Savage Delight (13 page)

“Objection, your honor, visual confirmation of the weapon at the moment isn’t relevant –” The defense starts. Judge Diego shoots him a sharp look.

“Overruled.
Continue, Ms. Roth.”

“Thank you, your honor.” Mom’s lawyer nods. “Mrs. Blake, did he have a weapon you could see?”

“Yes. A baseball bat, the one we keep in the closet downstairs.”

“And then what happened?”

“Jack hit him, and Leo tumbled off me and onto the floor,” Mom’s voice gets stronger. She looks at Jack, and he nods, staring back at her with those icy eyes. “And Leo got furious, and swung at him. He tried to punch him, but Jack hit him again.”

“How many times would you say Jack hit him?”

“Four. Five, maybe. Each time Leo tried to get up, Jack would keep him down, on the floor.”

“And then what happened?”

“Jack held me. I was crying, and shaking, and Jack held me and told me it was going to be alright.” She smiles. “And I believed it.”

I look over at Jack. He’s looking at Mom, his gaze fixed, but something about it is softer than normal.

“And then he went downstairs, to where Isis was, and I went with him, and I started crying again when I saw her body so still. I was afraid. Terrified. You don’t know how – oh god –” Mom cuts off, and the lawyer looks to Judge Diego.

“That’s all, your honor.”

I get up to help Mom to her chair, but Kayla pulls me back down and I watch the guard do it instead. Mom smiles a watery smile at me once she’s seated at the table, and gives me a thumbs up. She’s isn’t okay. But she’s not afraid. I can see that much.

They call Jack to the stand next. The defense attorney is startled at his lack of expression – it unnerves him. I smother a laugh. Welcome to the club, bucko.

“Did you, or did you not, break into the Blake’s house without permission?” The attorney asks.  

“Yes,” Jack says in a monotone. “I broke in. Through the open door your client left.”

A murmur goes around the courtroom. Kayla pumps her fist and squeals.

“Oh, he’s gonna kill this guy so bad.”

I twist my mouth shut. She has no idea.

“And what did you witness when you walked in?”

“I saw Isis Blake collapsed on the floor. There was a bloody smear on the wall, and blood on the back of her head.”

“Did you see my client anywhere in the room?”

Jack narrows his eyes. “No. But I could hear him thumping around upstairs.”

“So you did not witness my client ‘assaulting’ Isis Blake?”

“No.”

The attorney smirks, and paces. “And did you, or did you not, grab an aluminum baseball bat and head upstairs to confront my client?”

“I did.”

“And was my client armed?”

“No. But that didn’t seem to stop him from trying to rape a terrified woman.”

I flinch. Mom is completely still, focused on Jack. The court rustles again, and the judge bangs her gavel.

“Order!
Order in the court.”

When the murmurs die down, the defense attorney straightens.

“How do you know the Blake family, Jack?”

“Isis is an –” There’s the briefest pause as Jack thinks. “ – acquaintance. From school.”

“I’d like to present exhibit A,” The attorney walks up, holding a tape recorder and placing it on the table. “A recorded conversation with your Principal, Mr. Evans, who confirms you and Isis were antagonizing each other at school with outlandish pranks months prior to this event. You weren’t friends. According to Evans, you were quite the opposite. So why were you at her house? Was it to do her harm?”

“Objection!”
Mom’s lawyer shouts. “Your honor, what does this have to do with the case?”

Judge Diego sighs. “Dismissed. Pearson, try to stay on topic.”

The attorney nods. “No need. The defense rests, your honor.”

Jack looks to me. If I strain hard enough to poop myself, I can barely discern the tiniest sliver of worry in his eyes. The jury is looking at Jack like they’re suddenly suspicious.

Mom’s lawyer grills Jack in a more positive direction – highlighting how Jack called 911 immediately when he found me, and how brave he had to be to face down a full-grown, furious man. Jack shrugs it off, but I can see what she’s trying to do – paint him in a sympathetic, hero light. And it’s working. Mildly. The jury isn’t staring at him like he has three heads anymore, anyway.

Jack comes back. His fists are tight on his knees, and he looks paler.

“You…you alright?”
I try. “I mean, other than the fact you have a fat arrogant tumor on your neck you call a head.”

