Wild Thing

Chapter 4: The Escape

I should be already dressed and stuffing my face with one of Aunt Mae's delicious meals, but instead, I am standing in front of my closet contemplating on what I want to wear.

From years of Franklin's training, my first instinct is to choose something dark, two sizes too big, and cover it with several layers. I have worked hard to unlearn what I was taught and so my closet is full of vibrant colors, scarves, skirts, suits, jeans, and overalls. I don't want to wear something too casual because that could make the jurors think that I don't care about appearances. I don't want anything too flashy because that will make me a distraction to everyone. My lawyer says that I should dress in a way that shows the jury I am professional and not emotional. What does that even mean? 

Ugh. Why was this so complicated?

I can go to court and testify against Satan himself but I can't decide on an outfit wear? I know I am probably overthinking it but I need to make a good impression. I desperately need the jurors to see me. Truly see me.

A survivor, not a victim.

All of the outfits I pulled out just didn't fit the image I had in my mind. I could just picture his facial expressions of distaste or approval in what I wore. A subtle lip curl or that sick twinkle I'd see in his eyes every now and then.Frank is a master manipulator and with a few choice words he could have the media, the judge, and the jury all eating from his palm. They'd all be sitting together, laughing and enjoying each others company as I scurry away with my tail tucked between my legs.

"Get lost Frank!! I hiss at the corners and abyss of my room.

Great, not only have I given him dominion over my thoughts, but also my emotions as well. Yelling at a closet...yeah, that just radiates sanity.

Get it together Lily.

I suppress my fight or flight instinct and finally settle on long navy blue dress pants, a white button up dress shirt, and low black wedges. I pin my unruly curls back with my mother's butterfly clips and stare at my reflection.

The woman standing in front of the mirror looked beautiful and confident, ready to take on the world.

Is this really who I am?

Even with the deep scar on the right side of my face that ran dangerously low on my chest, I could still see a sparkle in my eyes. I could see something in myself that I haven't witnessed in a long time...happiness. The possibility of life without Frank constantly hounding me was almost a reality. Just a few more weeks and Aunt Mae and I would finally be free.

The delicious smells of Aunt Mae's cooking almost tempt me into running towards the kitchen but instead, I kneel down at the foot of my bed and pray.

"Lord, the next few weeks are going to be hardest I've ever had to endure. You see each tear that falls and I know You'll be there with me every step of the way. Please Father, give me the strength to share my story. To help serve justice and to prevent anyone from ever being hurt like I was. Most importantly Lord, help me to forgive. Thank you for your grace. Amen"

My stomach growls in protest as I rise and again smell Aunt Mae's amazing cooking.

Looks like I'm hungry after all, I think as I walk down the stairs towards the kitchen.

An unfamiliar male voice coming from the other room stops me dead in my tracks.

"Ma'am, put down the gun. I'm a US Marshal here to escort you and your niece to the plane."

"I don't really care who you are mister. You don't just walk through my back door uninvited with a gun in your hand and just start making yourself at home. Now I suggest you walk your happy little behind back out that door and knock properly before I blow a hole through that pretty face."