Snippets of an affair ~ First defeat

[zahraowens]

Title: Snippets of an affair (20/?) ~ First defeat Author: zahra_owens Beta: The one and only Namárië Rating: PG-13 Word Count: 1393 Warnings: Major angst Disclaimer: Persons and events described here may, on the surface, seem familiar, but I don't have a clue what I'm talking about. Author's note: The POV may change throughout the story, so the 'I' from this chapter may not be the 'I' from the previous chapter.

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On the day of the preliminary hearing, your ex is a gem, as if he wants to make sure we know that not every ex-lover is a vindictive psycho bastard. Not only did he pick us up to go to court, he stayed the entire time, offering silent support throughout the proceedings, even though he was only called to the stand to briefly explain what he'd found when he came home the night of the attack and found his apartment ransacked.

When you take the stand you are so calm, so in control of your emotions, I am in awe. When you state the impact of your injuries and the effects the attack has had on you, your voice falters slightly, but your face remains unmoved. Even when the defence tries to discredit you by using your rather hazy initial statement against you, you remain calm, explaining you were heavily sedated. Meanwhile, my blood is boiling and I want to shout out that they should leave you alone, that you've been through enough, but that is simply not done in an English court.

The defence team consists of two men, one of which is an arrogant, but charismatic lawyer who seemed to have the otherwise neutral looking judge eating out of his hand. The other man seems quite content to remain seated and juggle papers, and he is clearly the more eloquent man's right hand. Our representation on the other hand, although competent enough, is less seasoned, more nervous and a lot younger.

Seeing my ex sit there all smug and overconfident doesn't make it easy for me to take the stand, especially not after his threats. But like you said, he's only trying to intimidate us, so I look at the barrister and the judge and not at him as I try to explain my relationship with him and with you and everything that resulted from it. It's intensely personal, even though I try to keep the details to a minimum as instructed. This hearing is only to determine what he'll be charged with. We're hoping for rape, but we've been told it will be hard to prove that because he doesn't deny having sex with you and apparently, the fact that he used a condom speaks again the fact. We might have to settle for 'inflicting grievous bodily harm', which frankly won't put him away for anywhere near long enough.

I'm thinking that I'm lucky the whole proceeding is fairly businesslike and grateful that this is Britain and not an American court. Although I only know the latter from the movies, I prefer the drama-free way this hearing is conducted.

Then suddenly the mood changes. I see him converse with the paper pusher and nod and then Mr. Flamboyant Eloquence unearths a previous case where flyboy was charged with Indecent Assault and asks me about my testimony. It's not hard for me to remember it. I'll never forget how I committed perjury and told the judge that we often played games and one of them was, that he would pretend to rape a guy because I got off on it, but that really, it was all consensual.

As the barrister repeats my words from years before, I see you break, not outwardly, but I know you well enough to see you struggle to maintain your composure. I look away for just a second and when I look back, your space is empty.

I can’t think. There’s too much going on. If I admit I lied on the stand, I’ll be the next one on trial here and they won’t believe my testimony in this case either. If I admit that this happened before, then I play right into his hands, just like last time. Only now I don’t have a choice. I look at my counsel and see him raise his hand like a schoolboy, asking the judge for time to confer with his client. That’s me. The judge calls both barristers closer and a little later I’m told to step down and that my response to my earlier statement is irrelevant to the proceedings.

To my surprise, the judge announces he knows enough and he will relay his decision later in the week. Right now, I don’t care. I need to find you to explain this to you, although I’m not sure I can.

I'm frantic to find you, eventually deciding it's better to go home than to roam around the city aimlessly. I know the house is your safe haven, so that is where you'll go and even if I make it home before you, this is my best bet.

I'm barely inside the door when I see you come from the back of the house with a large box. You drop it in the hallway next to where I'm standing and your whole composure freaks me out.

"What's going on?" I ask tentatively, trying to sound as casual as possible.

"I think you should leave," you answer coldly, but I can tell it's hard for you to say the words.

I'm dumbstruck, unable to reply right away. Are you throwing me out? Could I have misunderstood your words? I look at the empty box and then follow you into the kitchen. "What...?"

"I can't trust you any more. Why didn't you tell me this wasn't the first time you'd been through all this? Who's the unlucky bastard that got caught between the two of you the first time, hey? Or wasn't that the first time either?"

"It was," I answer almost as if I'm in a daze. "I mean, that time I didn't realise the consequences of what I was saying, I was just ... he had this power over me and I was more afraid of him than of anything the police or the courts could do to me. I..."

"Make that present tense. He STILL has that kind of power over you!"

I cringe as you shout at me, but it makes it painfully clear to me that you're serious about this. Then I see you grab your coat and pace to the hallway.

"You have one hour. After that I'll be back and I want you gone, along with everything you brought into this house." Your face is tense and you look me straight in the eye, which more than intimidates me. "Everything," you repeat and then you're gone.

For the first five or ten minutes, I can't move, but my mind is racing. Where will I go? What will I do without you? Then slowly the thoughts become darker. I'm useless without you. You made me who I am. You helped me see that I was strong and smart and able to take care of myself, but what use is it all? Who cares about all that if I can't share it with you?

Slowly I start moving around the house, trying to collect all the things that are solely mine. I pack up my shrine and my clothes. I really don't have that much to take with me and that's probably best.

As I walk down the stairs, my nose starts dripping and I realise I'm crying. In only a handful of short months this house has seen a lot of pain and a lot of joy and surprisingly, only the good memories come back to me now. Of painting the walls and sanding all that woodwork. Of sitting together on the sofa. Of sleeping and making love in front of the fireplace.

I know I can't change the past. You always told me not to dwell on it and following your advice has gotten me where I am now, which is why it's so hard to find that my past is killing what you and I have. What you and I had. It's all gone now.

The front door creaks and I look at the clock. My hour isn't up yet, but I see you creep inside anyway. I freeze when you look at me, afraid of another outburst, but all the defiance and fight is gone and instead you look intensely sad.

"Can you forgive me?" you ask quietly and then you look at the duffel bag and the cardboard box that is filled to the brim and I see your eyes fill up with tears. "Please don't leave?"

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