Living With the Choices We Make (Domestic Violence / Abuse) ✔️

32 - Uncooperative And Hostile At Times

This week, I came across another great DV story here on WP and this chapter is dedicated to the author. I encourage all of you to check it out. It is called "Retribution" by @CJLawrence and describes the struggle of a young mother after suffering the abuse of her partner for many years.

32 - Uncooperative And Hostile At Times

The sweltering heat hits me like a brick wall when I step into the prison yard on Tuesday morning. The humidity is pressing and my body is covered with a thin layer of sweat as I make my way to the prison van. Luckily it is only a few feet away, though with the shackles restricting my legs and the heavy handcuffs, it seems like an eternity. The van is stuffy and by the time we leave the jail, I am drenched in my own perspiration.

I try to peek outside the window to get at least one look at freedom but the hole is small and covered with meshed wire, allowing me to see only random color streaks passing by. Roland is seated right across from me, glaring at me, that strange glow I noticed after my fall out with Doc still prominent in his eyes.

I can't shake the feeling that it is pity which I truly don't need. Everyone has been really nice, bending backwards to make my stay at the jail more bearable and Thelma even smuggled in a candy bar on Sunday but that hasn't helped my sullen mood. The more I am thinking about my performance last week with Doc Sullivan, the more I despise myself. I acted like a stupid stubborn brat.

My lawyer stopped by yesterday and informed me that I burned my last bridges. He showed me Doc's report and the words "uncooperative" and "hostile at times" stuck out the most. I don't know what I expected but I thought to have at least earned a bit more sympathy from him. I tried to confide in him though maybe not as hard as I could have.

The van is swaying and I'm getting queasy, stroking my belly to calm the kicking baby. My son is oblivious to what I did, that I murdered his father in cold blood and that he will never get a chance to know him. Maybe Brent would have changed if he had found out I was pregnant - after all, he wanted a child so badly and would have probably never hurt him since he resented so much being abused by his own father. I just didn't think things through before I got the knife - and now, it was time to pay for my mistakes.

The court house is cool and the shackles dragging over the stone floor echoing in the narrow corridor. I am hushed into a tiny elevator which transports me right up into a small office next to the courtroom which is used as a holding facility for the prisoners. I was here a few times before for my arraignment and various motions and slump into the offered chair. They take us up early and it is time to wait. The proceeding won't start for another hour and I am dying of thirst but too lazy to ask for water.

I am finally led into the courtroom and can't help taking in its beauty. It is the old kind you see in movies with wooden and polished bannisters and large heavy tables for the defense and prosecution. The chairs are actually cushioned. The whole room just smells of tradition and my eyes dart around with respect. Justice has been rendered inside these walls for decades and soon it will be my turn to face a jury of my peers.

The attorneys are already present and so is my dad. Marcus glances at me with disdain before continuing to whisper to the group of underlings who are there for his assistance. Six young men and women are on his team, ranging from maybe twenty five to forty while my lawyer, Mr. Porter, has to stand his ground on his own.

He looks totally pathetic next to Marcus who wears one of his designer suits and is impeccably groomed. Mr. Porter's outfit is definitely polyester, his shirt slightly stained and a crooked tie hanging around his neck. He could benefit from a haircut. My father tried to hire a private lawyer but no one would touch my case under a fifty thousand dollar retainer which was out of our league.