Butterfly (32 page)

‘He was my boyfriend for two
years.’ I fight to keep the tremor out of my voice.

‘And your relationship was of a
sexual nature?’

We’ve already gone over these
questions before the hearing, so I know what he’s going to ask. I
just don’t know what Theo’s mum and her male co-counsel are going
to do, but whatever it is, it won’t be pretty. They’re going to try
to drag me down. Bring Ben’s past into this when it’s got nothing
to do with Theo, and my nerves are fraying. Hanging on by a thin,
tight line.

‘Yes,’ I croak.

Theo’s barrister rises at the
table and says, ‘Could you ask the witness to speak more clearly,
your honour? I’m having trouble hearing.’

The judge looks down at me from
the bench. ‘Could you please try to speak a little louder?’

‘Yes.’ My voice cracks again, so
I take a sip of water and repeat myself. ‘Yes.’

‘Before the night of April
second, was the defendant ever violent towards you?’ the prosecutor
continues.

‘He was possessive and made
nasty comments sometimes. He was selfish, immature, and arrogant,
but he was never violent. That’s why it came as such a shock to me.
I think it’s one of the reasons I froze and couldn’t move.’

‘Can you describe the events
that happened on the night in question, please?’ the prosecutor
asks.

I concentrate on the prosecution
barrister who’s on my side. I drown out everyone else from my
peripheral vision and stare at his face. He wants what I want—a
conviction.

‘Take your time, Miss Elliot,’
he says.

I take a deep breath and tell
the same story I told Ben and the police. I say what happened
clearly and concisely to a packed, silent courtroom, the words
echoing in my ears. And it feels as if someone else is telling it.
As if it happened to another woman, not me. As if I’ve risen above
my body and I’m staring down at myself from a great height,
watching this woman speaking who’s not really me. I’m pretending
this happened to my best friend and I’m telling the story on their
behalf.

Ben’s right. It does make it
easier, and maybe it’s a kind of self-preservation tool. A way to
do what I need to do so I can finally let go of this last part
that’s hanging on, trying to claw at my soul.

Although I’ve only been talking
a little while, my mouth is as dry and rough as sandpaper. I take
another sip of water from a glass on top of the witness box.
Swallow slowly.

‘So, the defendant raped you?’
the prosecutor repeats, trying to let it sink in with the jury.

‘Yes.’

‘And you say you froze with fear
after he hit you. You went into shock. You didn’t shout or scream,
and you didn’t fight him off or move because you were terrified, is
this correct?’ the prosecutor asks.

‘Yes.’

‘So, you were literally frozen
with shock and fear?’

‘Objection, Your Honour!’ Theo’s
barrister interjects. ‘Asked and answered already.’

‘I’ll allow the prosecution a
little leeway here,’ the judge says, and looks back at me. ‘Answer
the question, please.’

‘Yes, I was frozen with shock
and fear.’

‘And why do you think you froze
and couldn’t fight back?’

My gaze meets Ben’s across the
courtroom. I straighten my back and keep my eyes on him. ‘At first
I thought there was something wrong with me because I didn’t fight
back. I thought subconsciously I must’ve asked for it or wanted it
to happen. I know that’s not true now. It was self-preservation.
I’ve since learnt that the body has a natural freezing behavior
when it thinks it’s in danger, and that’s what happened to me. Even
though I didn’t want it to happen, I couldn’t say no because my
throat had closed so much with fear I couldn’t speak. Tears were
rolling down my face. I wasn’t participating in the act. That
choice was taken away from me, and I didn’t consent to it.’

He turns to Theo. ‘Tears were
rolling down your face, and you weren’t participating. You were
frozen with fear. I don’t know about everyone else in the
courtroom, but that would be a clear indication to any reasonable
person that consent wasn’t granted.’

‘Objection, Your Honour!’ Theo’s
barrister rises from his chair.

‘Overruled,’ the judge barks at
him and looks at the prosecutor. ‘Carry on.’

Theo’s barrister huffs and sits.
Elaine whispers something to him, but I can only see out of the
corner of my eye because I don’t want to catch Theo’s gaze.

‘What happened next?’ the
prosecutor asks.

‘He…he passed out. Drunk. I got
dressed and left.’ My skin itches, like it’s too tight. I fight the
urge to scratch it.

