They took his testimony and he made a show of appearing far more injured than he was as he ambled up to the stand, placing his hand that wasn’t in a sling on top of the Bible. Swearing to tell the whole truth.
He didn’t even flinch.
The lie slipped out of his crooked mouth as easily as water poured from a faucet.
“Your honor, I worry for the boy’s soul. He’s clearly troubled, and I worry who else he could hurt if he’s let out,” Pastor John lamented from the stand. I bet he loved this. The attention. The sympathy. Dude should have been an actor.
My court appointed lawyer sat back completely useless playing with his ugly burgundy tie and letting Pastor John turn his testimony into an impromptu sermon. Shouldn’t he have been objecting? Standing up for me?
“I believe he’s beyond help and should be punished to the fullest extent of the law for what he’s done,” Pastor John continued.
I shouldn’t have been surprised that the judge didn’t grant me bail. I wouldn’t have had someone to offer that to me anyway. My parents made that clear. But the part that really fucking threw me, was hearing the judge say I was to be tried as an adult. Even though I was several months away from owning that particular title.
Without a chance to fight for myself, I was hauled away and taken to the nearest prison. My fate seemed to be set in stone.
Once there, I was strip searched, made to shower, and then they held me down in a chair while they shaved my hair into a buzzcut. Theclip was set so low I could feel how they gouged part of my scalp and left it a bloody mess. Bastards.
They marked down my tattoos, my height, my eye color, and all my scars. I was assessed and picked over like they were a bunch of vultures feasting on my corpse.
“Pretty boy like you is gunna be popular here,” one of the correctional officers said with a menacing smirk. He had beady little eyes and a receding hairline that reflected the shine of the fluorescent lights on his expanding forehead. I was convinced guys like him had a kink for making people feel less than, so they could fuel their egos and feel important. I ignored his barbs and stared straight ahead as I was walked to what would be my temporary cell. That is until I received a formal sentencing.
My lawyer said I could get anywhere from five to ten years, depending on how strict the judge was feeling that day. At least the guy didn’t lie to me and pretend we stood a chance of winning.
There were two officers escorting me. Mr. Beady Eyed Asshole, and his menacing looking friend with large muscles, a thin mustache and hair cut into a perfect square on top of his head. He walked with his spine ramrod straight and his hands behind his back like he was hiding something back there. I eyed him warily. Something about that guy felt off. Dude gave off pedo vibes with that mustache. Or maybe it was the look in his eyes, like he was capable of evil. I’d seen my fair share of evil men and knew the look well.
We went past rows of cells. Each reeking of a putrid combination of cleaning fluids, piss, and body odor. Delightful, but I guess I better get used to it. Inmates were winding down for the day, and I was feeling a hint of apprehension in my gut at my newfound surroundings.
It wasn’t lost on me that going from Kingston to here felt a little like trading one prison for another. Only I didn’t know the rules here. And I sure as shit didn’t know who the people were to steer clear of. I just hoped if I had a cellmate, that he wouldn’t kill me in my sleep.
But thankfully, the cell they took me to was devoid of any roommate. Though the place looked bleak as hell. It made the one in Kingston seem like a dreamy vacation.
As I was shuffled into the small cell, I heard the resounding soundof the door shutting closed behind me. Only when I turned around, I was met with the stinging end of a burning substance that clawed into my face and ate at my skin. Hot liquid bubbled on my cheek, up over my nose, and into my eyebrow, missing my eye by a millimeter. It smelled like burning flesh and pierced so far down into my skin that had every nerve the substance touched feeling like it was on fire.
I was down on my knees screaming in pain and covering my face when I felt a large boot smash into my already fragile ribs. The pop of pain was instant, fighting for top billing over whatever was happening to my face. I couldn’t see. Couldn’t think. And couldn’t breathe.
“You’d do best to keep your mouth shut. Or we’ll make sure you won’t have the chance to ever speak again,” I assumed it was the menacing one, but my eyes were screwed shut from the agony that saturated my nerves.
One of the officers grabbed my shoulder and rolled me onto my back, yanking me up by the collar of my standard issued orange jumpsuit.
“Compliments of Pastor John,” he said, throwing me down hard. The back of my head met concrete, and a burst of stars smattered across my vision.
The message was clear. If I said anything about Pastor John’s guilt, I’d be a fucking dead man.
CHAPTER 14
DELILAH
No one would lookat me. And if they did, it was with a pitying glance or judgmental sneer. Weeks went by with no news about Cain and his case, and I worried the worst had happened. My parents hadn’t checked up on me to see how I was doing, and my roommates ignored my existence completely. I felt like a ghost. Drifting from class to class. Not really here, but somehow still breathing. Each night as I laid in my bed, silent tears flowed down into my pillow as I willed my body to relax. My body hadn’t felt like my own since that day, and it took everything I had to convince myself I was safe.
The only solace was that Pastor John hadn’t been back yet. Though, I knew it was only temporary. I would enjoy the reprieve while I could, because there was no knowing how it would be once he was here again. Having to go to my theology class in the same room it happened was a form of torture in and of itself. Every day I was forced to sit in the same chair I always did and see the wretched spot on the ground only a few feet away. It made it impossible to focus, but Pastor Big C left me alone. They all did. It must have been easier to act like I didn’t exist than to acknowledge I had been harmed. I learned that pain and trauma made people uncomfortable. They’d rather pretend everythingwas fine, because otherwise, that meant that their perfect little narrative didn’t fit.
But Pastor John would be back. Eventually.
Just the thought of it had bile rising to the back of my throat.
“You look sick,” Lauren said as she braided her hair.
I shrugged on my skirt, trying to button it. The material felt tighter than normal and I frowned, pulling on the fabric as I sucked in my stomach.
