Wrong Kind of Love

I love you,

Jude

A drop of moisture marks the ink on the page, followed by another. My chest feels like it’s cracking wide open. There’s no way I could paint him as a monster. I’m not even sure how I'm supposed to find the strength to live without him and raise our child, much less be the very reason that he is taken from me in the first place.

_____

Even though the courtroom is full, my gaze immediately finds Jude at the front beside his lawyer. The sight of him has a thousand emotions tearing through me, but mostly pain and a bone-deep longing. To be so close to him, and not even see his face, not be able to talk or touch him, is torture. The reporters at the side of the room turn their gazes to me as I walk in, but I ignore them as I take a seat beside my sister.

This is the last day of deliberations but the first day I’ve been allowed to come to the trial. And the only reason I am here today is to testify. The thought makes me feel sick, and while I’m starved for any chance to be near Jude, I want to run out of here and refuse to testify. Refuse the only request Jude has made of me since getting arrested. I block out the prosecution presenting evidence against Jude instead of focusing on Jude’s back for the first hour. I try not to be hurt by the fact that he hasn’t looked at me once, but how can I not be?

"The prosecution calls to the stand, Victoria Deveaux," a cold voice breaks through my thoughts.

I hesitate, the urge to run still an itch at the back of my mind. This is akin to someone I love dying, only to discover that they’re alive, and now I have to put a bullet in their head. I can't, but I must. For my child. I can’t look mentally questionable or like I was involved in anything illegal. They’ll take her away from me. Jude knows that. My sister gives my hand a reassuring squeeze, and I somehow force myself to rise... The weight of the jury’s gaze follows me as I make my way to the witness stand. I can see the pity in their eyes. I’m sure all they can see is a woman carrying her captor’s child.

I take a seat, and then, for the first time in weeks, I see Jude's face. His features are drawn, and dark circles sit below his eyes. He’s different, but the way his expression softens when he looks at me conveys everything he cannot say. I love you. My chest tightens, and I fight back a wave of emotions, holding back tears. This isn’t fair.

A court clerk moves to the stand and holds a Bible in front of me. I place my right hand on it, my gaze never leaving Jude. "Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you, God?"

No. "Yes," I whisper, my voice breaking as tears well in my eyes.

I'm about to drive a wedge between Jude and me that is so big, I'm not sure I will ever be able to forgive myself. But he asked me to for our child. The prosecution lawyer gets up and comes to stand in front of me. "Miss Deveaux, do you know this man?" She points to Jude.

"Yes."

"Can you please tell the court your relationship with this man?"

"He…” I take a breath, squeezing my eyes shut. “He is the man who held me hostage." My voice is strangled, as though the very denial of what he is to me is hard to verbalize.

Jude's gaze meets mine, a reassuring smile on his face. I both love and hate him at this moment.

"And can you tell the court how you came to be Mr. Pearson's hostage?"

"My boyfriend owed him a debt, and when he couldn't pay it, he offered me to one of Jude's staff as collateral," I say, void of emotion.

"So you were brought to his house, and then what happened to you?"

"I...I was held there for several days. I lived with him and his brother. Euan never paid the money."

"How were you treated while you were held captive? Did Mr. Pearson provide food for you? Reasonable living conditions?"

"Fine. I was treated well," I say quickly.

She nods as though agreeing with me. "When the prison physician inspected you upon your initial arrest, he reported several concerning injuries, inflicted during your time as a hostage."

Hushed gasps fall over the jury, their attention focused on the screen at the side of the room displaying photographs of the scars that cover my chest and back. When I glance at Jude, his jaw is ticcing, the muscles of his neck strained.