I Know What Love Is

by Bianca, Whitney

  Well, maybe one.

  I came with Elliot's name on my lips and his face on my mind.

  So much for closure.

  Chapter Fifteen

  The trial wasn't all glitz and glam like an episode of Law & Order. The courtroom wasn't gleaming mahogany wood, high ceilings, and chandeliers. It was a dingy white-walled, gray-carpeted room at the back of the courthouse in Downtown Dallas. There were no last minute objections or revelations that turned the jury one way or another, not for lack of trying by Elliot's defense attorney. There was a bit of excitement when Elliot changed his plea, but in the end, it was a pretty depressing way to spend a week.

  I saw Trace in the hallway of the courthouse on the first day. He wore a suit I knew his mom had probably picked out for him and walked with a cane, slowly and methodically. It was hard to look at him, but I forced myself to. His mother Janet walked beside him and I could tell she wanted to help him, but she didn't. They both saw me at the same time and I felt their resignation and bewilderment.

  This wasn't how things were supposed to be. Trace and I were supposed to be married by then. We were supposed to be starting a family. But as it was, I hadn't seen or spoken to him in five months.

  "So good to see you," my mother whispered, holding out her arms to embrace Janet. Trace looked at me over their heads, his eyes dark and bleak. I stared back, not knowing what to do with my face. No smile, no frown, no tears, no nothing. I felt guilty and shitty, but I also had no interest in getting married. There was no hope for us. He knew it, too. I'd already mailed him the ring back. No note, just the ring.

  "How are you?" Trace asked, his eyes still on mine. Then he dropped them to look at my mother before I could answer. "Mrs. Vasquez? How's everything?"

  "Oh Trace, honey. Everything's okay." My mother squeezed his hand. "You look as handsome as ever, bless your heart."

  "Nothing handsome about scars and a collapsed lung, ma'am," he said and I almost choked on my peppermint. My mother turned pale and blinked rapidly, like her brain had stopped functioning for a minute. I wondered if she was remembering the big ink-blot stain of Trace's blood on the stone patio, like I was. I bet Trace was remembering Elliot ripping down my panties and forcing his way in between my legs.

  Such lovely memories.

  "Momma," I finally spoke. "Let's go sit." We made our way into the ugly courtroom and took our seats behind the prosecutor's table. The prosecutor, a sturdy woman with silky blond hair and dark glasses perched on her perky nose, was nice enough. I had faith that she could win the case. Elliot had made it so easy for her, after all. The mountain of evidence was pretty hard to deny.

  His lawyer was trying, of course. Elliot's official plea—not guilty by reason of mental defect. Not without merit, but hardly a slam-dunk. His court-appointed defense lawyer was a schlubby grey haired man in an ill-fitting suit. He looked a mess, but his dark eyes were shrewd. He seemed like a force to be reckoned with.

  Elliot still didn't have a chance.

  I was going to take the stand and destroy him. I had every intention of crying and detailing every dirty detail. I was going to tell them exactly how he stabbed Trace and raped me and threw me over his shoulder and kidnapped me. I was going to tell them about the cheap motel and how he made me stitch him up and then what he did afterwards.

  I was going to tell them everything about that night.

  But I had no intentions of telling anyone that Elliot and I had a history.

  As far as I was concerned, it was of no concern. Elliot had broken enough laws to be convicted twice over. The weekend I spent at his house in Austin was still our dirty little secret.

  My mother clamped her hands around mine and pulled them into her lap. She was already tearing up. I took a deep breath, annoyance swelling up in me. I just wanted all of it over. The sooner Elliot was in prison, the sooner I could get on with the rest of my life. I wanted him in a cage. I wanted him to suffer everyday. I wanted to wake up with a smile on my face, knowing that he was dying a little, everyday. He was a cancer in my body, and I wanted to cut it out.

  I squeezed my mother's hands, turning my eyes to the door that I knew Elliot was going to walk through any minute. It had been so long since I'd seen him. I wondered if he would be like a stranger. Would I even recognize him? I leaned forward, impatience and anticipation making my pulse race. I jumped when a cop walked through the door, but he let it close behind him.