“I’m fine,” He says softly. There’s a beat.

“I didn’t, uh, mean it. The tumor thing. It’s my instinct to be mean to you.”

A wisp of a crooked smile pulls on his mouth.

“I know.”

And then they call for Leo. The defense attorney builds his case up – that he fought in Vietnam thirty years ago, that he got a head injury there, that the army shrink had diagnosed him with PTSD. And with every little half-baked story, the fury in my guts burns hotter, and hotter. It makes my stomach want to evacuate lunch onto his shoes. But I can’t do anything about it. They won’t even let me testify because of my head. I’m helpless. And being helpless is the worst thing in the known universe. 

“Is it correct that you received a call from Mrs. Blake earlier that day, asking you to visit her at her home?” The attorney asks. Leo adjusts his cast and with a mock-serious face, nods.

“Yes.”

“That’s fucking bullshit!” I shout, standing and jabbing my finger at him. “That’s bullshit and you know it!”

“Order!”
The judge bangs her gavel. “Miss Blake, be seated!”

“He’s lying, your honor! He’s a lying scumbag who ruined my Mom’s life –”

“Order!”
She shouts. “You either sit down right now young lady, or I’ll have you escorted out.”

I’m breathing heavy, and my blood sings hot in my veins. I’m ready to punch, to fight, to kick and bite and scream. But I can’t do that here. Mom’s counting on me, on this trial, to give her some peace of mind. I push through the row and storm out the door. The marble halls of the courtroom are too pristine. They mock me, clean and shiny when my insides are dirty and filled with caked hate.

“Hey!”

I ignore the voice and stride down the hall.

“Hey!”

“AGHH!”
I kick a bench with the flat of my sole. “Pathetic shithead! Fucking lying monkey-anus-faced bastard –”

“Isis –”

“If I ever get within five feet of him, there will be blood. Of the not-fake kind.”

“Isis, listen –”

“I’m sure they make pitchforks that can fit inside a human mouth. And down the throat.”

“Isis!”

Someone grabs my hand. I whirl around and pull it away. Jack stands there, slightly panting.

“Listen to me; you need to calm down.”

“Calm!”
I laugh. “I’m perfectly calm!”

“What are you doing with your hands?”

“Practicing.”
I wiggle my fingers.

“For what?”

“For when I get my hands inside his guts.”

“He’s not going to get away with it. Even a moron Freshman in law school could see that. So don’t get worked up like this. It’s not helping anyone, and it’s certainly not helping you.”

“Oh, you wanna help me now? That’s weird, because last time we talked you basically told me you’re going to make my life hell.”

“Do I? Make your life hell?”

His voice pitches down, low and deep and cracked through. The sudden change startles me.

“No,” I inhale. “You just make it a little harder.”

“Your mom needs you,” he presses.

“I can’t – can’t go back in there. Not for a while. If I see that Neanderthal’s face again, I’ll –”

Jack quirks a brow. “A word more than four letters long. I’m impressed.”

“You should be. I spent an entire year of middle school studying them. And their hairy crotches. But mostly them.”

“Would punching me again help ease your fury?”

I scoff. “Maybe. Probably not. It’s him I want to hurt, not you.”

Jack looks outside the courthouse window, to the playground across the street.

“There’s two things that calm you down – violence, and sugar. Ice cream.” He points to an ice cream cart on the sidewalk. “C’mon. My treat.”

“Ohhh no.
I know how this works. First it’s ice cream, then it’s marriage.”

“Marriage, huh?
Tell me,” he says coolly as we both walk towards the cart anyway. “Who’s the lucky sea slug?”

“Why sea slug?
Why not, like, a sea dragon?”

“Because a sea slug doesn’t have eyes.
Or a nose. Or any discernible intelligence beyond eating and shitting. You’d make the perfect match.”

I snort. The sun and clear blue sky are a sign Febuary landed on its head when it got out of bed this morning. I pick a strawberry cone and Jack gets mint chocolate chip. There’s a bench, but I sit on the grass under the tree instead. Jack sits with me.

“You don’t have to,” I say.

“It’s shady here,” He counters.

“Some butts are better off miles apart.”

“No.”

With that clarifying sentence, we enjoy our ice creams in the relative peace shared only between two people who are complete opposites. Jack looks ridiculous in the sunlight. Ridiculous and handsome and puke-worthy. 

