by A. Zavarelli
“Mrs. Morales?” I asked.
“Who are you?” the voice from the other side of the door replied.
There was a note of curiosity as she examined me. Emmanuel’s mother was a petite woman with bleak, exhausted eyes and a bone-weary presence that hit me right in the chest.
“My name is Gypsy,” I greeted her. “I’m Mr. West’s assistant.”
Her eyes moved to Lucian, and she shook her head. “You’re wasting your time. I already told you that.”
She moved to shut the door, but I shot my hand out and jammed it between the frame. “Please, Mrs. Morales. I’m only asking for five minutes of your time. If you don’t like what we have to say, then we’ll leave. I promise.”
She hesitated, her eyes moving from Lucian to me again. “I don’t want him in here. He brings bad press.”
“We’re already here,” I said. “The press knows who is representing your son, and that won’t change. They will find a story to spin, one way or another. But I’m telling you now that I can vouch for this man. He believes in your son’s innocence, or we wouldn’t be here. We only want to help.”
She hung her head and closed her eyes. “You can’t help.”
The quiet lingered between the three of us while I tried to figure out another angle. But as it turned out, I didn’t need to. When Mrs. Morales looked back up, she also opened the door.
“But I guess it won’t hurt to hear what you came to say, as long as you understand that this is my house, and if I ask you to leave, you will.”
“We understand,” I agreed.
She gestured us inside, and Lucian’s hand squeezed mine as we entered and sat down on the small sofa. The house was dark with all the windows blocked off, but it was clean and tidy. Mrs. Morales lived a simple life, and the meager possessions she owned were evidence of that.
“I tried to provide Emmanuel with a good home,” she told us as she sat down opposite and looked around. “I wanted to believe it would overcome the badness in him. I did everything I could to raise him right and keep him on a straight path, but I always knew this day would come.”
Lucian’s brows pinched together as he leaned back, examining her carefully. “What badness are you referring to, Mrs. Morales?”
She rocked back in her chair and stared off into the distance as she explained. “I never knew his father. He came at me in the dark one night on my way home from work. Couldn’t even tell you what he looked like, truly. But I suppose, he must look like Emmanuel. Or at least that’s what I wondered every time I looked at him.”
Lucian went rigid beside me, and even though I wasn’t a lawyer, I knew this wasn’t good. I suspected something like this could be used against Emmanuel at trial. If the media got wind of it, he wouldn’t stand a chance.
“Is it your belief that Emmanuel has been predisposed to violence because of his genes?” Lucian asked.
“I read books on it,” she answered. “Studies. I kept trying to tell myself that it didn’t matter. As long as he never knew, it would be okay. But in the back of my mind, I feared something like this would happen.”
“Has he ever shown any violent tendencies prior to this?” Lucian questioned.
“No,” Mrs. Morales said quietly. “But that doesn’t mean anything, does it? What happened can’t be undone.”
Lucian folded his hands together and leaned forward. “Mrs. Morales, first and foremost, I want you to know that I’m sorry for what happened to you. I’m sorry that you had to carry that burden for so many years on your own.”
Her face was blank, and she didn’t issue a response. It was evident that she had sealed away her feelings from that time, and she wouldn’t be divulging them now.
Lucian retrieved a pen and notepad from his briefcase. “If you were to remove Emmanuel’s genetic makeup from the picture, would you still feel that he was capable of violence based on what you know of him as a person and your son?”
Mrs. Morales clutched her hands together in her lap, her chair creaking as she gave it some thought. “I don’t know,” she finally answered. “I don’t know what to believe.”
Lucian nodded, giving her a moment before he moved on to his next question. “Can you tell me what time Emmanuel came home that day? The day of the murder.”
“It was around three o clock,” she answered. “I know that because my shows were just starting.”
“And he was here all night with you?”
Her foot bobbed up and down as she stared at the carpet. “I thought he was. But the police said he snuck out and went back to that girl’s house. They told me he was stalking her.”
“You never heard him leave?” Lucian pressed.
“No,” she answered. “I didn’t hear him leave. It doesn’t mean he didn’t, though.”
“Had you ever noticed him sneaking out of the house at night before?”
“No.” She shook her head. “I guess not.”
Lucian handed me the pad of paper, silently prompting me to take notes.
“Based on this knowledge, would you consider the possibility that your son might be innocent?”
Mrs. Morales shrugged. “I don’t know.”
“From what he’s told me,” Lucian went on, “he was shy. A quiet kid who didn’t have many friends. If I have any chance of proving his innocence, I need character witnesses who can testify on his behalf. Would you be willing to do that as his mother?”
Her eyes focused on Lucian, studying him as if he were a puzzle she couldn’t figure out. “What makes you so certain he’s innocent?”
Lucian looked at me as he answered. “Because I was in his shoes once. I was accused of a crime I didn’t commit, and I understand that sometimes things aren’t always as clear cut as they may seem.”
“I suppose that might be true,” Mrs. Morales agreed. “But I’m afraid I can’t help you. I wouldn’t be any good on the stand. I can’t find it within myself to lie, even for my own son. As horrible as it might sound, I think that he’s probably right where he’s meant to be now. Somewhere that he’s safe. And those out here can be safe too.”
