by Melody Dawn
I tell her that I honestly don’t know what is going on with the two of them. Connor hasn’t said anything to me, which is strange, but I’m sure I’ll hear plenty tonight when he gets home.
Once our meal is ready and we are eating, it crosses my mind that she still hasn’t really told me anything significant about her past, where she came from, her family, etc. It seems very strange to me because she is constantly asking about mine.
I decide this is a good opportunity to ask. “So where’s home for you?”
I notice her knuckles tighten and she says in a high voice, “Here in Houston, with Madison; why are you asking?”
I know I’ve hit a nerve, but I keep going. “No, I mean where were you born; where does your family live?”
Putting her head down, she says, “I don’t have a family anymore and I was born in the Western part of the US.”
“What the fuck does that mean?” I ask harshly without meaning to.
I notice she has tears in her eyes and she gets up to carry her plate into the kitchen. She stands at the sink with her head down, looking so defeated, and I feel like dog shit for bringing it up. I walk up behind her, place my arms around her waist, and squeeze.
Kissing the top of her head, I say, “You can tell me when you’re ready.” At that, she turns around and says, “What if I’m never ready. Are you going to leave me?” She has such desolation in her eyes that I know I can’t push this right now.
Instead I hug her again and say, “I’m never leaving you. You need to remember that.”
Without another word being said, we clean up the kitchen, and then she says she needs to get home. I realize we never made it to the pool so that will have to wait until next time. I need to get her home and get ready for work tonight plus I have school tomorrow. Once we’re dressed again, I put her in the truck and get on the road to her apartment. Just like on the way here, it’s silent; I want to say something, but I have a feeling she needs to be alone with her thoughts.
We arrive at her apartment and I walk her to her door. Before she goes in, I put her things down, and pull her to me. We start to kiss and its getting heavy when I hear the nastiest voice I’ve ever heard. It’s Alyssa and she is in full on bitch mode.
“Well, well, look at the happy couple. Have fun because it’s not going to last, Chloe…I will get him back.”
I feel Chloe’s whole body tighten up and I have a feeling if I let go, a cat fight of epic proportions will begin.
With a glare, I turn around and say, “Shut the hell up, Alyssa.”
Unlocking the door, I push Chloe through it, and slam it behind me. Connor and Madison are sitting on the couch staring at us. Without a word, Chloe stomps to her bedroom and I just helplessly stand there. I can’t believe how this day has disintegrated. How did we go from great food and fantastic orgasms to this? I know that I’m not going to get anywhere with Chloe today, so I ask Madison if I can change into my scrubs in their bathroom.
Once I’m done, I go into the kitchen and of course, Connor, has to follow me in there.
“So, still in the dog house, huh,” he asks?
I flip him off and then say dejectedly, “Actually, we worked everything out until right before I brought her home, I asked her where she was from and about her parents.”
Madison comes in as I’m saying this and she just listens as I continue to explain about Chloe’s reactions to my questions and then Alyssa’s shitty timing and her fucking comments.
Connor uses my sad story to point out, “This is why I don’t do…”
Hearing this, Madison slugs him in the arm and says, “He doesn’t need to hear your anti-love crap right now!”
To my surprise, he shuts up. And I’m relieved, because Chloe comes into the kitchen, and walks over to me.
She wraps her arms around me and asks, “Aren’t you going to be late for work?”
Unfortunately, she’s right and it’s time to go. So, I kiss her goodbye, and as I walk out the door, it occurs to me that once again I’m leaving without any answers.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chloe
I stand in the kitchen for what seems like an eternity, but I know it’s probably only a minute or so. My mind races through the day’s events and I’m equally parts happy and scared out of my mind. Jayson and I were so close today, not just with our bodies, but in every way. If only I could have just pulled up my big girl panties and told him what he needs to know. I almost did it, but when he started asking questions about my family and where I used to live, I just shut down on him.
