Page 172 of Edge of Unbroken

“You really are the dumbest, most worthless son of a bitch, Ronan,” Rica says as she positions herself behind Ronan. She tips the heavy whiskey bottle, holding it by its neck now, and I understand that she’s about to hit him with it. “Worthless,” she grunts, and slams the bottle into Ronan’s side.

The little bit of the sandwich I managed to eat during lunch threatens to find its way back up.

“Disrespectful,” Rica says and hits him again. “No good,” she growls through clenched teeth and follows it up with another hit, then another, and another, and another. Each hit is accompanied by yet another reminder of how unloved he is.

Ronan stays silent throughout the beating, not making a single sound, never asking his mother to stop hurting him, his head lowered, eyes shut, teeth gritted as he grips the countertop.

I count twenty-one strikes before Rica finally steps back from her son, then raises her hand and throws the whiskey bottle to the ground, where it shatters into a thousand pieces of glass, the brownish liquor staining the white tile of the kitchen floor.

“Step out of line again, Ronan, and you’ll regret that decision. Clean up the kitchen, and then get out of my sight unless you want more of this,” Rica says, and resolutely marches out of the kitchen, then up the stairs.

We watch Ronan stand for a moment, unmoving, breathing heavy, before he loosens his hold on the countertop and straightens himself up slowly. He slips his shirt on, covering his torso and the large bruises already forming—like two rungs of a ladder—on his right side, just above his hip bone. I vividly remember seeing those bruises only a few days later, asking Ronan about them. And I remember him telling me, and later Shane, that he had tripped and fallen backward against his desk. I never questioned him, never suspected the reality of what Ronan was dealing with on a near-daily basis.

In the footage, Ronan goes about cleaning up the mess his mother left, silently picking up shards of glass, then wiping the tile clean before he leaves the kitchen.

The attorney stops the video. It’s silent in the courtroom, as always after the jury is offered yet another glimpse into the violence endured by the handsome seventeen-year-old boy sitting in the witness stand.

“Do you remember this particular incident, Ronan?” Mr. Cooley asks.

“Yep, I do now,” Ronan says matter-of-factly.

“What were you doing prior to your mother calling your name at the start of the footage?”

“I was in my room, talking on the phone.”

“Do you remember who you were speaking to?”

“My girlfriend.”

“Why did you tell your mother in the video footage that you were talking to no one? You said it was the wrong number.”

“Because I didn’t want her to know about my relationship.”

“Why not?”

“Because…” Ronan trails off, his gaze unfocused. “Because my relationship made me vulnerable to my mother. It was something she could use against me, and she did—all the time—once she found out about Cat,” Ronan says in a low, tired voice before exhaling deeply.

“In what way did your mother use your relationship with your girlfriend against you?”

“Once she figured out I was seeing Cat, my mother constantly brought Cat up when she was laying into me. She would tell me that, sooner or later, Cat would figure me out, would figure out that I’m worthless, and she’d leave me. My mom would tell me that all I was good for was being used up, and that girls like Cat don’t stay with guys like me for long.”

I glower at Rica, a stabbing ache in my chest at the thought that she weaponized Ronan’s love for me, used it as a means to tear him down, to engage in emotional warfare.

“Did you sustain any physical injuries on that date?”

“Bruises,” Ronan answers dryly.

Darren Cooley then asks the question I, too, have wondered about: why in the world Ronan had to take off his shirt.

Ronan just shrugs. “No idea. To make it hurt more, probably.”

The attorney takes a deep breath, exhaling deeply. “Ronan, I’m sorry, but I have to ask: did your mother ever sexually assault you?”

I swallow hard, my eyes wide. I had never even considered that possibility.

Ronan’s brow is set when he shakes his head resolutely. “No.”

“Did she ever touch you inappropriately?”

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