Ruining You (6 page)

He leans closer and looks
deep into my eyes. “Define close. Am I close to driving them to drink? If my
dad wasn’t a Southern Baptist preacher, that would be a definite yes. Am I
close to driving them crazy? Absolutely. They’re my adoptive parents, and no, I
don’t know my biological parents.” He lifts his hand and runs his fingers
through his thick mane of hair. “What’s your story? From what I hear, you’ve
been here almost three months and still haven’t spoken up in group session.”

Shrugging my shoulders, I
choose to ignore him and look at my iPod like it holds the secrets to the
universe.

“Are you always like this?”

“Always like what?” His
question catches me off guard, and I glance up at him.

“Snarky, stuck-up girl one second,
lost little girl the next?”

Rolling my eyes, I look back
down at my playlist.

Holding his hands up in
surrender, he says, “Don’t get mad. I just ‘call’ it, like I ‘see’ it.”

I shift to my knees and lean
towards him, placing my elbows on the arm of the chair, “What about you? You’ve
got the looks, you’ve got the whole Mr. Mystery thing going on, and not to
mention, most girls would just about wet themselves when you play your guitar.
What brings you here? Your eyes are way too clear to be detoxing from drugs or
alcohol.”

His eyes twinkle, and I can
tell he is enjoying the little byplay we have going on. He says, “I’ll show you
my ‘brand’ of crazy if you show me yours?”

Laughing out loud, I tell
him, “I don’t know if I have just one ‘brand’. I think I shop at the
thrift-store of crazy.”

We both laugh. For the first
time in months, I don’t feel so alone. So isolated. My chest expands a little.
I feel as if I can take a deep breath without every emotion pouring out of me.
Watching him, I notice that every so often he shakes his hair out and runs his
fingers through it. Why this makes me smile, I have no clue, but it does.

“So,
Eli-after-the-prophet-not-the-football-player, let’s leave show and tell for
another day. Why don’t you tell me about what kind of music you like to play?”

Shrugging, he says, “Of
course, the classics like Guns and Roses and Nirvana. Current music that I like
would be Alabama Shakes, Jason Aldean, and Blake Shelton.”

I raise my eyebrows in
question, “Country music? Now, I really didn’t see that coming.”

“What? Are you stereotyping?
My parents are whiter than you, and we do live in the South. I may not rock the
cowboy boots, big belt buckle, or jacked-up truck, but I like feeling a little
twang here and there,” he says, emphasizing his country accent.

“Sorry, my bad,” I laugh and
say to him.

“Give me your iPod. Let’s
see what you are rocking.” He grabs my iPod and proceeds to scroll through my
music.

He laughs at a couple of
things and looks up at me.

“You give a whole new
meaning to the word ‘eclectic’. Let’s see, you have Kanye, Broken Bells,
Karmin, Usher, and what the hell is this? Justin Bieber? I really don’t know
what to say. I’m praying you have younger siblings that you play this for.” He
presses play and pulls the earphones out so the song blares from the speaker.

“Give me that!” I say,
grabbing for my iPod. He stands up and holds it above our heads. He’s not that
much taller than me, but he is wiry, and I try to reach around him as he bends
backwards. He switches it from hand to hand, and I try my best to snag it. I am
suddenly overwhelmed with laughter as the idiot starts singing.

“As long as you love me,
I’ll be your platinum, I’ll be your silver, I’ll be your gold. As long as you
lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-lo-love me,” he sings to me as he plays
keep away.

We have an audience now.
Everyone is laughing along with us. I stop trying to get my iPod back because
it’s not working anyway. My side hurts from laughing so hard. Giving up, I flop
back down in my chair and work to give him my best “I’m pissed” face. Finally,
he tosses my iPod in my lap and throws himself down beside me with a sexy grin
on lips.

Ooh, I so have him now.
Licking my lips, I narrow my eyes and say, “Ok, Mr. ‘Hate on my Biebs’. For a
hater, you sure do know the lyrics pretty well.”

He bursts into laughter,
“First off, every radio station in the land has that song on rotation every
hour. I’d have to be brain dead not to know the lyrics.”

I roll my eyes again, and he
snorts.

“Please be careful. I’d hate
for those witchy eyes to roll right out of your head.”

I laugh at him. I can’t help
it. No one has made me laugh in the last couple months. The pressure starts to
build. How can I even laugh again? Grabbing my chest, I think back to the last
time I really laughed. I was sitting in JT’s truck with him and Cal on the way
to the party.

“Hey,” JT says and pulls me
to him, “quit giving my hugs away.” I laugh and kiss his cheek.

“Earth to Jay. Hello. Jay?”

Lost in my memory, I finally
hear Eli talking to me, and I turn towards him. He appears blurry through the
tears that fill my eyes.

“Talk to me. Where did you
just go?”

At first, I shake my head,
and then the words gush out as the tears flow down my cheeks.

“He’s gone, and he’s not
coming back. He’s never coming back for me.”

Eli wraps me in his arms,
and I allow it. Draping my arms around him, I crave the warmth and strength he
has to offer. I silently sob on his shoulder. Feeling my heart shatter over and
over again, the pain is razor blade sharp, and a million cuts shred my body.

Raising my mouth to his ear,
I whisper, “God is punishing me for what I did. He took him from me. A life for
a life.”

Oh. My. God. Did I just say
that out loud? I don’t even know this guy. That was one of my darkest thoughts,
and I just whispered it carelessly into the ear of a stranger.

Pulling me closer to him, he
whispers back, “Don’t let go now, Jay. One-by-one, place each piece of your
soul back together, but this time, make it stronger. Close your eyes and do
it.”