I swallowed down my own frustration when I heard the pain in Lucian’s voice as he pleaded with her. “He needs you. You’re all he has.”
A tear fell down Mrs. Morales’s cheek, swiftly followed by another. She wiped away the evidence and shook her head. “I’d like for you to leave now.”
“SHE ISN’T GOING TO SEE anything else?” Gypsy asked quietly. “Is she?”
She sounded defeated, and it reflected my own dark mood since we’d left Emmanuel’s mother’s house.
“No,” I answered. “I don’t think she will.”
She’d done a noble thing by keeping Emmanuel and raising him, but that didn’t mean she hadn’t spent her whole life resenting him for it anyway. There was nothing I could do to change that. It was another strike against Emmanuel, and if the prosecutor got a whiff of it, there would be a shitstorm.
The trial was coming up, and I didn’t feel as prepared as I should have been. I knew the reason for that was sitting beside me in the passenger seat. I’d told myself I’d be able to manage both, but I wasn’t accustomed to dividing my attention.
Regardless, when we came to a stop in the driveway and I glanced over at her, I couldn’t regret it. My time with her was limited, and maybe it was a little selfish, but I wanted to enjoy that just as much as I wanted to help Emmanuel.
I still believed I could do both. I just had to find a way.
I SPENT THE WEEK FOCUSING on my studies, and with every passing day, I was surprised how much I actually enjoyed it. I didn’t know why I’d put it off for so long, but Kate made the course better than I’m certain anyone else could have. She never talked to me like I was less than her, and in fact, she was always quick to point out my strengths. During her animated discussions, she’d told me multiple times how well I was progressing. I was breezing through the course, and with our one-on-one time, I’d probably even be ready to test by the end of the
month.
Lucian had asked me several times if I’d considered the next step. He even mentioned college, but I wasn’t sure about any of that. I told him I was taking things one day at a time, and he accepted that answer for now.
We had settled into a comfortable pattern, and it surprised me how easily I’d adapted to domesticated life. Every morning, we sat down to breakfast together. Every evening, we had dinner together. We slept beside each other, and sometimes showered together, and he read to me in a deep, lulling voice that I’d grown to revere.
I found myself thinking about him often throughout the day, wondering what he was doing. Wondering what came next. When exactly was he going to pull the cord on us? His contract said two years, and I thought about that date often. Would he just wake up that morning and tell me my time was done and I had to leave?
I dreaded it, and I resented it. But when I looked into his dark eyes, those feelings melted and gave way to warmth. He wore his stress on his face. The tired lines from the years he’d been battered by the system and his work. He wanted so badly to help Emmanuel, but I could tell from the constant tension he’d been carrying that he didn’t know if he could.
I’d driven to his office a few times this week after class to see how I could help, and he’d given me meaningless tasks to pacify me. But it wasn’t enough. I wanted to do more, I just wasn’t sure how.
Today, when I found him sitting at his desk, bone-weary and exhausted, I knew the thing he needed most wasn’t office work. When he looked up and saw me standing there, some of the tension bled from his face, and it made me feel important.
I still didn’t understand how I could have that power over him. How could he ever find any comfort in me? But for some reason, he did. And for the first time in my life, I didn’t want to abuse that power or trust.
I walked around his desk and rested my hands on his shoulders as his head fell back against me and his eyes closed.
“You work too much,” I told him as I began to massage his shoulders.
He sighed, and his eyes fluttered open for half a second. “That’s the life of an attorney.”
Maybe that was true, but I think there was always an exception, and Lucian was it. He had dedicated his whole life to helping his clients.
“What can I do to help?” I asked.
“What you’re doing right now feels pretty good,” he murmured. “You can keep doing that.”
So, I did. I massaged him until my hands started to cramp, and even then, I kept going. But I wanted to do more to relieve his tension. He’d been avoiding physical contact between us, either from his own guilt or exhaustion, and I missed that intimacy between us.
There was one thing I still hadn’t done for Lucian. He’d never asked, and I never offered because when this started, I wasn’t in the habit of giving up my power. But right now, it was exactly what I wanted.
I needed to kneel before him and worship him the way he worshipped his God. I needed to feel the push and pull of his doubts and his desires, followed by the inevitable caving in to temptation. There was never any moment more powerful than when I felt him succumb to me. When he’d forsaken his values and dived headlong into the sins of my flesh.
I dragged my fingers through his hair and bent to kiss his throat. He hummed a sound of approval that vibrated against my lips and stirred the devil inside me. His dick was solid and heavy, already straining against the black material of his trousers when I walked around to face him. I kneeled between his parted legs, and he reached down to touch my hair, petting it beneath the palm of his hand while he watched me.
“You are so goddamned beautiful, Gypsy,” he murmured. “If I could remember you like this… just like this… I could die a happy man right now.”
My lips tilted up at the corners as I fondled his throbbing cock beneath the material. “You don’t have to remember it. I’m right here.”
A fleeting sadness passed over his features, and I latched onto it. At that moment, I wondered if he regretted his decision to send me away. I told myself there was hope. If he was sad, then it meant things could change. He could still realize he didn’t ever have to let me go.
