I'm Sorry- A Slipknot Story

Chapter 24

---time skip---

"All rise," the guard says, all of us standing. The judge, a 50-ish year old man with a hunched back and grey hair walks in and sits in the judge's seat, all of us sitting again.

-after testify-

I end my testify and sit back in my seat, the judge staring at Arron with surprise in his eyes. I wipe my eyes with a tissue Claire gave me and she wraps an arm around my shoulders, rubbing my upper arm gently.

"You did good," she whispers, the doctor providing the x-rays and his knowledge on what I had told him when I went to the hospital.

I could feel Arron's eyes on me, and Claire. I could feel the pure hate he has against me now, and I feel the hate and anger towards Arron from the guys. I could feel sympathy towards me from the girlfriends and wives of the guys, who are silently waiting for the verdict. We all were.

"With all of this evidence against Mr. Conrad, the verdict is," The judge starts, both me and Claire leaning forward slightly.

"Guilty. I sentence 4 years in prison for Arron Conrad with the chance of parole," the judge says, hitting the gavel and leaving.

"4 years," I say quietly, standing up and grabbing my coat. 

I put it on and leave before anyone else, pulling on my coat and walking out. Claire catches up with me and we hop in her car, driving back to my house. I hop out and walk to the door, Claire following. She closes the door and I take off my shoes, heading upstairs to put them back along the other shoes.

"Are you okay," Claire asks, stepping into my room as I set my shoes back in their spot. I keep in my tears of anger and nod, walking back downstairs to see the 9 guys and their significant others talking about the trial.

"4 years," I repeat, walking into the living room. 

The guys suggest going to a bar to celebrate and Claire leaves me with the girls, who all give off a nice and soft aura. I keep in all of my emotions as they introduce themselves, talking about the tour I was just in.

"I heard from Shawn that you got some cool stuff from the fans," Chantel says, me nodding.

"They're mostly shoes, but I got a signed shirt from Koᴙn and Slipknot stuff," I say, all of them asking to see them. I set the boxes in a row and open them, my red coverall that Sid wears folded neatly in with the others.

"Sid told me about this. He told me he loves that it isn't scratchy as fuck," Corey's girlfriend, Scarlett, says, feeling the coverall. I could smell that he hasn't washed it, but I can't blame him either. I pick it up and throw it in the laundry basket, walking back to see them carefully examining a pair of shoes that they found interesting.

"Which one is your favorite," Melissa asks, making me shrug. I sit on my knees with them and pick out my favorite, the mouth shoes. Their eyes widen and I let them hold the two shoes, all of them delicately feeling the shoes.

"To be honest, I love all of them. Partly because they were made just for me by fans, but because they're so eye catching and weird," I say.

"And I see you have stripper shoes. How... surprising," Cristina says, holding up the tip shoes.

"Yeah, but I'm not in that profession. A stripper who probably quit her job gave them to me at a signing. I have to say, when Sid saw the tip shoes, he freaked out a little," I say, all of them laughing.

"That sounds like Sid. Say, I heard that he hugs you after every show. If I ask him, he just stays quiet," Stacy says.

"He hugs me after every show. And if I'm wearing heels that don't have spikes, he stands on my shoes and hugs me. The one time I did have spiked heels, I picked him up and his feet hung about 3 inches off the ground. Then the guys picked on Sid about clinging onto me, and he actually clung onto me," I tell them.

"And then there was the laughing fit that almost cost them. They wanted me to hug Joey to see how far he would be lifted off the ground and his feet hung 9 inches off the ground. They laughed so much that they were on the floor, unable to get up. They had to run to catch the bus because, well, I know the driver," I continue, all of them laughing.

"Any other stories," Lexa asks. I think about it and tell more stories about signings, backstage, on the bus, anything.

---time skip---

It's lunchtime, and the girls decide to go back home to eat. I wave as they hop in their cars to get the guys from the bar, closing the door and walking into the living room. I stop in the middle and drop to my knees, letting all of the angry, sad, trauma tears out of my system. I sit on my knees and repeat the same words in my head.

4 years.

I cover my face with my hands and cry harder, sobbing into my hands. My body shakes as I sob, each breath in rattling in my chest cavity. As I let out every emotion I kept in through those years, the memories come back, one after one. It overwhelms me to the brink of passing out then and there. Then, if things couldn't get worse, the voices come back way stronger.

'Get the razor'

'Cut'

'Cut'

'Cut'

They keep repeating it over and over again, getting louder and louder with every chant. I stop crying and cover my ears, trying to get them to stop. But they just keep getting louder. I give up and uncover my ears, standing and walking to the bathroom, shutting and locking it.