Ride or Die | Sam Fender AU

056

"I know you're nervous, dove but it's gonna be just fine," your dad assured you softly. "You're doing the right thing."

"I'm fine, Dad," you murmured, twiddling your thumbs as you fixed your stare on them.

You weren't. You hadn't slept a wink all night. The guilt was eating you alive. You didn't know how you would be able to face him after this. How you would be able to look him in the eye when he found out. When he realised that you had betrayed him. He would be devastated and you weren't quite sure you would be able to live with yourself after that.

"You're helping a lot of people," he continued, rubbing your shoulder in comfort but his touch only burned. "I'm so proud of you."

His words made your stomach turn. You had waited years for those words to fall from his lips — after passing your GCSEs and A-levels with flying colours, after graduating with first-class honours from Cambridge University... but here he was, uttering them for the first time before you were about to testify against the man you loved. The father of your child.

"Dad..." you trailed, wanting to cut the conversation short. You didn't need the pep talk. All you wanted was to part ways with him until you were called into court but he had other ideas. However, his assurance only sparked your conscience and kept the bile balancing at the top of your oesophagus, not quite emerging fully but threatening to at the mention of anything guilt-inducing.

"He won't be able to hurt you," he told you, ignoring your pathetic protests to stop his speech. You knew he was far too invested in this trial and the fact had blinded him to pretty much everything around him, including the pain he was putting his daughter through as a result but he had been ignorant to that since your mother died. "After today, he'll be locked away for years to come. He won't lay a finger on you."

"He wouldn't hurt me anyway," you whispered with a small frown. Your chest was heavy and the hustle and bustle of the court as it prepared for one of the biggest trials of the decade only added to your sensory overload. Your heart already felt like it was about to do an escape act at any moment and there was nothing you could do to calm yourself because the one person who could calm you was about to stand trial.

"What was that?" he hummed, your words enveloped by the noise around you.

"Nothing," you murmured, trapping your bottom lip between your teeth. You could feel several pairs of eyes on you and you weren't naive to who they belonged to. Your dad had carted you past them when you arrived at the courthouse and you had to steer your gaze to the floor to avoid theirs. You knew that if you returned their concerned looks, you would break and that couldn't happen. Not when you were due to give your testimony in front of a courtroom full of people.

"Right," he muttered as he sent you a concerned stare but you didn't meet his eyes. "They're gonna take you to a witness room now, okay? Just until you get called to testify and then you can come into the public gallery."

"Okay," you replied. Your voice cracked as you spoke, earning a sympathetic glance from your father, who leaned down and pressed a kiss against your forehead.

"You'll be fine, dove," he assured you one last time before you parted. "I love you."

"I love you too," you smiled weakly, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you were led away by a court clerk. Your relief didn't stretch very far, consumed by your concoction of overwhelming feelings. You would have given yourself whiplash if not for the fact that they were all negative emotions.

"So, you're the Commissioner's daughter, eh?" the clerk asked curiously.

"Uh, yeah," you murmured, pressing your lips in a tight line. You were hoping to avoid the small talk but given you were at Crown Court and your dad headed the organisation that landed many criminals there, it was unrealistic at best. You could tell the clerk was curious to know more but privy to the inner workings of court, he wisely decided against it, much to your relief.

You were brought to a small witness room where you would be kept until you were called up. Not that you knew when that would be. Whilst you had spent a lot of time at the Met growing up, headquarters was usually where your dad's part in the justice system ended. Prosecution scarcely involved the police unless they were giving evidence, so you were unfamiliar with the process of court hearings, which only served to aggravate your nerves.

"Miss Agnello?" a second voice called, ripping you from your thoughts.

Your head snapped up towards the door, where a different clerk stood, likely there to collect you. "Yes?" you muttered.

"They're ready for you," she told you, offering you a comforting smile but it was futile.

"Right," you murmured, pushing yourself up from your chair. You kept your head down as you were led from the holding room to the court.

You felt like you were going to throw up. You were never any good at public speaking. It wasn't your forte, far too encumbered with your anxiety and you were quickly reminded why. Near enough a hundred pairs of eyes fell on you as you were shown to the witness stand where you were about to be sworn in, all judging you. Some couldn't believe you would date a monster like Sam, others couldn't believe you would testify against him but there was no mistaking the disgust in the stares as the judge spoke to you.

"Could you state your name for the record please?" he asked.

"Y/N..." Your words died in your mouth, prompting you to repeat them louder this time. "Y/N Agnello."

"Please repeat after me," the usher spoke. "I solemnly, sincerely and truly declare and affirm that the evidence I will give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth."

"I solemnly, sincerely and truly declare and affirm that the evidence I will give shall be the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.," you replied shortly. You could feel eyes boring into you but you couldn't bring yourself to meet them, instead directing your gaze towards the jury. Your guilt was all-consuming and you could already feel the tears pricking your eyes as the judge explained that you would be asked a series of questions by the prosecutor but you should direct your answers to the jury.

"Objection, your honour," the defence attorney interjected just as the prosecutor was about to ask his first question, much to his annoyance.

"We haven't even started the examination yet!" the prosecutor exclaimed in exasperation.

"What's this about, councillor?" the judge demanded sharply.

"Permission to approach the bench, your honour?" Sam's lawyer asked.

"Granted but make it quick," he instructed, prompting the lawyer to cross the court to the judge holding a piece of paper, which he passed to an usher. The prosecutor quickly followed, eager to settle the delay in his questioning. The three began muttering furiously between them, the prosecutor's face becoming more and more red with anger as he was shown the paper.

A quick scan of the crowd in the viewing gallery showed a number of frowns, the deepest of which belonged to your dad, who tapped his foot in anticipation and kept a fixed stare on the trio. The prosecutor sent the judge a look of exasperation before glaring over at you, sending you sinking into your seat. The two lawyers dispersed to their respective sides, one looking more calm than the other. The split second allowed you to steal a quick glance at the father of your child, whose hardened expression had remained so from the second he was led into the courtroom. The air was thick with tension as the room's occupants awaited the judge's announcement or the recommencement of the examination — whichever came first but the prosecutor's clenched jaw and seething expression was enough to deduce that whatever had gone down between the three wasn't in his favour.

"The testimony of Y/N Fender has been withdrawn on grounds of spousal privilege," the judge announced, sending the courtroom into disarray. "Court is adjourned for a brief recess, prosecution, you have fifteen minutes to regather yourselves."

The banging of the gavel signalled an end to his statement and the start of the chaos but you couldn't move. You were frozen in place, trapped by the looks of shock, anger and pure horror from the crowd.