It was so quiet in his truck and not because I was giving him the silent treatment. Maybe, this time it was him giving it to me. I wanted to force my secrets from my mouth, but my lips were super-glued together. When we got to my house and that bitch, Alyssa, started in with her mouth vomit, the whole day just became tainted. Granted, I know I had already made it unpleasant with my unwillingness to talk about my past.
Once we got into my apartment and Jayson had to change for work, I relaxed for the first time since the amazing orgasm from earlier. I know I’m a horrible person, but it was easier to watch him leave then to have to spill my secrets. I think about this for a moment; what if he was leaving for good? How would I feel? Before I realize it, I’m in a full blown panic attack and can’t breathe.
With all of my introspection, I forgot Connor and Madison were in the kitchen with me. Madison is not good in these situations, so as usual, it’s one of the Reece brothers to the rescue. I feel Connor’s arms go around me and whisper in my ear to breathe. I concentrate on his words and my breathing starts to slow. He sounds and smells so much like Jayson that I start to cry.
Without stopping me or asking questions, Connor gathers me up in his arms and holds me until the storm dies down. I suddenly realize that I’m in Connor’s arms and his shirt is soaked. Looking up at him, I don’t know what to say.
Of course, he is still Connor and says, “I knew you liked me better!”
It was exactly the icebreaker needed and the three of us couldn’t help but laugh.
Unwrapping myself from his hold, I notice Madison has tears in her eyes and it makes me feel like the worst kind of crap in the world. Here are all of these people caring for me and I can’t get my head out of my ass to accept their love and friendship. I have let this secret rule my life for so long and it has made me keep people at arm’s length. I wasn’t always this way, but when I found out that I was responsible for a death and life-changing injuries, I shut down. I drew into myself even more when I was put into the legal system as a vulnerable teenager with no help from my parents.
I tell Connor and Madison that I need some time alone and retreat to my bedroom. Getting out my clothes and into my pajama shorts set, I snuggle down into my bed. For the first time in maybe ever, I let the memories wash over me. I don’t try to drown them out with music or a book; instead I remember every single thing that happened in the case of The State of California vs. Chloe I. Schaeffer...
Standing there in my suit, my hair up in a French twist, and makeup done impeccably, I look much older than 18. Waiting for the judge to be seated, I feel lightheaded and start to sway. My lawyer, the prick, doesn’t even notice, but the judge…Judge Corcoran…notices immediately.
“Council, please make sure your client is cognizant of these proceedings. Don’t waste my time today!”
My lawyer looks over at me and glares like I just got him in trouble with the judge on purpose.
In a much nicer tone, he asks, “Miss Schaeffer, are you physically capable of being here today?”
The concerned tone of his voice makes my eyes burn with unshed tears…I haven’t heard that kind of compassion since I when was in the hospital and Laurie, my social worker, would come and visit me.
Shaking my head in the affirmative, I say, “Yes, Your Honor, I’m ok.”
He nods his head and then the bailiff is bellowing, “Next up is the case of the State of California vs Chloe Isabella Sch
aeffer…all parties are present and spoken for.”
The judge looks at all of us and says, “Ok, today is just a hearing for both sides to air their discovery, go over the facts of the case, and to see if a trial is necessary.”
The prosecutor’s head jerks up at this declaration; I can tell he is hoping for a high profile case to bolster his career.
After a silent pause, the Judge says, “Alright, let’s get started then, if there are no objections.” Looking at the prosecutor, he says, “Mr. Sanders, please give us your facts of the case.”
As he begins to speak, it sounds like bees buzzing in my head and all I want to do is curl into myself and make this go away.
Looking slowly through his notes, which I know is a calculated move on his part, I’ve seen Law and Order, you know, the prosecutor begins. “Here is what we know, Judge. In June of 2011, Miss Schaeffer went to Castaways, a beach pub, and may I say that she was underage as well. She met many of her friends there due to it being their high school graduation night, and she consumed one drink, known as a Long Island Iced Tea. This drink was served to her by Daniel Latham, an ex-boyfriend to the defendant. Upon consuming that drink, she then got into her vehicle, tried to drive home, where she struck the car of Ethan and Cheyenne Sterling. Mr. and Mrs. Sterling suffered extensive long term injuries and their 6 month old son, Alex, was killed instantly.”
