Chapter 70

                                    

                                          
Emma
July 20th 2018
The courtroom was suffocating.
It wasn't just the stale air or the quiet hum of whispers that faded as the bailiff called the hearing to order—it was the weight of the place. Heavy, oppressive, like it was pressing down on my chest, making every breath a struggle.
I sat between my parents on the polished wooden bench, my mom's trembling hand gripping mine so tightly it almost hurt. My dad sat on my other side, his jaw set, his face pale but steady. Matt was just behind us, in the row reserved for family. 
I could feel his presence even though I couldn't look back at him.
The room buzzed faintly with movement—lawyers adjusting their papers, pens scratching on notepads, someone clearing their throat—but it all faded into white noise as I stared at the front of the courtroom. 
At him.
Charlie.
He sat at the defense table, wearing a pressed suit and an expression I couldn't read. His hair was combed neatly, his hands folded in front of him. 
To anyone who didn't know better, he might have looked like any other young man sitting there, caught up in some misunderstanding. 
But I knew better. I knew what was underneath that polished surface.
The bile rose in my throat when our eyes briefly met, and I had to look away before I crumbled.
The judge entered, and we all rose. My knees felt weak as I stood, my heart pounding so loudly I wondered if everyone else could hear it. When we sat again, my mom's hand squeezed mine once more, anchoring me.
The judge—a stern woman with sharp eyes and a composed expression—adjusted her glasses and spoke. "The court will now hear testimony from the victim, Miss Emma Kinsley."
For a split second, everything froze. The words hit me like a punch to the stomach. 
Victim. That word felt too small, too fragile, to contain everything I had been through.
My mom let go of my hand, and my dad gave me a small nod, his eyes glistening. I felt Matt's steady gaze on me from behind.
You can do this, Emma. 
But as I stood up on trembling legs, I wasn't so sure. 
My body felt disconnected, as if I was floating just above myself, watching as I took one shaky step after another toward the witness stand.
A man approached me his eyes cold and emotionless. "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth in this courtroom?"
My voice came out small, barely above a whisper. "I do."
I sat down on the hard wooden chair and gripped the edges of the stand so tightly that my knuckles turned white. The courtroom felt cavernous, every eye locked onto me, every breath magnified.
"Please state your name, age, date of birth and your story for the record, take the time you need." the judge said, her voice even but not unkind.
I swallowed against the tightness in my throat. "My name's Emma Kinsley. I'm 17 years old–" My voice broke and I started taking in deep breaths."
I paused, glancing briefly at my parents. My mom's face was streaked with silent tears, and my dad's hands were clenched into fists on his knees. I couldn't look at Matt—I knew if I did, I'd fall apart.
The judge gave me a small nod, her gaze steady.
I took a deep breath and started again. "My name is Emma Kinsley, I'm 17 years old, born on December 7th 2000 and I was raped on June 16th 2018 by the individual Charlie Adams."