Scorn of Secrets

by B Truly

  “That is true.”

  “Let me tell you a little about myself. As a youth counselor, my goal is to give you the best advice possible. I also hope to help you work through any problems you have. If you decide to seek counsel from me, it will be confidential.”

  If I do come forward, then my secret will be unlocked. It’s the biggest decision of my life.

  “Do you have any questions so far? Please speak freely.”

  Her welcoming demeanor eases my wariness. She’s very approachable, and I feel comfortable asking her questions I have. “Do you practice law full-time?”

  “Yes, and I value being able to do this on the side.”

  “How long have you been a lawyer?”

  “For over ten years.”

  “Have you ever taken on a client from church?”

  “I have from time to time.”

  “Do you enjoy your field of work?”

  “I do, for the most part. The best part about it is when justice is served.”

  Ms. Driver seems sincere. Her statement about justice stirs an emotion in me I can’t explain. It makes me trust in her. I wonder how much of my dilemma she knows. “What all did my grandma tell you?”

  “Not much. Only that you suffered from a tragedy and are having nightmares.”

  So, Gigi has left the ball in my court.

  “Would you like to tell me what happened?”

  If she’s a lawyer, then she should have some insight on my situation. There’s no sense in dredging this up if I don’t stand a chance. “If I explain the dilemma, can you give me advice from a legal standpoint?”

  “Of course. I will offer you the best advice I can.”

  Taking a deep breath, I tell her my story. I lay it all out—every detail I can recall. As Ms. Driver listens attentively, I don’t see any judgment on her face. After I’m done, I ask, “What’s your take on the situation?” Ms. Driver shifts in her seat. For the first time, I catch a hint of pity on her face.

  “I see a bright young lady who has been taken advantage of.”

  My chest expands. “My conflict has always been ... how can I say he assaulted me when I gave him permission?”

  “I understand your concern, Madison. But even if it had been Justin, you asked him to stop and he didn’t. That’s an issue right there. Afterward, Jackson assaulted you. You had bruises on your neck, your wrists….” Ms. Driver closes her eyes. She shakes her head before opening them. “There were even teeth marks on your breasts. You didn’t do anything wrong, Madison. Jackson took your free will away when he lied about who he was.”

  “Do you think it’s worth it—trying to prosecute him?”

  “I do. This boy is disturbed, and he’s turned your life upside down. He needs to face consequences for what he’s done. In the day and age, we live in, woman have rights. We can stand up for ourselves. We no longer have to cower and take abuse.”

  Ms. Driver is passionate about woman’s rights. She makes me what to stand up for myself. “If I go forward, I would be more comfortable if you represent me.”

  Her expression fills with melancholy. “It saddens me knowing what you went through. You’re brave to talk about this. If you choose to make this a legal matter, I’ll do everything in my power to prosecute him.”

  “How would it work?”

  “I’ll go over more details with you, and then you would need to file an official statement with the police. The next step would be for everyone who lived in the house to be questioned and to give an official statement. Once that’s done, it will be decided if the case is tried in court.”

  I bite my nails, squirming in my seat.

  “Don’t be afraid to ask questions,” Ms. Driver reads my mind.

  “I fear, what if I do this and it’s all for nothing. The case doesn’t even go to court or it does, and he gets proven innocent.”

  “It won’t be all for nothing. This boy needs to know that he can’t go around manipulating and assaulting women. You are having a child by him and we can prove that through DNA. He also assaulted you more than once. The law takes these matters seriously.”

  “Does the other time count as assault if technically, he didn’t physically hurt me?”

  “Absolutely. He locked you in the bathroom and touched you against your will. He bought you a gift as persuasion for sexual favors. After you fought him off and escaped, he left the earrings in your bedroom with a threatening text message.”

  Ms. Driver took thorough notes in her head. She hasn’t even written anything down.

  Her lips form into a thin line. “Explain to me why you wore the earrings he gave you.”

