Unforgivable

Chapter Eighteen

“Remember, don’t let them intimidate you, especially that bastard lawyer,” Rochelle said through the phone.

I sighed and scratched my head. “Sure. I’ll be strong. I just want this to be over.”

“I know, hun. It will be soon. But you’re the victim here, so let it be known, alright?”

I nodded as if she could see me. “Yeah...” I checked the time on my watch. “Shouldn’t you be in Sociology?”

“I am. Mr Smith has no idea I’m on the phone. What a twat.”

I chuckled lightly. “You should do some work. I’ll call you later when I’m done.”

“Alright. Good luck, Stace.”

“I’m gonna need it.”

“You’ll be fine, babe. Trust me!”

I smiled at her optimism. “Bye, Chelle.” I hung up and noticed we had arrived at Old Bailey Crown Court. I turned to see Aunt Pauline and Jessica watching me.

“You ready?”

I nodded and removed my seatbelt with a sigh.

“I can’t wait to see this lawyer. Hate the sound of him already,” Jessica muttered as she stepped out the car. She had missed the previous hearing and was pretty pissed off when I told her about the attorney being rude to me.

I scowled as I remembered the questioning he gave me last week.

“Miss Coleman, could you not have reported this to the authorities when Mr Johnson wasn’t around?”

“I tried...”

“You obviously did not try hard enough.”

I steadied my breathing as I looked through the car window at the daunting building that towered above others. Aunt Pauline knocked on the window, snapping me out of my trance.

“C’mon, we don’t wanna be late.”

I nodded and stepped out. She locked the car and we walked inside the official building. I released a deep breath as I signed in. Here we go...

An hour into the hearing I was feeling incredibly closed in. The court was silent, with occasional coughs and muttering from people in the public gallery. I always felt uncomfortable in my seat, just knowing I was being scrutinised by everyone around me. I could feel the judgmental stares from the barristers and claimants as I answered each question accordingly.

Judge Sherry K. Stephens adjusted her glasses and folded her hands on the desk. I glanced at the evil lawyer—whose name I learned to be Mr Henry Shaw—a QC who ranked highly in the courts. Once again he was doing his best to make me look stupid by being condescending.

I watched as he walked to the front desk and picked up an item in a plastic slip.

“Exhibit A,” he said in his monotone voice.

My heart shuddered at the sight of the knife in the plastic transparent slip, still bloody from the traumatic incident. Vivid flashbacks of that ordeal played in my mind. It seemed like such a long time ago now...

He gripped onto my neck and squeezed. My vision went blurry instantly as I struggled to breathe. I kicked my legs about, attempting to break free, but it only made his grip tighter. I slowly looked towards the knife again, tears filling in my eyes and splashing over in seconds.

“I’ll fuckin’ kill ya, Stace! I’ll fuckin’ kill ya!”

I gasped for air. Using all the energy I had left, I quickly reached over to the table and grabbed the knife.