Every time I have to meet with these specific lawyers it unsettles me. As soon as I got the call about a week ago, I started to feel the added effects. And the nearer Birdie and I have gotten the more it hits me. The adrenaline that I've been functioning off of is wearing off until I can feel the lack of sleep, having stayed up all night sick with anxiety. My eyes burn and my head hurts and the basement is lingering at the edges of my subconscious.
Because these lawyers mean it's about my past. About him.
My fingers stretch down but Blue doesn't come to meet them and that alone is enough to make this all the more harder. Without his comfort, it's fair to say I've been on a rapid decline and now this.
"Hey honey." My mom greets me with a soft tone, her hand gently landing on my arm. I feel her stretch her arm out and squeeze Birdie's hand behind me.
I know she sees the dark circles that encase my eyes and she gives me a smile full of sympathy before I fold into her. Her hands run up and down my back, soothing and safe and I let out a breath.
"Don't worry about a thing son." My dad says. "We're going to do whatever we can to keep him where he's at."
I nod my head even though it doesn't reassure me. I know firsthand how manipulative and conniving and sneaky he can be. I lived it, I suffered through it. At one point in my life I believed he'd never get caught.
He did and the fact that he's eligible for parole is enough to make me crumble. How could anyone think he could be let out. After all he did. I'm living proof of his evil, of it's effects. Why would anyone want to give him the chance to do it again?
"You're going to be just fine." My mom whispers in my ear.
I can't find the optimism, I can't even find words.
"Are we all here?" My lawyer asks and my dad confirms.
I part from my mom, drop my head and follow behind her into the office. All I can hope is that we come up with enough good reasons why he shouldn't be allowed parole.
And in the meantime I'm praying I don't completely fall apart.
—————————
By the time we're back home, I feel sick.
Exhausted too, but I know I won't sleep. Not well anyway.
"Should I just call a carry out in?" Birdie asks from the kitchen. "I don't feel like cooking."
I let myself drop to the couch, rigid and more mechanical than anything. My chest is tight, breathing shallow as his face fills my mind. He sneers at me, cold eyes, a slight shift in his nose. He told one time, as I sat there cradling my own busted nose after he'd punched me in the face that his dad had hit him for talking back. That he'd too broken his nose and his dad didn't bother to reset it for him. He, though, was kind enough to grab my broken nose and yank it back into alinement for me.
"Holt?" I jerk back at the sound of my name, my arms flying up to protect my face out of instinct. "How does sushi sound?"
The breath that releases from my lungs quivers as I lower my arms. Feeling foolish at my reaction and thankful that when I open my eyes she's just now walking down the hall.
"That's fine." I mutter out, aware at how distracted and unsure I sound.
Birdie notices too, stoping at the mouth of the living room, her phone clutched in her hand.
"I'm okay." I say before she can get any words out.
"Holt, it's okay." She says gently, slowly bringing herself across the living room floor and sitting beside me on the couch.
Her eyebrows are knit with worry, hazel eyes pensive as she stares at me. It's the way she looks at me, how she can tell I'm lying. How she knows I'm unraveling. I blow out a breath and bury my hands in my hair.
"I don't want to do this Birdie."
She takes a deep breath, moving slow as she draws her hand near to me. I anticipate it, the way her hand will press gently against my bare arm. How her skin will be warm, soft, her touch like silk. And she moves so slow in these moments, so aware of how delicate the present is for me, that by the time we make contact I'm not at all thrown off by it.
"We'll get through this, just like we do everything."
I tilt my head, our eyes meeting. Taking in the slender angles of her face, her wild dark curls and her brilliant hazel eyes. I believe her, I do. I have to.
She has never given me a reason to not trust her.
The muscles around my mouth twitch, straining to pull a smile to my face. The effort it requires monumental as those particular muscles are not often called upon by me. It always ends with me having a real pathetic smirk on my face.
"Sushi sounds great, as long as it's not tuna."
I still haven't overcome my great distaste for tuna.
But unlike me, Birdie still loves it and is far more capable at smiling than I ever will be.
"I'll make sure one roll is no tuna." She teases. "That should be plenty for you, yeah?"