  “Relax,” my mother whispered to me, but I didn't know if it was more for my benefit or hers. She'd been a bundle of raw nerves ever since the hospital, and I knew she tried to take my pain into herself, hoping to give me some relief. Unfortunately, pain doesn't work that way. There's more than enough to go around.

  I wasn't prepared when he finally entered the courtroom, his hands cuffed behind him. It was very unceremonious. Nobody announced that he was about to enter. He simply strolled in and suddenly we were in the same room together for the first time in months. I hissed in a sharp breath at the sight of him. He wore a tailored black suit with a white shirt underneath and a gray tie around his neck. I had never seen him look so respectable. He would have been just as comfortable in that suit in church or a boardroom, as a contributing member of society.

  He cleaned up real good.

  His black hair was a little longer on top, slightly curly and brushed forward, like he'd just run his fingers through it. He kept his eyes down at the ground as an officer uncuffed him. I stared at him, willing him to look at me. I wanted him to see me. I wanted him to know that I was there, close enough to touch, but he wasn't allowed. I stare at him, but he turns his back to me. He and his lawyer dip their heads, whispering something.

  Then the judge arrived and the trial began.

  As more and more time passed, the angrier I got. He refused to look at me. He kept his eyes straight ahead and his face blank as the prosecutor made her opening statements. When his lawyer stood to began his statement, I caught a glimpse of Elliot's hands. They were fisted on the table, clenched like he was trying to keep a tight reign on himself.

  I could hear the minutes ticking by loudly in my brain. My pulse was pounding and I could barely sit still. I wanted to march across the court room and shake him. I wanted to slap his face and make him look at me. I wanted the satisfaction.

  I needed it.

  Tears of rage welled up in my eyes and I swiped them away impatiently. My mother squeezed my hand again. All of the court proceedings were on mute and fast forward. Before I knew it, the judge called for a recess and the first day of Elliot's trial was over. People around me began to stand and exit the courtroom. I stood too, robotically, but my eyes never budged. Elliot stood and his shoulders were tense, like he could feel my gaze. He turned to face me, his head still dropped, as the officer cuffed his wrists.

  Then it happened.

  As he turned to exit, he raised his eyes to meet mine. A bolt of electricity shot through me and I froze. Time seemed to stop. All the memories of the night in the motel flashed through me. His breath against my ear. His body against mine. His hands roaming between my legs and pressed around my throat. I could tell he felt it, too. His eyes flashed and widened and he lunged forward. I jumped and the spell was broken. The sounds and people of the courtroom came back, loud and pushy in my brain.

  The officer pulled Elliot toward the side door and I followed the crowd out of the courtroom. When I was outside in the Texas heat, I could finally take a deep breath. As the air filled my lungs, I felt an odd sense of calm come over me. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was actually going to be fine.

  Elliot was suffering and I was going to be just fine.

  *****

  To this day, the trial is a blur to me. It's hard to keep the days straight in my head. They all began to melt together. Everyday in the courtroom, it took all of my strength and attention just to keep my eyes off of her. I could feel her behind me, seated to my right. I could feel her gaze on me, like a red-hot iron burning me over and
over. I wanted to know what she was thinking about. Was she remembering all of the shit that we did, all of the shit that she said?

  Forever and ever. I didn't forget.

  I never will.

  I was royally fucked, yet all I cared about was her. I knew I was going away to prison, but the implications hadn't completely sunk in yet. My lawyer thought I had a shot at an extended stay in a mental hospital, but I knew that there was no chance. One look at the jury box and the jig was up. Those people didn't have an ounce of pity for my poor soul. They wanted me locked up with the other animals, never to see the light of day again.

  I knew I deserved to be punished.

  I had gone off the deep end. I was a lunatic when it came to my Joan, plain and simple. I kidnapped her. I stabbed a man for her. If I had my way, he would have died. He needed to be taught a lesson for touching what was mine. If I somehow made it out of the trial as a free man, I knew I would keep coming for her. I would never stop.