Hearing those words trigger so much pain inside me all over again. I don’t think I will ever reconcile myself to being a murderer, because that is what I am. Without realizing it, I’m sobbing loudly and I can’t stop. My lawyer leans over to tell me to knock it off, but the judge actually leaves his bench and brings me some tissue. Everyone, including me, is looking at him like he is an alien descended from another planet. Where is the hardcore judge I heard about? Right now, he seems more like my grandfather.
After taking his place back upon the bench, the judge asks if the prosecution has any more facts to be considered. Of course, the bastard says no, even though he knows what was done to me.
“Then moving on, I would like to hear from Mr. James, the defense council, and their version of events” he says.
My lawyer finally looks up and says, “Your Honor, there are many more facts to the case than what the People have put forth. Here are the facts: In June of 2011, Miss Schaeffer did indeed pay a visit to Castaways to celebrate her high school graduation. And yes, we concede she is not of California legal drinking age. She was served one drink by Daniel Latham, which she partially consumed. Mr. Latham is allegedly accused of putting a substance into Miss Schaeffer’s drink, which is corroborated on video, and hand delivering it to her. Mr. Latham then left the bar almost immediately. A short while later, Miss Schaeffer is seen going to her car…two witnesses that were outside at the time say she was stumbling and swaying as she walked. They also heard her call who we now know was her mother and ask for a ride home.
Until after the accident, it was not known why Miss Schaeffer chose to get behind the wheel of her vehicle. Because the police officer on scene had the foresight to preserve one of her vials of blood from the paramedics, it was found that GHB or Gamma Hydroxybutyrate, commonly known as the date rape drug was present in her toxic screening. I would also like to add that no other substances were found in her system except for the small amount of alcohol consumed.
The police officer on the scene tried questioning Miss Schaeffer, but was unable to get any details as she did not remember anything and then became incoherent at the announcement of Alex Sterling’s death. She was sedated and taken to San Diego Memorial Hospital where she remained until she was deemed both physically and emotionally stable enough to leave the hospital. I would also like to note that Daniel Latham has admitted to drugging my client’s drink and is now housed in the San Diego County Correctional Center awaiting arraignment.
In addition to these facts, I have also interviewed Miss Schaeffer’s mother who my client insisted she called for a ride…this is the phone call corroborated by the witnesses in the parking lot. At the time of the phone call, Mrs. Schaeffer told her to wait there in her car until she could get there to pick her up. Mrs. Schaeffer has also given details of a second phone call made to my client where she told her stay and sober up as Mr. Schaeffer did not want her to leave the house at that time of night. This detail is also corroborated in both Mrs. and Miss Schaeffer’s’ cell phone records. What is not known is why my client decided to get behind the wheel and try to drive herself home. The only conclusion I can come to is that she was severely impaired by the drug she unknowingly ingested.
Further checking into Miss Schaeffer’s background shows that she has never been in legal trouble; she has never even had a parking ticket. It is also known that she was a good student well-liked by her teachers and classmates and gave up her time willingly to help those in need by the way of charity work. I feel these facts paint Miss Schaeffer in a much different light than that of an irresponsible teenager who drunkenly got behind the wheel and caused not only the death of a child, but permanent injuries to the parents.”
My attorney pauses and the judge takes this moment to make a comment. “All of those things are very admirable, Counsel, but the fact remains that she took a life, not to mention the trauma to the parents.”
At this point, I can’t take anymore. All I can hear is “she took a life.” I can feel the nausea crawling up my throat and I try to push it down. I pray, God, please don’t let me throw up here, please! But, God’s not hearing me right now because the next thing I know I have vomited all over the front of my suit, the table, and my attorney’s papers. I begin to cry as snot, vomit, and tears all mix together. I feel so alone and it’s because I am; my parents and friends abandoned ship long ago. My parents have washed their hands of me as I no longer fit into their portrait of a successful thriving family. I don’t even have Laurie anymore because I didn’t get her contact information upon leaving the hospital.