“Can you go back to Abercrombie?”

“What?” Jack looks at me.

“Just, you know. Crawl back into the magazine you came from. So I can hide it under my bed between two National Geographic issues on recycling elephant waste and never read it again.”

“You’re insane.”

“You know how people talk about being beautiful on the inside and stuff,” I start.

“Yes. And?”

“I just realized people don’t have x-ray vision,” I whisper in awe. “They can’t
see
your insides.”

He rubs his forehead tiredly.

“My zodiac sign is Cancer,” I insist.

Jack licks his ice cream.

“One time, when I was seven, I cried so hard I rehydrated a raisin.”

My babbling doesn’t scare him off like the other 99% of the population with dangly bits between their legs. He just grunts.

“Do you know the alphabet backwards?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Fast?”

“ZYXWVUTSRQPONML –”

“Can you make cinnamon sugar doughnuts?”

“I can make cinnamon rolls.”

“Can you jump rope?”

“Yes.”

“A million times?”

“If you gave me cybernetic knees, there’s a slight possibility.”

I stare into his face. “You don’t have bright green eyes.”

“No.”

“And you’re not left-handed.”

“No.”

“And you probably can’t play an ocarina.”

“Unfortunately, no.”

I lean back and elegantly smash my ice cream into my mouth hole. “Good.”

“Those were awfully specific,” he says. He bites his cone down to the last and lies on the grass, hands behind his head. 

“Requirements of my dream man.
Sea slug. Whatever. Are you even supposed to leave the courtroom if you’re a witness?”

“I already gave my testimony don’t change the subject you have a dream man?” He says it all in one breath and has to gulp air. I laugh.

“Didn’t think Ice Princes ran out of breath.”

“Your dream man is impossible.”

“Bingo.” I point at him. He narrows his eyes.

“So that’s what you do when you get hurt? You construct a dream man who can’t possibly exist so no one will ever live up to your standards and you won’t have to look their way twice?”

“Yup.”

“You don’t face the pain? You put up a wall between it and you and pretend it doesn’t exist?”

The sun filters through the leaves. A dull ache forms above my stomach.  

“Yeah.”

“You’re torturing yourself.”

I know.
“I’m fine, bro.”

He snorts. “You’re the farthest thing from fine, and you keep it that way.”

“What about you?” I snap. “What about Sophia?”

“What about her?”

“She’s
dying
, Jackass. She’s dying and you’re here with me, buying me ice cream and asking me about my dream man! She’s dying and you kissed me, more than once apparently! How fucking selfish are you? Are you just setting me up so you have someone to pity-fuck you when she dies?”

His eyes flash with an Arctic chill. “Shut up.”

“All we do is argue. Sure, respect or whatever, but respect isn’t enough. What’s enough is tenderness, and love, and you have that with Sophia,” I feel something hot prickling in the corners of my eyes. “So fuck you, actually. Fuck you. Don’t try to get close to me. Don’t try to fucking fix me. I’m not the princess, I’m the goddamn dragon, and you can’t seem to see that. So stop! Stop being nice to me! Stop being not-nice to me! Just stay out of my fucking life!”

***

She comes like a storm, and she leaves like one, heavy steps and hands clenched and hair whipping behind her in the bare spring breeze, amber eyes molten with fire and resentment.

Something in me grows heavy, and wilts. 

I don’t go back into the courtroom. I wait in the park and listen to the chatter from across the street as people leave. Leo gets three years jail time for assault and battery and breaking and entering. Mrs. Blake waves to me. Isis ignores me and walks to her comically misshapen VW Beatle.

She ignores me. Completely. No sneers, no wicked little smiles, no flipping birds. Nothing. Just complete emptiness.

-7-

3 Years

26 Weeks

6 Days

Principal Evans is a nice guy. By Disney villain standards. By every other standard, he’s a more or less a horrible jerk. And I know this, but I’ve spent so much time with him now I barely see it anymore. It just is, like the stupid watercolor of the school’s main building on his wall, or the fluorescent light above his desk that flickers sometimes because, hello, public school funding. Summer is hot and I am hot and the sky is blue and Evans is just a straight-up jerk with a continual mid-life crisis he likes to take out on me.