‘And you didn’t report the rape
until a year and a half later. Can you tell the court why,
please?’

‘Because at first, I wanted to
forget about it. I didn’t think my brain could handle dealing with
it, so I just tried my hardest
not
to think about it. I went
on some kind of autopilot survival mode, attempting to block it
out, but it didn’t work. I had nightmares; I lost weight. I was
depressed. I couldn’t forget about something so horrific.’ I look
at Ben, his warm gaze is sending me strength. ‘So I got some
counselling, which started the healing process and gave me my
confidence back.’ I pause for another sip of water. ‘At that time I
was feeling a lot stronger, and then Rebecca came to see me. She
told me a very similar story about what Theo had done to her.’

‘Objection! Hearsay!’ Theo’s
barrister interjects.

‘Overruled,’ the judge says.
‘The witness is testifying as to the events, not hearsay. Go ahead,
Miss Elliott.’

‘I knew then I couldn’t let Theo
do it to anyone else. I had to finally tell what happened to me,
too.’ I turn my gaze to Theo then. Stare him straight in the face.
He can’t hurt me now, even if he thinks he can, and I’m going to
prove it to myself. Something I know well has replaced his arrogant
smirk. Fear. And although I’m so nervous in that courtroom, I feel
so strong and brave. I can finally see Theo for everything he is:
weak, pathetic, a coward, a bully. It spurs me on.

Face Everything and Rise.

‘It was time to be a survivor
and not just a helpless victim anymore,’ I say.

Theo’s cheeks flush crimson, and
he glances down at the floor. The bastard can’t even look me in the
eyes.

At that moment, I know I’ve won.
Even if he wins the court case, I’ve beaten him. I’ve taken control
of my life, and nothing, no one, will ever put me back down there
again.

I risk a glance at the jury, who
are studying Theo with contempt, and inside I allow myself a big
smile. A courageous smile.

The prosecutor continues asking
questions for another couple of hours. When he finishes, we break
for lunch. I keep my eyes on Ben as I step down from the witness
box and walk towards him. He takes my hand in his and leads me from
the courtroom in hurried strides so we don’t bump into Theo and his
cronies.

‘You were brilliant, Grace.’ Ben
stops in the street and pulls me into his arms.

‘Really? I was so nervous.’

‘You were amazing. I was
watching the jury. I think they’ve already made their minds up.’ He
kisses the top of my head.

‘But the defence questions me
after lunch. His mum is sitting at that table right in front of me.
It’s going to be horrible. They’re going to attack my background
and reputation. You know they’re going to drag you into this, too.’
Panic rises in my voice.

‘It’s not as easy as it used to
be to pin the blame on the rape survivor, Grace. He won’t get away
with trying to bring your life into disrepute. All you can do is
tell them exactly what happened. He can’t run away from the truth.
Believe me, I know. I’ve tried it.’

I lean into him and rest my head
on his chest, feeling it rise and fall against me in a rhythm as
old as time. ‘Thanks for being here. I couldn’t do this without
you.’

‘Yes, you could, but I’m always
going to be here for you anyway.’ He laces his hand through mine.
‘Come on, let’s get something to eat. You didn’t have any
breakfast.’