  “I ... was scared if I didn’t, he’d get mad and corner me again.”

  “What you’re describing is psychological harassment. Jackson has violated you in many ways. Are there any other times he cornered or texted you after that incident?”

  “He tried to talk to me a couple weeks later to smooth things over. Since our parents had gotten engaged, he didn’t want any hard feelings. I told him I wasn’t interested in being his friend.”

  “Good for you.”

  Remembering what Ms. Driver had asked about text messages, I never erase any of mine. I’m pretty bad about clearing out my phone. “I think I may have the text from Jackson from February. He’s only texted me a couple of times, and I rarely delete my messages.”

  “Check and see if you have it.”

  I scroll through my text messages, further down to where his name pops up. I have nine texts total from him since last year. The first eight are random.

  U got detention r something? What’s taking u so long 2 get 2 the parking lot?

  What the hell is up with that video Jen posted? U good?

  U seen my bro? Tell him 2 call me.

  R u riding with me & Tanya today?

  Your mom is looking for u.

  Just got home & someone ate all the damn Doritos. Tell my prick bro 2 stop & get some.

  Yal done with dinner, I’m withering away.

  Yal still at Best Buy? Tell that prick 2 call me. He’s not answering. I want him 2 snag me something.

  The last text message is the one I’m looking for.

  U left these in the bathroom. I’m sure u had a change of heart & will wear them. I’ll be very disappointed if u don’t.

  “I still have it,” I relay to Ms. Driver. I hand her my cell and she glances it over.

  “Keep this text. This will help prove your statement.”

  I nod, taking my phone. I still have reservations about unlocking the door to my darkest secret. Once I turn the key, making it public, there’s no going back.

  “Think it over, Madison. I’m here if you want to talk again, and I’ll be happy to represent you as your lawyer if you want to move forward.”

  “Thank you for your time. You’ve shed some light on my dilemma and given me a lot to think about.” I bid her good-bye, feeling a little lighter.

  * * *

  Over the next week, I debate what to do. The endless nightmares make my decision. Night after night, I suffer the same fate. The scariest night terror is when Dariel takes my place. I watch helplessly—like I’m watching a movie I have no control over as he assaults her. She’s me—thinking he’s Justin. Dari tells him it hurts—he promises it will get better. Dari says it’s worse, asking him to stop. He doesn’t and she whimpers, helpless beneath him.

  I wake up with tears running down my face. Seeing it happen to someone else puts it in a different perspective and the reality sets in. What if Jackson does this to someone else? I could’ve stopped it, if only I hadn’t been a coward and told what he’d done to me. I must at least try, if anything, for peace of mind.

  The next morning, I tell Gigi I’ve made up my mind. She’s going to contact Ms. Driver. Hopefully, we can get the ball rolling before I lose my nerve. The key is in my hand, waiting to unlock the door of darkness.

  40

  The Dam Breaks

  Ms. Driver goes over my
case in great detail—hashing everything out. There is something to be said about getting your deepest despair off your chest. I feel lighter by the minute.

  “When do you think I’ll be able to file a police report?” I ask.

  “Probably within a couple of weeks.” Ms. Driver’s lips curl upward. “Don’t worry. The process will be painless. You’ll go over the events that happened, same as you did with me.”

  “After my statement, will this be a long and drawn-out process?”

  “It doesn’t have to be. The first step is to see if Jackson admits anything. If he denies it, the state will decide if it goes to court. With the DNA testing proving he’s the father, I’m sure it will.”

  “How long will it take to go to court?”

  “That could take months or up to a year. There are other routes to take. We can offer him a plea bargain—meaning, if he pleads guilty, he’ll get less time. But at least it will go on his record and he will serve time.”

  “Does a plea bargain have to be tried by a jury?”

  “No, it’s approved by a judge.”

  “That doesn’t sound like a bad option. I’m not trying to ruin him by throwing him behind bars for life, but he should be held accountable.”

