Page 138 of Love Bleeds Red
“Thank you,” I whisper. “For waiting. For being patient with me.”
“Always,” he says without hesitation. “However long it takes.”
His breathing starts to even out after a while, but his hand never loosens its hold on mine. The steady rhythm of his breath calms me and I feel my own body finally start to relax. His hand is warm in mine, the safety of being here with him holding me close, knowing that he’ll be right here when I wake up. It’s everything I dreamed about in that dark place. Everything I thought I’d never have again.
After a long time of imagining what the future will hold, I fall asleep feeling completely safe.
Almost a week’sgone by since we camped. Jasper and Falin are back in the city. And me? I’m freaking exhausted. Mom and I are pulling into the driveway from another long, rough day atthe US Attorney’s office in Albany. Hours of sharing every detail I could remember… Most of the time, feeling like a failure for not being able to give them more.
I want the rest of the monsters involved to get caught, but a part of me wishes my involvement in everything was never discovered. That I could have come home and pretended it was all just a terrible nightmare.
At least my victim’s advocate, Lizet, is amazing. She’s probably the only reason I haven’t completely fallen apart during the prep sessions. Today, when I started hyperventilating during the timeline review, she didn’t just hand me a tissue and tell me to breathe slower like everyone else does. Even Mom gets rattled in those moments. Liz sat beside me and started distracting me by talking about her garden. How she plants marigolds every spring because they remind her of her clients. How marigolds are survivors too, blooming even when the weather is awful, even through hail, and wind, and extreme heat. Her voice was so calming that my breathing naturally started to match hers.
“You don’t have to remember everything perfectly,” she told me afterward, when the prosecutors stepped out. “Your job isn’t to be a human tape recorder, Bailey. Just speak your truth, the best you can.” She always says things like that. Simple statements that help make me feel like this all encompassing overwhelm is manageable somehow.
Lizet explained that later this week we’ll practice what she calls grounding techniques for when I’m on the witness stand. Not just the breathing exercises, but how to find something in the courtroom to focus on if I start to dissociate. How to ask for breaks without feeling weak. She even brought me a small, smooth stone from her garden to keep in my pocket. She said holding onto something tangible might help when I’m feeling stressed.
“The defense attorneys will try to confuse you. They’ll do everything in their power to win,” she told me. “But remember, their job is to create doubt about the case. Whatever they do or say, you’re an amazing person. A survivor. Don’t let them take that from you.”
I squeeze the stone in my pocket now as Mom parks the car. At least I know that whatever happens in that courtroom, Lizet will be right there in the gallery. I don’t know who else will be there, but at least Alfred and King are corpses somewhere. Only their ghosts will haunt that courtroom.
Each step toward the front door has my stomach fluttering, knowing that Leon’s somewhere inside. I could really use a hug today.
I get to the door first and as soon as I open it, I smell something delicious cooking. Roasting chicken with herbs, the rich scent of butter and cream, and caramelized vegetables. I expect to find Dad at the stove, but it’s Leon there, stirring a pot, AirPods in his ears.
He’s intent on his task and hasn’t noticed us come in, so I quietly tiptoe behind him and wrap my arms around his middle. He jumps but only for a second, before he pulls his AirPods out and twists to face me.
“You’re home.” His lips tip up in a genuine smile.
“Smells delicious,” I say, managing to smile back through my exhaustion. “What are you making?”
“Roast chicken,” he says, pressing a quick kiss to my forehead. “Figured you both might want something comforting after today.”
Mom appears in the kitchen doorway, looking as drained as I feel. “Leon, you didn’t have to?—”
“I wanted to,” he tells her. “Go sit. I’ve got this.”
He moves around the kitchen with surprising confidence, grabbing a bottle of wine from the counter and pouring three glasses. “How did it go today?” he asks, handing us each a glass.
“Rough,” Mom admits, taking a long sip. “These prep sessions are harder than I expected. I think I need some air.” She glances toward the back door. “Is John out on the deck?”
“Yeah, he’s been out there reading for the last hour,” Leon says.
“Perfect.” She gives my shoulder a squeeze. “I’ll leave you two to decompress. Leon, thank you for this. Really.”
“No problem. It’ll be ready in twenty.” Once she’s gone, Leon turns his full attention to me. “That bad, huh?”
I hop up on the counter beside the stove, glass in my hand, watching Leon stir salt into the pot of mashed potatoes. “Yup. They want me to go over everything again at the end of the week. Every detail about every person I came into contact with, every place I was taken.” I take a long sip of wine, letting the warmth spread through my chest. “I feel like I’m failing them because I can’t remember more. The time before Alfred… a lot of it is a blur… the details at least.”
“You’re not failing anyone. The fact that you’re willing to testify at all is incredible. Fuck them if they think otherwise.”
I take another sip, and try to let his words sink in. “The hardest part is going to be keeping you guys out of it. The prosecutors want to know how I escaped, but I can’t exactly tell them about my boyfriend and his vigilante friends staging a rescue mission.”
He goes very still, and I can practically see the gears turning in his head. Then that infuriating Leon smirk starts spreading across his face.
“All I heard from that statement is that you called me your boyfriend.”
Heat blooms across my chest. “That’s what you’re focusing on right now?”