Listening to his words, I
will the pain to stop. I close my eyes tighter and swallow the screams that
want to burst out. I leash the torment inside that threatens to reign over me.
This time, I choose not to bury them. I mold them into something I can live with.
My eyes fly open, and I find myself staring deep into his, mere inches from my
face.

“I don’t know a lot of
things, Jay, but I do know that God doesn’t punish. Not on this earth anyway.
That’s not his style. You are punishing yourself and using God as an excuse to
justify it. He doesn’t want you to suffer, but He’ll let you wallow in your own
sorrow if that is what you choose to do.”

Where is this coming from?
Eli’s words burn through my mind like an inferno. For almost seventy days, I’ve
listened to Dr. Raines and her psycho-babble bullshit, but in two seconds, this
guy has made more sense to me than anything she’s said.

Clearing my throat, I start
to speak when my name is called from the doorway. Looking up from his arms, I
see Dr. Raines standing there.

“Jay,” Dr. Raines calls,
“you have visitors”. She is looking from Eli to me.

Pulling away from him, I can
feel his piercing stare, but I don’t look back. I wipe the tears from my face
and grab my iPod before standing. Bowing my head, I peek at him as I kick the
toe of my slippers against the floor.

“Uh, talk later?” I ask.

“I’ll find you,” he says
smiling.

I walk towards the exit,
turning back before I reach the door. He has picked up his guitar and is
playing again. Shaking my head, I turn back around and realize that my heart
feels lighter than it has in a while. Dr. Raines touches my arm once I walk out
into the hallway.

“Jay, there are two
detectives here to see you again. They say they have some additional questions
for you. I can go in with you if you would like?”

Not again. Why today, out of
all days, did they choose to come back? Looking at Dr. Raines, I reply, “Thank
you, but I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re sure, Jay?
They’re in my office.”

We both head towards her
office, but once we reach it, she leaves. When I walk in, there are two new
detectives standing, waiting for me. The first is a tall dark-skinned African
American man with a bald-head. He has kind brown eyes with a large build and
introduces himself as District Attorney Kyle Reeves. The second is a short
Asian female with inky-black hair. She also has gentle brown eyes and a slight
build. She introduces herself as Agent Morris from the Georgia Bureau of
Investigation.

Following the introductions,
we sit down, and Mr. Reeves leans towards me. “Well, Miss James Stevenson, it’s
finally nice to meet you. I know you’ve met with the Jackson Heights police
detectives and answered their questions. That information was forwarded to us;
however, it is imperative that we speak to you directly. We have tried to give
you some privacy while you have been here, but now we are running out of time.
Do you know why we are here today?”

“I’m sure it has something
to do with Coach Branch.” Bile rises in my throat at the mention of his name.

“Yes, as you may know, Bruce
Branch was arrested on charges of statutory rape and released on bail. Because
this type of crime was committed by a teacher on school grounds, it falls to
state prosecution. From this point forward, you will only discuss the case with
either Agent Morris or me. Should you be contacted for any questions regarding
the case, you will state ‘no comment’ and refer them back to me. Do you
understand, Miss Stevenson?”

“Yes, Sir,” I answer back.
The tone of his voice is stern. I really don’t think I have a choice.

“We have your recorded
testimony, but we have a few more questions. First off, do you remember ever
hearing who recorded your conversation with Bruce Branch?

Clearing my throat, I say,
“No, I never did hear who did.”

“We were able to connect the
message back to the original phone number it was sent from; however, that
person states their phone was stolen that same day. They also have an alibi of
where they were during that time period. We really need to find who sent that
text message.”

“I’m sorry, Mr. Reeves, but
I have no idea who recorded it. Not to mention, I’ve been here a majority of
the time since that day.”

“In your interview, you did
say that you didn’t save any letters or flowers that he sent you. Is that
correct?”

“Yes, Sir. I did not keep
anything.” My stomach clinches at the thought.

Mr. Reeves looks at me like
he’s slightly annoyed. I roll my eyes and try to get comfortable in my chair.

“I realize that I may be
boring you, Miss Stevenson, but I assure you that the questions I ask you will
be a large factor in your case. I understand that you previously stated that
you refuse to testify. Is this still correct?”

Looking down, I answer,
“Yes.”

“Well, I want you to think
about this. I believe you are old enough to understand our judicial system.
Georgia, unlike most states, uses the term ‘statutory rape’ to describe
unlawful sex with a minor. Anyone found guilty of this crime faces very serious
prison time.” Clearing his voice, he continues. “Of course, it can be more
difficult to get a conviction for statutory rape in Georgia than in any other
state. The reason is because a pure he-said-she-said type of case is not
sufficient evidence. We need additional evidence, such as the eyewitness that
taped the entire conversation between yourself and Mr. Branch. Unfortunately, a
dark and grainy video with limited visibility doesn’t cater to our needs. It
would be rational to say, without your testimony, no matter how compelling the
case, that it is not sufficient to prove guilt beyond reasonable doubt.”

I gasp at his words and
reply, “I just can’t do it.”

“Then, he will more than
likely walk out of that courtroom a free man.”

“Jay,” Agent Morris says in
her soft voice, “you still have time to think about it. Why don’t I come back
to visit you in a couple of weeks?”

Just wanting to get rid of
them, I answer, “Yes, that will be fine. I’m not feeling well. Please excuse
me.” I stand and walk out of Dr. Raines’s office, straight to the bathroom.
Feeling the acidic vomit back up in my throat, I lean over the toilet and empty
my stomach. I fall to my knees, and I am unable to stop the tears. They fall
freely down my face, and silent sobs rack my body as my mind races.

I refuse to think about
testifying against him or even being in the same room as him. The thought of
talking about what happened in front of my family and my friends causes my body
to jerk in revolt. I just can’t. Ever.