  “You’re absolutely right. When the time comes, we’ll discuss in detail what your options are. I’ll be in touch.”

  * * *

  One more month to go, and I don’t know how much bigger I could possibly get. I feel like a stuffed sausage. With my petite frame, I’ve only grown out—all belly, and it looks like a beach ball is sitting on my stomach. My Ob/Gyn told me in the last month babies grow the most. This is a fact I’m learning firsthand. My appetite has picked up even more. I stay hungry. Nothing seems to soothe my appetite for long.

  Dari spent the night. She’s still asleep in one of the guest bedrooms. My growling stomach woke me up early. I’ve just finished a bowl of grits with smoked sausage when Gigi comes in the kitchen to start a pot of coffee.

  “You’re up early,” Gigi greets.

  “The baby woke me up. She’s full now.” Gigi laughs at my joke.

  “How did you sleep?”

  Recently, since I’ve decided to move forward by appointing a lawyer, I have slept more peacefully. “I slept well. No nightmares.”

  “Very good.” Gigi smiles at me warmly. “I’m going to the grocery store today. I’m barbequing for Labor Day this Monday. Is there anything you need?”

  “Dari and I can go for you. Just write down what you need.” I offer.

  “Are you sure? You don’t have to go through the trouble. You’re starting to wobble when you walk,” Gigi cracks her own joke.

  I giggle. “That’s exactly why I need to go. It will be good exercise. Besides, it’s the least I can do.”

  “Okay. Let me get a list together for you.”

  “I’ll go wake up Dari to tell her I’ve recruited her as a personal grocery shopper. She’ll be thrilled.”

  Gigi laughs to herself. Dari is not a morning person. She loves to sleep in on the weekend. She’ll be grumpy to be woken up early. I grin at the thought. This will be payback for the prank she pulled on me last week. Dari’s such a joker, loving to do pranks. This time the joke’s on her.

  As we pull into the grocery store parking lot, my stomach begins to cramp. Dari’s mostly up now, thanks to a cup of coffee. The cramp continues and I grip my belly.

  Dari’s brow knits. “You okay?”

  The cramps begin to abate. “Yeah, it’s probably Braxton Hicks contractions. The doctor said it’s common to get them.”

  It’s still early morning, and the store isn’t packed yet. Dari pulls out Gigi’s list.

  “This will take forever to get all this stuff,” Dari pouts.

  “You know Gigi loves to throw down.”

  Another Braxton Hicks assaults me. I try my best to ignore it as Dari grabs a buggy. We start our journey in the produce section, getting various items off the list. I dismiss the disapproving looks from a few customers. The basketball on my stomach is proof that I’m a pregnant teen. I’ve become accustomed to those stares. They don’t know the circumstances involving my pregnancy, so I’ve learned to take them in stride—opinions are like buttholes.

  I thought the cramps were a random encounter, but soon, they start to occur more frequently. They get stronger, making it impossible to ignore them. As another one hits, I bend over, gripping the basket.

  “Madison, are the cramps getting worse?”

  I don’t want to admit they are. “Aren’t we almost done?”

  Dari’s nose scrunches. “Just about, but you look like you’re in a lot of pain. Maybe you need to go to the hospital.”

  “No, I’ll be okay,” I say as the stomach pain subsides.

  Dari arches her eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah, let’s just get the remaining items. I’ll lie down when I get home, then I’m sure I will feel better.”

  I make it ten minutes without any more stomach pains—the longest it’s been between them since we arrived almost an hour ago. We get in line to check out when a male voice calls my name.

  “Madison, is that you?”

  Dari is standing behind me. She tilts her head back toward the male voice, who’s in the fifteen items or less line.

  “Oh, it’s Chauncey,” Dari says.

  I feel my eyes widen. I haven’t seen him since the end of school last year. Chauncey walks over to our lane. He still looks the same—on the tall side and very handsome. Chauncey is carrying a small red basket with a pack of sausage, biscuits, eggs, a carton of milk and orange juice. Someone is cooking breakfast.

