ғᴏᴏᴛsᴛᴇᴘs | ᴋᴍ ✔︎

Lena, my love.

"I'm going under and this time I fear there's no one to save me."
- Lewis Capaldi

| Cody |

Sitting in the courtroom with my mom, aunt, Jordyn and Kristie is an odd feeling. It felt like a dream, until I seen him. My hand instinctively found my mom's when he made eye contact with me. I squeeze her hand, trying to find a sliver of comfort as memories flood my senses. He smirks, as if he can tell what's flashing through my mind, only turning to face the Judge when his lawyer taps his shoulder to gain his attention.

"Are you okay, baby girl?" Alex asks, but I don't respond.

I'm transported to before I met my mom. To when every single day was a living hell. I can feel his hands on me, I can smell his rotten breath and hear him laughing when I recoil at his touch.

"I'm here, baby. He can't hurt you." Alex whispers in my ear, sensing that I'm close to my breaking point.

I glance at my lawyer to find that she's already watching my mother and I. When I met her, she came across as tough, emotionless, which in her line of work probably helps her to get the job done, but looking at her now it's clear to see that this case pisses her off.

I zone in and out of the court proceedings, finding them boring and not alike to TV drama at all. First up is Dr Sullivan, called on behalf of the defendant, he's apparently a Psychiatric expert, someone who has interviewed my uncle 'extensively'.

"Hello, Doctor." My uncle's lawyer, Thompson, begins. The confidence clearly dripping with every word. "You've spoken with my client to great lengths, about these baseless accusations." He emphasises the word 'baseless' and my grip on my mom's hand increases out of anger, only loosening when her thumb strokes bring me back to reality. "What can you tell me about him, and your dealings?"

"I found him to be erratic, yet adament that he has done nothing wrong. I feel confident diagnosing him with Brief Reactive Phychosis, or Brief Psychotic Disorder-"

"Objection, your honor." Garcia stands, seemingly bored with the testimony. "BPD can only be diagnosed through evaluation prior  to onset and the duration of the episode. Therefore it's almost impossible to diagnose the defendant almost a year after the events for which he has been charged by the state."

"You don't know that." Thompson bites back, clearly surprised with my lawyer's Mental Health knowledge, as am I.

"I do. I also know that the so-called episodes last a mere two weeks. Not the many years your client has been accused of-"

"That's enough!" Judge Jackson calls over the arguing lawyers. "No cross talk in my courtroom. You address me, not each other."

After regaining order of the court, the Judge tells Thompson to get on with it.

"What else can you tell me about my client?"

"I can tell you that he has an Impulse Control Disorder."

"And what does that mean?" Thompson asks, facing the jury with a smug look, as if he's about to teach them something their small minds can't understand.

"Quite simply, it's a disorder in which the sufferer cannot resist an impulse. They are unable to fight the temptation to engage in some act that, ultimately, proves to be harmful to oneself."

Eventually the grumpy Judge calls for a recess, quite clearly being hungry. Everyone remains seated while my uncle is lead away in chains, and the Judge leaves. I make my own way out of the room, my mom, aunt and friends following silently behind me.