I wanted to tell him, but the words wouldn’t come. It was difficult for me to express my emotions, and I often found I was better at showing them. That was my exact intention when I unzipped his pants and drew out his swollen flesh.
He was so hard it felt like it would be painful, and the fat head of his dick was already dripping his arousal. I squeezed the clear liquid from the tip and sopped it up with my tongue. Lucian jolted with an agonized grunt, strangling the sides of his chair as his entire body shuddered.
It entered my mind that this was probably testing the limits of his self-control. He wasn’t the kind of man to sit back and simply receive a blowjob. He was the kind of man who wanted to grab my hair and fuck my mouth.
When I looked up into his eyes, I wanted to be that for him, but I knew I couldn’t. This was as far as my submission went. I couldn’t let him tie me up and whip me or torture me. I couldn’t. And I wondered if he needed that.
I hated that I was even thinking about it. I hated that when I drew his cock into my mouth and he groaned, I wondered if it was good enough. So many doubts flooded my mind, and I didn’t know how to process them. When I never cared, I didn’t have to worry about these things.
But now I did.
I teased the head of his dick with my tongue. He grunted and tangled his fingers in my hair, straining to keep himself in check.
“Use me,” I whispered.
He forced my chin up and touched my face reverently. “You want to be my pet?”
I nodded.
“What if I told you I respect you too much to do that?”
“Then I wouldn’t believe you.”
His eyes chased over my features, seeking out my reasons. I didn’t know why I wanted it. Maybe it would make me hate him. Maybe it would settle this once and for all and cure me of these insufferable feelings I didn’t understand and could barely tolerate.
Lucian’s fingers wrapped around the rosary necklace he’d given me, and he used it to drag me back toward his cock. It was so tight, the tension in my throat triggered an adrenaline response. I trusted him, but I was nervous. Giving up my power wasn’t an easy task, and he had to know it.
“Do you want to know what I think, pet?” He rubbed the head of his cock against my lips, smearing the liquid that had gathered there onto my tongue.
I tried to shake my head, but it didn’t move. He smiled, and it was dark. Filled with promise of what I claimed to want from him. Without warning, he used his grip on the back of my head to shove himself into my mouth until I gagged.
I coughed and dug my fingers into his thighs, clinging to him while he dragged my face up and down the length of his shaft. I was simultaneously enchanted by the sounds of pleasure erupting from his throat and fueled by my desire to tell him to fuck off. But regardless of what my mind wasn’t sure of, my body responded to it. Between my legs, I was wet, and I wanted him inside me. I wanted him so fucking much it physically hurt.
“I think you want to push me away.” Lucian thrust into my mouth. “But I’m not going anywhere. And neither are you.”
A sound of defeat vibrated over my tongue, and Lucian released the chain around my neck to slip his hand down into my tank top, pawing at my breast.
“You’re too pretty for this,” he murmured. “You’re too pretty to have my dick in your mouth like this.”
He sounded tortured, and I was glad he felt it too. But I wasn’t about to let his morals get the best of him. Not when he relaxed his grip on me and started to question everything with his eyes.
I took his dick into my hands again and drank from him like he was holy wine. I worshipped him and tried to exorcise his demons. I bowed before him and offered myself to him in the purest form I could imagine. My complete submission. I needed to please him. I needed to be unpretty with his dick in my mouth and his come spill
ing down my throat.
I begged him for it, and he gave in, releasing in a violent catharsis as he exploded across my tongue. I swallowed what he gave me, and then nursed him for more until he made me stop, hauling me from the floor up into his lap.
He kissed me, and it felt dirty and wicked at the same time. I wanted him. I needed him. And he knew it.
“It’s your turn, pet.”
I waited for him to do something, to give me some instruction, but instead, he just stared at me with a wicked darkness that I felt deep in my bones.
“I’m going to release you.”
“HI, FATHER.”
My head dipped forward and guilt consumed me when I answered her. “Hello.”
Silence followed, and I didn’t know how long I could keep doing this. I knew it was wrong, but I also knew that I craved this. As difficult as her confessions were, I hung on every word. Outside, she had crafted a shell of togetherness, blending into society like the perfect chameleon. But inside, everything was broken, just like me.
“Why don’t you tell me what brought you here today,” I suggested.
The soft rapping of her fingers against the wood preceded her answer. “I’ve been having this dream lately.”
“What sort of dream?”
“It’s stupid, really.” She choked out a laugh for my benefit. “I’m walking down the aisle as if I’m about to get married, and I’m really happy.”
“What’s stupid about that?”
“It’s not in the cards for me,” she said. “The whole idea is ridiculous. I don’t want to get married. But in the dream, I think I do, and I’m really happy until I get to the end of the aisle.”
“What happens?”
“I see his face, and it’s always different, but the same. One of the Johns. And I don’t know their names, but I remember exactly what they did to me.”
Bitterness coated my tongue, and I wanted to tell her to stop. I didn’t need to hear anymore. That would be the selfish thing to do, but she didn’t stop. Once she opened up, the words flowed freely.