Page 179 of Edge of Unbroken

I can’t seem to regulate my breathing. It’s shallow and quick, my chest heaving while my heart feels like it might explode.Fuck, Ran, calm down. I have to ground myself.

“Ronan, are you alright?” I hear her again. But she’s too far away. Her voice barely registers, walled off by the building panic, the anxiety, that sensation of free-falling.

It’s just me in a world of pain. But the pain isn’t physical in nature. It’s my soul, my being that’s hurting. It’s two-year-old Ronan who got pushed down the stairs; four-year-old Ronan who got choked until he passed out; six-year-old Ronan who was told how worthless he was; seven-year-old Ronan who got punched in the face until his left eye swelled shut; thirteen-year-old Ronan who had to lie about how he broke his elbow; fifteen-year-old Ronan who sought meaningless sex to feel wanted for a few minutes; sixteen-year-old Ronan who was forced to play a contact sport while suffering from a concussion so bad that he threw up for three days straight. And it’s seventeen-year-old Ronan who fell so desperately, deeply in love with a girl he thinks he can’t ever be enough for because all his life he was made to believe that he’s nothing. Unwanted. Unworthy. Unloved.

I was wrong. I can’t do it. I can’t save myself. After all, I’m nothing.

I am nothing.

The room closes in on me. My chest is tight, lungs unwilling to expand. I can’t breathe and it’s making me frantic. I’m just aware enough to know that I’m spiraling, but too far gone to stop it.

Cat

I’m not sure I’ve ever felt as overwhelming relief in my life as I feel when the defense attorney declines to cross-examine Ronan. I’m so proud of Ronan, so in awe of him, his strength, his resilience, his composure not only while testifying today, but throughout his life.

It’s going to take me a long time to process the things I’ve learned about him today, but one thing is for certain: I’ve never admired anyone more. This boy is something else. He has endured and survived things many would be incapable of weathering without letting it change them into hard, cold, bitter people. Ronan is still kind, still able to love deeply and fiercely, and I’m beyond proud to have captured his warrior heart. How lucky am I to have earned his trust?

I try to make eye contact with Ronan as he’s ushered off the witness stand and out of the courtroom, but he doesn’t look up, doesn’t seek me out for some reason. He’s got to be exhausted.

The judge waits until the courtroom doors close behind Ronan before he addresses the district attorney. “Mr. Cooley, it’s just after five. How many witnesses are you planning on calling tomorrow?”

“None, Your Honor. The state rests its case.”

“Okay. We will resume at eight-thirty in the morning in this courtroom with the defense’s case,” the judge says before admonishing then dismissing the jury for the evening.

We wait for the twelve jurors and the two alternates to leave the courtroom, then watch as Rica leaves the courtroom with both her attorney and her mother.

“How do you think it went?” Frank asks Darren Cooley once the hallway has cleared a little and neither Rica nor any of the jurors are within sight or earshot of us.

“Really well.” Mr. Cooley nods with a smile. “Ronan did extremely well. Incredibly sympathetic witness.”

“How could he not be?” Shane asks.

Mr. Cooley chuckles. “You’d be surprised. Not every victim automatically makes a good witness, especially in these situations. Can you imagine what it’s like to face your lifelong abuser and be forced to talk about all the horrible things you had to endure to complete strangers who are literally there to judge every word you utter? It’s exceptionally stressful. I’ve had cases completely fall apart because of how poorly my victims testified.”

“I thought Ronan’s testimony was extremely powerful,” Penny says, her voice still strained, cracking here and there. Her eyes are red and puffy from the tears she’s spilled throughout the day listening to Ronan lay himself bare.

Mr. Cooley nods earnestly. “It was. Very strong. The jury received him so well. I was a little worried that they may not be able to believe someone as small as the defendant would have such an impact on someone as tall and strong as Ronan, but the video surveillance coupled with Ronan’s testimony made it very clear how conditioned he was by his mother to submit to pain. After seeing this and hearing his testimony, there’s no way anyone of sound mind would say he should have just fought back. He couldn’t fight back; he never could. He could have been Hercules and he would have been unable to withstand his mother’s violence. So much of it was psychological.”

“So, now what?” Steve asks.

“The defense is going to put on their case starting tomorrow. I don’t think it’ll take long. My understanding is that Mr. Halbrocken intends to call the defendant and the psychiatrist who evaluated her and possibly a character witness, but we’ll see,” Mr. Cooley says. “And then it will be up to a jury to decide.”

“Hey Darren, sorry to interrupt.” The young woman who ushered Ronan in and out of the courtroom approaches us with hurried steps. “Mr. Soult? I think Ronan needs you.” She motions for Frank to follow her. We all do, though only Frank enters the small room the young woman leads him into, leaving the door open behind Frank.

I want to go in and throw my arms around Ronan, hold him, but my mom’s hand on my shoulder stops me. She gives me a minuscule shake of her head, signaling that I should give Ronan some space, should allow Frank a moment to comfort his son.

I stand back and watch with an aching heart, feeling helpless.

Ronan paces the floor, his chest heaving as he rakes his hands through his hair over and over.

Frank approaches cautiously. “Ran,” he says, his voice soothing.

Ronan looks up, his face contorted in pain, his green eyes like those of a wounded animal, desperate for help yet too scared to trust anyone. He’s vulnerable, and I’ve heard enough today to understand that this is a feeling he’s tried to avoid all his life.

Ronan shakes his head, putting out his hands to stop his dad from coming any closer. But Frank moves toward him, unwilling to let Ronan suffer alone.

Ronan backs away. “Dad, please, no,” he chokes, forcing the words out like it takes all his wherewithal to speak. It’s obvious he’s on the verge of a breakdown, trying desperately to bottle it up, to shove it down, to lock it away. His back hits the wall. There’s nowhere else for him to go, just like there’s nowhere else for his pain to go.

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