  “Hey, Chauncey,” I greet him.

  “Long time no see. Dariel had told me you moved to Houston.”

  They exchange a quick hello. “I did, and I moved back before the summer started.”

  “It’s good to have you back.” His lips curl upward, then he gets a good look at me and his eyes dilate.

  Yep, I’m pregos.

  “You’re ... pregnant?”

  I place one hand on my tummy. “It’s that obvious, huh?” I can’t help but smile at his perplexed facial expression.

  Dari giggles, and then she whispers in my ear. “The poor boy is shocked.”

  “When are you due?” asks Chauncey.

  “In a month.”

  He clears his throat. “Well, congratulations.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you know what you’re having?”

  “A girl.”

  “You still look great. I couldn’t even tell you were pregnant at first.”

  I feel my cheeks flush. We’re the next to check out. Dari starts putting the groceries on the counter. My cramps start up again. The pain builds up quickly. I gasp, grabbing my side.

  “Are you okay?” Chauncey’s brow furrows.

  “These Braxton Hicks contractions have been kicking my butt since we arrived.”

  “You lost me.”

  “Normal preparation contractions before birth.”

  Creases line on Chauncey’s forehead. “Are you sure it’s normal?”

  “Well, they have been getting stronger. I’m ... not sure.” The intensity of the pain is starting to worry me. Chauncey puts his basket down and begins to help get the groceries from our basket to the register. The pain has subsided some, but not entirely.

  “Madie, you may need to call your doctor if this keeps up,” Dari warns me.

  I poke out my lips. I hoped they would have calmed down. I hate being the center of attention. Early labor will surely bring a ton of it. I stand off to the side, catching my breath while Dari and Chauncey finish emptying the buggy. More rounds of pain hit me while they’re doing so. Dari uses Gigi’s credit card to pay the cashier. I wait on Chauncey while he gets his items rung up. The man who’s standing behind us to check out glares our direction. I guess he’s not happy about Chauncey skipping him in line.

  The contractions flare up again, and then th
ere’s an internal pop. The next thing I know, liquid gushes down my pants. I exhale loudly. Dari turns toward me and her jaw drops.

  Chauncey glances at my clothes, then he says, “Did you have an accident?”

  “I think my water just broke.”

  41

  Justice

  Chauncey assists me to the car, and then he helps Dari with getting the groceries in the trunk.

  “Thanks for your help, Chauncey,” I say.

  “Will you be okay?”

  “I’m driving her straight to the hospital,” Dari tells him.

  I thank him again, and he wishes me good luck before Dari drives off. She phones Gigi as we’re leaving the parking lot. Gigi says she’ll meet us there. The cramps continue as Dari drives to the hospital, and I worry about delivering a month early.

  “How are you holding up?” Dari wonders.

  “The contractions are still coming every couple of minutes.”

  “We’ll be there shortly. Hopefully, they can stop them.”

  Dari whisks me in through the ER entrance. They put me in a wheelchair and take me to a room quickly, where my vitals are assessed. I put on a gown and a nurse checks my cervix. I’ve dilated to three centimeters. Using a strip, she confirms my water did break.

  The nurse gives me medicine through an IV that’s supposed to stop, or at least slow, the contractions. She places two belts around my abdomen to monitor them. An ultrasound will confirm how much amniotic fluid I have left.

  When Gigi arrives, I fill her in as I wait anxiously for the ultrasound, praying the medication helps with the contractions.

  “How are you feeling, dear?” Gigi asks me.

  “It seems like the medicine is helping. I haven’t had a contraction in over fifteen minutes.”

  Gigi squeezes my hand. Dari is sitting in a chair in the corner, rubbing her palm in a circle on her thigh. The ultrasound tech brings in the portable machine. I feel better seeing my baby girl moving around on the screen.

  “Is she okay?”

  “The radiologist has to review the images and give the final report, but she seems to be doing well,” the tech relays.