I grab my purse and get some wet wipes out and try to clean everything up. I can feel my attorney’s disgust. If I didn’t need him so badly, I would kick his snooty ass to the curb. He grabs his papers from me with two fingers and moves as far away from me as he can at a two person table. I’m at least thankful for the wet wipes I always carry; my OCD impulses are now coming in handy. At that thought, I begin to laugh, and I don’t mean a soft laugh, but a belly laugh that I can’t control, I’m gasping for air because I’m laughing so hard. I feel someone next to me and thinking it was the bailiff coming to cart me away, I try to get it together. But again, it’s Judge Corcoran. I look at him with tears and who knows what else streaming down my face, trying not to laugh, and I can see a look in his eyes that makes me want to cry all over again. He can’t show it, but the man actually pities me.
He cleans up the table while I try to clean myself up. The courtroom is so quiet, it’s like a tomb. Neither my lawyer nor the Prosecution are saying anything. Both are looking at me like I’m some sort of rare insect and I can see that the Prosecutor’s dream of a high profile case with me being burned at the stake is disintegrating in front of his eyes. I don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing. I want to be punished; no I need to be punished. I can’t go ahead with my life knowing that I took another even if I wasn’t in my right mind at the time. I should have never gone to a bar that night and now I’m paying for it.
Once the judge is back on the bench, he becomes all business again. In a stern voice he says, “From what I’ve heard, there are legitimate reasons to go to trial. Miss Schaeffer is bound over for trial on the 25th of June at 9:00 AM unless…unless the People and the Defendant can come to some sort of acceptable plea agreement. Should that happen, let my office know immediately.” He looks at both the prosecutor and my defense attorney until they both look away. Then without skipping a beat, he says, “That is all. Bailiff, please call our next case…”
“Your Honor, wait, please,” the prosecutor says in a loud voice. Judge Corcoran looks annoyed and asks poi
ntedly, “What is it, sir?”
The prosecutor squares his shoulders and says, “Miss Schaeffer’s bail…we need to discuss the terms of it or if she is being held over until trial.”
My attorney quickly speaks up and says, “Miss Schaeffer is not a flight risk. She has family in the area, she has grown up here, she has a job, and she has been offered a scholarship to UC-SD.” I notice that he doesn’t tell him that I didn’t accept the scholarship and had plans to attend college in Boston.
The judge sighs and says, “Miss Schaeffer is released on her own recognizance, but will relinquish her passport to the prosecution. That is all.”
With the judge’s decision, the prosecutor angrily leaves the room while muttering loudly about “rich people” never having to answer for their crimes. That’s laughable…if he only knew, I’ve had myself shot at dawn, poisoned myself, stabbed myself, etc. every night in my sleep to atone for what I did.
As my attorney and I are leaving the courtroom, he says, “Chloe that went way better than I expected. You seem to have developed a rapport with Judge Corcoran. I could have done without the throwing up, but the crying was great.”
I turn to look at this enormous asshole so I can let him have a piece of my mind and I realize, what is the use? Nothing really matters anymore. I don’t say a word and he talks endlessly on about their most likely being a plea bargain. When we arrive at the parking lot, he tells me he will call me as soon as he hears something. With no emotion whatsoever, I thank him, and get in my car and head to the extended stay hotel I’m currently living at.
Once I reach my room and strip out of my clothes, I get into the shower at the hottest temperature I can stand. I scrub and scrub, but I still feel the vomit, blood from the accident, and mostly the shame that coats my entire existence. When I realize once again it’s futile, I get out and dry off. Instead of putting on regular clothes, I get dressed for bed, although it’s still early afternoon.
I pick up my phone and dial my parent’s home phone hoping maybe they will pick up this time. On the second ring, the phone is picked up and all the air goes whooshing out of my chest.