But it turns out I can’t
actually eat, and neither can Ben. My guts are too busy cramping. I
nurse a cappuccino instead as Ben picks at a jacket potato. We
don’t talk about it; we don’t need to. Communication is all done
with our eyes and the way we hold hands over the table.

~~~~

‘I’d like to remind you that
you’re still under oath,’ the judge says to me. ‘Do you
understand?’

I sit forward and rest my hands
in my lap. ‘Yes, Your Honour.’

The judge nods at the defence
barrister. ‘You may proceed.’

He stands up and walks around
his desk, thumbs in his pockets. I try to look at him and not at
Elaine, who’s staring at me with a pinched frown etched on her face
and venom in her eyes. Maybe she thinks the jury is swaying in
their favour and she’s told Theo over lunch, because his arrogance
is back. It’s in the way his mouth curls in an amused smile, as if
we’re not in the middle of a rape trial at all but watching a play
and he’s expecting few funny one-liners.

‘On the night of the alleged
rape, you went to the defendant’s house willingly, did you not?’
the defence barrister asks me.

‘Yes.’

‘So, he didn’t force you to go
there?’

‘No.’

‘And there was no struggle?’

‘No.’

‘You weren’t frightened at all,
were you?’

His questions are ambiguous.
Does he mean before the rape or after? I know what he’s trying to
do, because the CPS warned me. He’s trying to trip me up, make me
flustered, but I’m not going to let him.

I look at Ben, who’s nodding
encouragement at me. The pride in his face relaxes the knot of
tension in my stomach. I know what he’d do if he was up here,
because I’ve seen him do it a lot. He doesn’t talk for the sake of
it. He thinks before he speaks. He pauses, rolls things around in
his head before saying something precious, meaningful. Words that
have an impact.

So I do the same. I take my time
before I get the words out so I don’t say something wrong,
something that might get Theo off.

I raise my hand to the necklace
Ben bought me and touch the delicate butterfly wings for courage
before I speak. ‘When he was raping me, I was frightened. Scared to
death. So scared I froze and couldn’t fight him off.’

‘Your Honour, please direct the
witness to answer just the questions put to her.’ The defence
barrister looks at the judge with exasperation.

The judge peers over his half
moon glasses at him. ‘I’ll allow it. Perhaps you should rephrase
your questions?’

Theo’s barrister clears his
throat and carries on. ‘So, before the sexual intercourse, were you
frightened?’

‘It wasn’t intercourse.’

The defence barrister sighs
loudly. ‘Was there, in fact, any sexual intercourse at all?’

‘No. I can’t call it
intercourse. I was raped.’ All my muscles clench so tight it sends
fiery pins and needles shooting everywhere.

He doesn’t pause for a beat but
carries on. ‘You could have walked out of the defendant’s house at
any time, couldn’t you?’

‘Before the rape, yes. During
it, no, I couldn’t move. I was—’

‘Just answer the questions I put
to you, Miss Elliot,’ he cuts me off. ‘Now, during the alleged
rape, you say the defendant hit you.’

‘Before,’ I say, my voice
shaky

‘Pardon?’

‘Before the rape, he hit
me.’

He waves a hand casually through
the air as if he’s swatting a fly, as if the details aren’t
important. He leans over his desk, reading from his notes.
‘According to your testimony, he hit you and threw you on his bed,
is that correct?’ He looks up at me.

‘Yes.’

‘But you didn’t struggle?’

‘No, I—’

‘You didn’t scream?’

‘I couldn’t breathe and—’

‘You didn’t call out “no”?’

‘No. Like I—’

‘You didn’t tell him to
stop?’

‘No, I told you, I froze
and—’

‘He didn’t threaten you?’

‘Not in words. He—’

‘And you’d had sexual
intercourse with the defendant before the night in question?’

‘Objection, Your Honour!’ The
prosecutor is on his feet. ‘He’s badgering the witness.’

‘Sustained.’ The judge points a
finger at the defence barrister. ‘Give the witness time to
answer.’

The defence barrister hardly
acknowledges the judge before saying, ‘I put it to you, Miss
Elliot, that you went to the defendant’s flat willingly with him
and had consensual sexual intercourse. You were not terrified. You
did not cry out, you did not scream, you did not say no, and you
did not attempt to fight him off. Therefore you were, in fact, a
willing participant, weren’t you?’

‘No!’ I cry, the nausea rising
in my stomach. I swallow back the queasy feeling.

You can do this. You can do
this.

I take a few deep breaths.
‘That’s not what happened. I was
so
terrified that I
couldn’t do any of those things. I’ve learned that when someone is
faced with overwhelming terror, people might think the obvious
thing is to run or scream or fight, but they’re incapable.’

The defence barrister is telling
the judge to direct me to be quiet, but I won’t. I know the jury
can’t disregard something after it’s been said, even if they’re
told to.

‘The freeze response leads to a
complete inability to move,’ I carry on as the judge looks at
me.

‘Objection, Your Honour!’ the
defence barrister complains again. ‘Miss Elliot is not a medical
expert.’

‘Please answer the questions put
to you, Miss Elliot, and no more,’ the judge says.

My cheeks burn with anger and
embarrassment. My mouth is so dry I can hardly swallow, so I take
another sip of water. Try to breathe to keep calm.

I look at Ben. He smiles back,
and inside that smile, he’s sending me a secret message:
You’re
doing great. I love you. Be strong.