Gaslighter

30

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.