment I'd found myself in lately had been cold and sterile. "Stop being like this."

          I couldn't stop. I couldn't.

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          It took the whole summer and the first month of my sophomore year of college to finish the trial. It kept being postponed at the defendants' request, a tactic I could easily see through, and everyone could tell they were attempting to stall, capitalizing off fear and shame. The longer they waited, the higher the odds of someone regretting having testified and deciding to withdraw.

          Or so they thought.

           I was with Chase when I found we'd won and had landed a conviction. Though it hadn't been the full conviction I wanted, they wouldn't get away with a slap on the wrist or some community service, even if they could be released early for good behavior. I wanted to be ecstatic over this, over the moon for having been heard and believed, but I felt nothing except the buzzing numbness in my chest.

         Part of me thought I should reach out to Savannah and Ingrid, who were certainly expecting me to return to our newly fully furnished shared apartment, but I turned off my phone and crawled back into Chase's bed, the only place where I'd felt safe lately. It was the only thing I hadn't fully screwed up yet, refusing to taint it with lies and pretending, and he'd always see right through me even if I dared to try. The past year with him had been a rollercoaster, but I'd come out mostly unscathed. The damage I'd done to him was still a question mark.

          I felt too numb to cry, curled next to him in the warmest bed I'd ever laid on, and, though we'd be torn apart from each other once morning came, I could still have some peaceful moments in the meantime.

          I rested my cheek against his shoulder. At least, I still had him.

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my law knowledge is quite limited, and i'm definitely not versed in us law, so excuse any mistakes. i've researched to the best of my ability, even if legal jargon is the literal WORST, but please let me know if there are any evident edits that need to be made. i'll do my best for you guys

on a side note, penn's insecurities match some of my own (people pleaser hello). in general, like i've said a million times, there are things in this book i've gone through myself (anything about the frat party and anything that followed as a consequence of that DID NOT happen to me. dw), so here's your daily reminder to be kind. routinely saying "why doesn't she just leave!!!" or saying you want to knock some sense into her isn't particularly kind. i know we're not here to protect me or anything, but you know it's not that simple. you're allowed to feel however you want to feel about creative work and the moment this is out there in the world, it stops being exclusively mine and is subject to external consumption and appreciation (be it positive or negative), but remember this isn't you. this isn't me, either. 

you get to watch these events unfold without being directly affected by them because these particular things aren't happening to you, even if you've been in a similar situation (and if you have, please know my heart is with you. i love you). just because you'd do something a certain way, it doesn't mean other people in similar situations would do it too, and expecting it to be easy to just get over something like this and "wake up", get a grip, and see things for how they are is hurtful. like i said, you're more than allowed to feel your feelings about this book. just please remember to be kind in my comments section.

i 100% know my regular readers are a good bunch of people and i'm certain there's no malice behind the comments, so please remember i love you and appreciate you very much.

if you've read this far, thank you ever so much xo