Most of All You: A Love Story(90)

He nodded. “Yes. Jealous and heartbroken and guilt ridden.” He let out a long breath. “I guess because I blamed myself for him being abducted, hated myself for the envy I felt over the attention he received, and the way I became invisible; later, I made myself responsible for him getting his life back. I felt like maybe it would right the wrongs I’d committed against him. Through the years I’ve done everything I could to try to encourage him to live the life he should have lived—the life I felt I was responsible for stealing from him. But it turned into a twisted sort of control. When you came along … well, you know what I thought. I made it clear.”

He shook his head and frowned. “I didn’t give you a chance. I judged you without getting to know you at all. I hurt you when you’d already been hurt. I tried to drive you away and it worked, and I’m so damn sorry for that.”

“You didn’t drive me away, Dom. You didn’t make it easy to stay, I’ll admit that. But I left for my own reasons.” I remembered, too, that Dominic had been drunk that awful night he kissed me, but he hadn’t tried to use that as an excuse, and I appreciated his apology all the more for it.

He pressed his lips together. “What can I say to make you come back?”

I blew out a heavy breath and shook my head. “Nothing. Not now. I appreciate you coming here.” I smiled. “It was courageous, and I really do forgive you. But I have some things to work on, and I’m trying my best to do that.”

He nodded. “I get that. God, if anyone gets that, I do. I’m working on myself, too. I want you to know that.”

“Thanks, Dominic.”

He smiled at me. “You take care of yourself, okay?” He stood and I followed suit.

“Yeah, you, too. Hey, Dom?”

“Yeah?”

I tilted my head. “Gabriel said something to me once. He told me that the life he has is the life he was meant to live. He doesn’t feel robbed or cheated—he’s grateful for the life he’s living despite the pain he endured. He meant it, Dom, and he’s found peace in that. And I think the people who love him have to as well. And not just for him but for ourselves.”

He considered me for a moment as if he was turning the words over in his mind. Then he smiled. “I think you’re right. Goodbye, Ellie.”

“Goodbye, Dominic.”

That night I dreamed I was in the dark alley again, only this time my arms were stretched out to my sides, and when I squinted my eyes, I could see a bare sliver of light in the distance. Keep going, my love. You’re almost there, I heard whispered, and so I did.

*

A hush descended over the crowded courtroom as my name was called, and I made my way to the front. My hands were shaking slightly as I laid the piece of paper on the podium in front of me, smoothing out the wrinkles. I took a deep breath, giving myself a moment to prepare before I looked up at the men sitting at the table with their lawyers. I forced myself to make eye contact with each man, but the only one who met my gaze was the one with the black hair, the one I knew had turned both himself and his friends in. His expression was inscrutable, but that was okay. I wasn’t looking for anything from them. I wasn’t even really looking to influence their sentences—I’d leave that to the court. I was here for more important reasons.

I cleared my throat, glancing down at the words I’d written on the paper the night before as I’d sat at my desk, the half-finished stone girl resting on the folded towel on the corner. “Several months ago the men being sentenced today beat me so severely that I didn’t know if I’d survive. They battered and bloodied my face so I was no longer recognizable to myself. They broke my ribs and my leg and my spirit. They did all this behind a Dumpster. I mention this because it’s relevant—you see, they thought of me as trash, and truth be told, I thought of myself the same way.”

I took a deep breath, glancing up to find all three pairs of eyes on me. I moved my gaze from one man to the next, to the next, and then looked away.

“I want them to get the punishment they deserve, but when it comes down to it, I’m not here today for them. I’m here for me. I’m here because it took almost dying for me to realize that I’m not a piece of garbage. I’m a woman, with a heart and a soul, and with pain and regrets. I’ve made mistakes and poor choices, but I don’t deserve to be hit. I don’t deserve to be used. And I don’t deserve to be left to die in a pool of blood in an empty parking lot. It took almost dying to realize that the words you used against me only hurt because I agreed with them. But I don’t agree with them anymore. I don’t know what brought you to the point where you felt justified in beating a woman unconscious, and I hope you figure that out. But that’s not my concern. I’ll say it again: I’m not here for you. I’m here for me.”

I folded up the piece of paper and nodded to the judge, who nodded back. Turning, I made my way back down the courtroom aisle. Once outside, I let out a huge breath, leaning against the wall, a feeling of accomplishment and pride swelling my chest. I’d done it. It was over.

The sound of a door to my right caught my attention, and I saw a man with a head full of gray hair just exiting. Something about his stride looked familiar, and I wondered for a moment if it was George. But I decided not to follow him. I decided this day was about me, and no one else.