  At night, staring at the cement walls of my jail cell, I couldn't sleep. I would think of her. I began to think that maybe it was better for her if I was locked up. I didn't know where my madness began when it came to her. I didn't know when it ended. I had hurt her. Many times. If—no, when—we were together again, I knew I would hurt her again. I would hurt those she was close to, those she loved. I wouldn't stop hurting her.

  It's my nature.

  But she would hurt me, too. She wanted to hurt me so badly, I could taste it.

  In the courtroom, the only way I could think to keep myself sane was to stare at the wall behind the judge's head. If I looked at her, all hell would break loose. She was just too damn beautiful and too damn angry. The anger was coming off her in waves. It was intoxicating.

  When the prosecutor called her up to testify, it took all my strength to stay in my chair and not jump over the table and throw my arms around her. I shifted my eyes to the officer standing a few feet away. I wondered how fast I could grab the gun from the holster on his hip. I could go down in a blaze of glory and take my girl with me. In that second, I was low on sleep and high on adrenaline. I felt like I could do anything, if I put my mind to it. But the moment of opportunity came and went as Joan drew my attention like a beacon in the dark courtroom. She wore a black knee-length skirt and a white blouse. Her shiny dark hair was longer than the last time I saw her, and she had it braided down her back. Lust slithered through me and I knew she'd worn it like that just for me.

  She was taunting me.

  She looked fresh and beautiful, her lips glossy and her eyes shiny with unshed tears. The jury loved her the second she sat down and I couldn't blame them. She stared past me and I knew that since she had my attention, she wouldn't give me the time of day. She was playing a game with me and I couldn't help but be pulled in. I kept my eyes on her as she squirmed in her seat at the heat of my gaze. I kept my eyes on her as she swore to the tell the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

  Then she started to lie.

  She told the court a story about a strange man who broke into her parents house, raped her, and stabbed her loving fiancé . She told about how the strange man kidnapped her and took her to a dingy motel in the middle of nowhere. She dabbed at her eye with a tissue between questions on cue. It was all a show. A damn good show. I almost laughed out loud.

  When the prosecutor asked her to identify the strange man who committed such heinous crimes against her, she took a deep, shaky breath. Then she held out her lovely finger and looked me right in the eye.

  “That's him,” she said.

  “Let the record show that the witness has identified the defendant, Elliot John Pritchard,” the blond prosecutor said, her voice smug as hell, but I could barely hear her. For a minute, I had Joanie all to myself. She didn't look away and neither did I. The whole courtroom faded away and it was like we were back in the muggy, dark motel room. I could feel the blood oozing down my side from where she'd stabbed me. I pressed my hand to my ribs, involuntarily. The wound ached and throbbed, but I didn't mind the pain. I didn't mind anything at all as she lay beneath me. I could feel her chest rising and falling with each breath. I could smell the honeyed scent of her skin. She had a perfume that was uniquely hers and it filled me up with hope and love.

  I was fucked, but it didn't matter.

  Nothing mattered except her.

  I didn't hear any more of the questions or any more of her answers. It didn't matter. She looked away but every so often, her eyes would flit back to mine as if she couldn't stop herself. I played along, my side still throbbing with phantom pain. After awhile, the prosecutor sat down and Williams, my lawyer, stood up. It was his turn to question Joan. He ran his hand over his beer belly and hiked up his suit pants. The old fucker drank too much and he was court-appointed so he didn't have to give a shit, but he was like a rottweiler after a bone. He wanted me to get off more than I did. He believed I could be rehabilitated with proper medication and treatment. Maybe he just wanted to make his name on a big case. Either way, he was determined.

  “Miss Vasquez, did you used to live in Austin?” Williams asked, shifting his hips and crossing his arms over his chest.

  “I did,” she said and her eyes darted back to mine. She wasn't happy with the question.

  “For how long?”

  “Five years. I went to U of T and then I stayed for a few months after I graduated.”

