When I awaken in the middle of the night, I feel a little dizzy. It's not as bad as some of my spells, but it is uncomfortable none the less. I sit up quickly, trying to gather my bearings. I feel a little weird, like I'm on the edge of some precipice with my arms stretched out to my side, trying to maintain some sort of balance. The only problem is I don't feel like I'm balancing at all. It's more like I'm in freefall.
I want to sleep, but there's something missing. I am thinking of him because he is the only person who can make things tolerable for me; he's the one that can calm the storm that brews within me. I know if he were here right now, he would be at my side, holding me, loving me in a way I cannot love myself. I glance at the telephone; it's within reach, so close, yet I cannot seem to grasp onto it.
Sometimes, I wonder if this illness is more emotional rather than physical. At this point, I'm not sure which I would prefer. I'm just so anxious about my day tomorrow. First, I'm going to meet with Derek and from there I will go to my doctor. She said this is just routine from someone who is in my condition.
She wants me to see a psychiatrist because, according to her, sometimes the mind does play a part in the symptoms. She assures me it doesn't mean that I'm not feeling what I say I'm feeling, it just means that the pain increases with my stress level; I have to learn how to control it. I've never really talked to anyone before; I've talked to Todd, but he is…no was my husband. This is a complete stranger who is going to sit and listen to me, all the while silently passing judgment.
I sit in the middle of the bed, waiting for the dizziness to subside. It doesn't take long this time, so I lay back in bed and try to get back to sleep. I watch the minutes tick away on my clock; my mind races with thoughts of what will be next for me.
My mind is in a million different places at once. I'm here physically, but in my mind, Todd and I are in Greece, walking hand in hand along the beach. It seems so long ago, but really, it wasn't. Less than two years have passed. Our lives are so entangled, it's as if he has taken me and wrapped my body in his soul.
I know I have to stop sitting around, feeling sorry for myself, living in the past. The problem is, I have no idea of how to even begin to let go. He is maybe my one weakness and, ironically enough, I'm the reason we're apart. I know I made a bad decision in leaving him and if it were just two or three months ago, back when I had control over my body, I would've gone back to him in a second.
Finally, I feel myself drifting off and I go with it. Maybe I will dream of him loving me. Maybe my dreams are the only place in the world where there are no obstacles, just the two of us loving each other.
*****
"Hi, Miss Delgado. You okay?" Derek asks, rising to greet me. We are separated by a heavy metal table, but I feel his warmth despite the barrier. I want to reach over to him and take him into my arms, let him know that he will be okay and let his faith in me somehow reach my soul.
I do not answer him right away; I'm not quite sure how to answer. My eyes roam over his face, searching for signs of the torture which had been inflicted upon him. The injuries, they're starting to fade but I know from experience that the emotional wounds will never completely fade. I clear my throat and say, "I'm okay, just a little tired."
"Okay, just checking."
We take our seats across from each other and I pull out my yellow legal pad. I've lost track of how many of these I've gone through, taking notes, researching, interviewing. "Well, I just wanted to give you a status report and ask a few more questions."
"Okay."
"First of all, how are you feeling? They treating you okay here?"
He shrugs his shoulders. "Yeah, it's okay."
"Good. If anything happens, even if you're just scared, let me know, okay?"
"Okay, Miss Delgado."
Derek and I spend the rest of our time talking about the case, but more than that, we discuss his life. His family hasn't visited him since he's been away; they've washed their hands of him. Said he was too much trouble and he ruined their life. There is an elderly grandmother with whom he has a very close relationship, but she hasn't left the apartment in years. So, he's pretty much on his own.
In all the times we've talked, never once has his story changed. It was his friend who did it, not him, but they had on similar clothing, are of similar build; they could pass for brothers. Now, the friend has disappeared and, according to Derek, no one will find him. It's up to the two of us to beat a police force who protect their own against anyone or anything that may come along to tarnish their image.
