Make You Beg

“Breathe,” my father whispers in my ear. I drop my eyes to the black leather pumps I bought just for today. My entire outfit is new, actually. Hell, even my underwear and bra are. I wanted to be someone else. Someone who my friends had never seen. Or touched. It’s stupid now that I think of it. Something so minor.

Camera crews are present right outside the courtroom. I also saw some perched on the steps of the courthouse when we arrived. Waiting to inform the world of his outcome. It makes me physically ill to think he could walk right out of here.

This case has been a high-profile case since the moment I dialed 911. It’s sick and disturbing how our town has welcomed the media’s attention. They’ve pretty much laid the red carpet out for them. Most here are willing to pay any price for fame. They want their spot on the map. This is going to give it to them. No matter the outcome.

Lifting my eyes, I see the judge holding the verdict in his hands. He starts reading off the docket number. “The state of Texas against the defendant Dax Monroe, we, the jury, find the defendant … not guilty.”

No.

Most of the room lets out audible breaths of relief. Rellik, Scout, and Law slap their buddy Monroe on his back.

I’m frozen in place. This… this… no. My eyes fill with tears, and my bottom lip begins to tremble. “I saw him.” I look up at my dad. “I saw his face …” My throat closes up on me.

His jaw sharpens, and he looks away from me, unable to keep my gaze.

My teary eyes go back to him—the seventeen-year-old boy who should be spending the rest of his life in jail, but instead, he turns around and hugs his dad. Then his stepmother. She’s wiping happy tears from under her eyes. His dad shakes his attorneys’ hands while laughing like this was all a joke. As if they are out on the golf course hitting some balls around and sharing old college stories about the women they once passed around like a pack of cigarettes.

The courtroom grows smaller. The air thicker. Blood rushes in my ears, drowning out their victory. I think I’m going to pass out as I sway in my heels.

“Henley.” My brother grabs my hand, but I yank it away, not wanting the contact. “Henley, breathe,” he whispers.

“I … I can’t.” I grab at my chest. That water rises higher in the ocean I’m drowning in. It’s up past my mouth, cutting off any opportunity I had to call for help.

He starts talking to our father, but I’m not listening. This was an open-and-shut case. I gave them all the information they needed to put him away. What he did was unforgivable. Friend or not, he should be punished for his crimes.

But then again, I don’t know why I’m so surprised. It hasn’t even been a month. It moved too quickly. The town wanted the spotlight, but they wanted it over sooner rather than later. They were willing to extort a woman’s life in order to gain recognition. It’s as if the devil smiled upon the town of Westbrook, Texas, and said you may be seen but for a price—and they were willing to pay whatever it cost them.

Hands grasp my upper arms, and I’m dragged out of the courtroom and into the hallway, away from all the laughter and celebrations.

“Henley, calm the fuck down,” my brother orders, lowering his face to mine.

“He did it…” I choke out. I’m going to keep saying that until someone listens to me.

Jeremy’s jaw sharpens, and his dark eyes look away from mine. He runs his hand down his tired face, and his eyes land on mine once again. “I believe you.”

I blink, and tears sting my eyes. My throat feels restricted as if someone is choking me. I can’t take a breath. I claw at the top of my shirt once again.

“Did you hear me, Hen?” he snaps. Grabbing my wrists, he shoves them from my shirt and shakes my shoulders. “I believe you.”

“No one else did …” The door to the courtroom opens, cutting me off. My body stiffens on its own. Maybe if I stand as still as a statue, they won’t see me here. One at a time, my ex-best friends enter the hallway.

Ryan Scout is first. He has his Armani suit jacket unbuttoned and pulled back to allow his hands to rest in the front pockets of his black dress slacks. The soles on his Hermes slap the floor. He doesn’t even look my way, and my already tight chest aches even more at his dismissal.

Van Rellik is right behind him. He’s dressed almost identical to Scout, except he has a white dress shirt on. He’s got his dark curls slicked back. He’s laughing with Law.