  “So is it possible that your path crossed with my client, who also lived in Austin?” He blinked at her shrewdly from above the frames of his glasses.

  “Austin is a big city,” she said, leaning forward in her chair like she wanted to stand and escape.

  “Is that a yes or no?” Williams asked.

  “Objection. Relevance?” the prosecutor called out.

  “I have a point, your honor,” Williams said, jovially, his belly shaking. “My client resides in Austin. I'm trying to establish any possible links between my client and the victim.”

  “Answer the question, Miss Vasquez,” the judge said without emotion.

  “Yes, I suppose it is possible.” Joan's voice was harder as she replied, edged with broken glass. Her facade had crumbled a bit and I could see the real Joanie just underneath. The Joanie I had seen in that first night in Austin, so long ago. The Joanie who would punch and kick and claw when she felt threatened.

  “Miss Vasquez, did you used to frequent an establishment called The Blue Mermaid?” Williams said and I shifted my gaze to him. I wondered where he was going. I was pretty sure Joan didn't want anyone to know about Austin. I didn't either, but I had my own reasons. She blinked rapidly, scooting forward in her chair again.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “Did you ever meet my client there?”

  “No.” Her voice is deadened and she no longer looked at me. All of her attention was focused on Williams.

  “Miss Vasquez, did you ever have consensual sex with my client?” Joan's eyes widened and I felt my muscles tighten, protectively.

  “Objection!” the prosecutor called out again. “Relevance!”

  “The supposed targeting of Miss Vasquez by my client is very coincidental. I would like the judge to grant me permission to continue this line of questioning with this witness.”

  “I'll allow it,” the judge nodded and looked at Joan, expectantly.

  “He raped me!” Joan hissed, the facade completely gone. The anger in her voice sent a shiver down my spine.

  “Did you ever have consensual sex with my client?” Williams continued, persistent.

  “No!”

  “Miss Vasquez, after you moved back to Dallas to be with your parents, did you ever go back to Austin? For a trip, perhaps?” I could hear the glee in William's voice. He was having fun, in the way only a defense attorney could, by creating reasonable doubt. A murmur went through the courtroom and I knew everyone was wondering where Williams was going. Shit, so was I. Joan's eyes flitted back to me, and I could see fire dancing behind them. She thought I sni
tched. She thought that I told Williams all about what happened in Austin. I swallowed hard, clenching my jaw. I didn't tell anybody.

  I never have and I never will.

  That will always be our secret.

  “Yes,” she said, between gritted teeth.

  “Did you go on a trip to Austin three days before this incident took place?”

  “Yes.”

  “Were you visiting a friend? Or perhaps you had another boyfriend on the side you were visiting?” Joan clamped her mouth shut and didn't answer. Williams shrugged it off and continued. “Miss Vasquez, were you visiting my client?” he said, asking her point blank. I glanced to the jury. Their interest seemed piqued.

  “No.” Joan's voice was a low hiss.

  “When you were in Austin, three days before this supposedly random attack, did you ask my client to kill your fiancé?” Williams went in for the kill and the prosecutor bolted out of her seat.

  “Objection, your honor!”

  “Reign it in, Williams,” was the judge's response.

  “Yes, your honor,” Williams said, chastised, then continued. “Miss Vasquez, did you ever have a relationship, sexual or otherwise, with my client?”

  “No!” Joan screamed and it chilled me to my very bones. I couldn't help it, my dick went hard and all I could think about was twisting my hand around her braid and pulling her into my lap. I wished I could kiss her. I wished I could lick and suck on her pussy until she was nice and wet for me. I wished for her smile and her laughter and her softness. I wished it was just us, all alone in Austin again, the dark house like a cocoon around us.

  I wished a lot of things.

  I still do.

  I slammed my hand on the table and it echoed through the courtroom. I stood and I could feel all eyes on me.

  “Get control of your client, Mr. Williams,” the judge said. Joan sucked in a sharp breath, but didn't look at me. Her whole body was tight with restrained anger. She liked being in control, but Williams had stripped her of it. Just as I had. Williams nodded and bent toward me.