The brutality is really the least of our worries. Derek was caught with the merchandise in his backpack. There was a switch that took place; he never knew what was inside, or what his friend was doing while he walked ten steps behind. Here is another problem: if Derek is put behind bars, the police know they will have to contend with the fallout from the community because there is also the brutality hanging over their heads.
He's so lonely here, like a lion confined to a small cage, much too tiny for someone of his size. He doesn't complain, not to me, but I know he is hurting. Just one year ago, he was the most sought after basketball recruit in the country. Now, the recruiters have forgotten him; left him to rot in a hellhole for a crime he did not commit.
Our court date is less than one week away. I think I'm prepared, but I just have this feeling like there's something I'm missing; some stone that I have yet to uncover. I constantly try to reassure him, but I think I'm really trying to reassure myself. I know Jared has something up his sleeve, I can feel it, but I can't put my finger on what it is.
After I leave Derek, I pay a visit to Jared. The hairs on the back of my neck stand on edge as soon as I enter the building which houses his office. I've been here too many times to count, but this is the only time I've had this feeling of dread, or maybe a better word is fear, wash over me.
He hovers in the hallway, as if he's been expecting me all along. I think he has radar when it comes to me, like a sonar bat, he feels my vibrations and comes out with the express purpose of taunting me. There is no strength in my body; my legs feel as if they're going to give out. I almost want to turn around and run to safety, but I cannot give him the satisfaction of seeing me in a weakened state.
"Hello," I say, marching right up to him.
"Miss Delgado," he smiles, "long time, no see."
"Is there someplace we can talk in private?"
"Sure, my office is right down the hall."
I follow him, keeping a close watch on his every move. He has always fancied himself a magician, pulling the wool over even the most alert eyes. It's as though I've done this before, followed him, only he didn't know it back then. I watched him with the eyes of an eagle, just as he'd done me for all those weeks. A chill covers my body as I remember everything from that period of time.
"Right this way Counselor." He stops abruptly outside of an office at the end of the hall.
He closes the door after I step over the threshold into his world of darkness. There is wood paneling all around, dark furniture; complete darkness and it doesn't surprise me. It's an intimidation tactic; anyone who dares to step inside his world had better be prepared to associate with the devil. That's what Jared is to me, a devil dressed in Armani.
"Have a seat."
"Thank you." I am going to play the gracious game because that's what he doesn't expect. No longer will I give him the satisfaction of fanning the flames of my raging temper.
"Why would you want to talk to me?" he asks, playing the "coy" game with me.
"Well, for one, I would like to know the reason for the sudden change in prosecutors."
"The case is a better fit for me. Next question."
"How is it a better fit for you?"
"Well, I think I'm better equipped to do battle with you. As I said before, next question."
"What happened to my client the other day, Jared?" I spit out his name; I can't have its sour taste in my mind for too long. It's like poison with the ability to eat me alive if I don't say it fast enough.
"From what I've heard, he was beaten up by a couple of inmates."
"Uh huh," I say skeptically. He and I both know what happened, and at whose request the damage was done. His eyes, when he lies, they begin to blink as if they have a mind of their own. I stare at him like I have the power to make him admit to his wrongdoing. I stare at him from the pit of my stomach, filled with so much rage, I feel as though I'm going to implode from the sheer brutishness of its strength.
"You say that as if you don't believe me."
"Ha," I chuckle, "why should I believe anything you say?"
"I never said that you should." He moves a little closer to me, close enough for me to feel the heat of his breath on the base of my neck. "Your problem, Tea, is that you don't trust anyone."
"Least of all you," I quickly retort.
"What did I ever do to you?"
"We both know what you did to that girl, don't we? It would be a shame if the whole world had to find out the real background of their dear, sweet, prosecuting attorney."
"And we both know if you can't tell one of your closest friends in the world, there's no way you're going to tell anyone else. Besides, you were there too, or have you forgotten that? How would the truth make you look?"
"Don't worry about me."
"Oh, I'm not." He sits back in his chair arrogantly, thinking he has the upper hand on me. But, but, what he has forgotten is I'm no longer the scared teenager, just trying to get into college. I've gone that route and really, there's nothing for me to lose.
