Pure Belleza | ✔️

(76)

It's the beginning of August, three weeks after I gave my statement at Avery's trial and half n hour ago, we were updated on his sentence. Eight years with chance of parole at six.

It didn't disappoint me. I was glad that he was doing time. But the fact that he would be walking free again in no less than eight years, it bothered me. I suppose it wouldn't be right to assume that he doesn't learn his lesson. Perhaps time locked behind bars will encourage self reflection.

Perhaps it won't.

There should be mandatory hard hitting lessons about the detrimental damage that can be done when men decide to touch us without permission.

Electro therapy perhaps.

"What are you thinking about?"

I'm drawn out of my thoughts by Max, who's sitting on the opposite side of our small table. We decided to get breakfast at a little cafe not far from the studio. The summer sunshine was pouring down on where we sat outside, watching the traffic and people rushing past. A couple of pigeons pecked at bread thrown on the pavement by a toddler who had her parents wrapped around her little finger.

"You know what I'm thinking about," I told Max and he pursed his lips with disappointment. "Don't look at me like that."

"He was sentenced. That's more than some rapists."

I sighed gripped my ice tea, drips of condensation rolled down the glass. It wouldn't be cold for long in this heat.

"You made a difference, Abby. You did. All of the positive response to your speech. Hell, even Bernie benefited from your time on television. You have a meeting tomorrow with Harriet. You're looking at spaces to rent because you two are doing so well. Focus on the positive."

He was right. Even if I did feel that Avery deserved to die behind bars from old age without ever being able to touch another woman again, I had to think about what we did achieve. Not to mention the fact that his business was closing and he wouldn't be able to manage models, even after he was released from prison, made me smile.

"That's better," Max grinned and took a bite of his crepe. "Should we ge—"

"You fuckers ordered without me?"

Max peered past me with exasperation and I didn't even need to turn around to know that Lucas was the one shouting. Even if I didn't know his voice, he always had to make a loud entrance. Patrons attempting to eat their breakfast in peace stared at our brother with tight mouths.

"You're late," Max stated. "We're hungry."

"Not my fucking fault," Lucas appeared beside me and pulled out a third seat, falling into it and letting out a loud sigh. He had his sunglasses on and a T-shirt and shorts which showed off his inked arms and a peek at his thigh piece. I did not want to know how far up that went. "Traffic around here is busier than my balls."

Max nodded while he chewed. "Cool."

"How are you doing?" Lucas nodded in my direction, leaning back in his seat and folding his arms. "Where's your breakfast? Ice tea isn't a breakfast."

"It's on its way," I bit back. "And I'm fine. I'm good. How are you?"

"I'm fucking starving."

He sat up and peered around. I think he was about to wave out to the staff that was flittering around and collecting plates but then a waitress stopped beside the table and set down a breakfast in front of Lucas with the works. Bacon, eggs, sausages, the lot. She handed me a bowl of fruit, a couple of boiled eggs and a second ice tea.