Short Story: That's Not What I Said. Poem by Louisa Rogers

Started to write this just generally but completed it for a short story competition at college.

She walks past the mirror and catches a glimpse of what the world is about to see. She turns, cringes and wonders why the pristine crystal glass hasn’t yet cracked at the sight of her imperfections. To the visible eye, there are none, just the pain that seems to haunt every corner of her face. She does not see what they see. She sees harsh, painful, unfair memories etched into the delicate, young face that stares back at her. He does too. He tries not to let it show but she knows it. She knows him. There is pity in his harshly reflected bottle-green eyes that he cannot hide. He says he still loves her; says he never stopped. But with her self-confidence now lower than the bowels of hell, nothing he says will reassure her it is still the truth. How can he love such damaged goods?

She watches as strands of her fiery autumn hair slip from their attempted perfection. They hit her face like a silent bomb. She blinks but pauses for a few seconds as they’re closed, as if she has no energy left to pull her eyelids apart. She doesn’t want any of this to be real. Just the harshest of nightmares. But all of this became her reality the moment she left work that afternoon, only a few months earlier.

She opens her eyes to find he is somehow closer, looking directly into those eyes he loved with such honesty. The slightest reflection would not intrude his willing gaze. She turns to him and their eyes meet; a gentle, warm reflection of the first time, back in the car park. They could have been standing there for forever and a day. She raises her hand to push the few stray stands of hair back into place, keeping her eyes locked on his but he stops her hands and smiles the only way he can. To try and reassure her, the only way he knows how. For the first time in months, she didn’t flinch when he touched her and the corner of her mouth starts to curl; only for it to stop a split second later. Her eyes close with such strength, silent tears start to fall as easily as the sun shines. She is consumed by guilt. She thinks he doesn’t love her, she doesn’t deserve it. But in truth, she has got nothing to feel guilty about. She has done nothing wrong. But she blames herself for letting it happen to her.

He holds her head in his hands and gently kisses her forehead. He has waited months to do that again. She grabs his wrists as he asks her if she’s ready. Her eyes slam shut again. She’ll never be ready for this. No one would. But she has to be. Having Eric by her side did make it easier, even if that was just minutely. It meant she didn’t have to be strong completely by herself; he was helping her through it. But when it came to the court hearing, she will be sat in the witness box alone. Trying to stand by herself. Smile for herself. Speak for herself. And of that, she was terrified.

The case was famous. He was a world renowned movie star, with millions of fans that refused to believe it when a “nobody” had accused him of rape. They hated Sarah for it and trusted Joe’s every word that she was a drunken office girl in need of some extra cash and was “throwing herself on him, asking for it”. He pleaded not guilty at the first calling. They saw her as a prostitute, a whore, calling her “Sarah the slag” or “Sarah the slut” in the street, whichever took their fancy first. There were others however, that saw her for what she was; an innocent victim, cruelly treated and unjustly portrayed. Those people did believe Sarah’s account of that afternoon. Some of them were past fans of Joe Gallo that turned on him, others that hated his self-satisfied, smug personality and people that neither liked nor disliked him previously, but now thought he was pure scum. And they all wanted him to get what was coming to him.

Eric kept Sarah from the crowds of booing Gallo fans as he led her towards the car and policemen tried to keep the paparazzi and reporters at bay. She understood that a lot of the world was watching the events of that day, and she knew why, but she couldn’t care any less than she already did, about anyone else’s opinions if she tried. What mattered was making sure Gallo got what was coming. As the car pulled away, she watched as god knows how many want-to-be journalists were reaching forwards with their microphones, trying to get their hands on just a fragment of the story of the decade. If she could give her story, the memories and the pain to one of them and never get any of it back, she’d gladly do it, without uncertainty, in a millisecond. But life’s not that easy, not that generous and certainly not that fair.

They arrived at The Crown Court not long afterwards. Sarah looked out of the window and saw more policemen holding back more cameramen and reporters and barriers keeping the public away with every inch of their strength. She had a lump in her throat as the fact finally dawned on her; she’ll have to relive it. All over again. With Gallo sat just feet away. Every time she did so, it was like tearing open an almost completely healed wound and covering it with salt. Except one hundred times more painful and across every inch of her body.

Once she was inside she met with her lawyer, not being able to let go of Eric’s hand to shake his own. He understood, and didn’t ask the question she so longed not to hear. ‘How’re you coping? ’ She’s not coping. People don’t cope with this. They work around it. But there was no way round this court case; she had to walk through it with her head held high.

Sarah thought what happened that afternoon would be the worst part of her life, but this fell on par with it. She was now sat facing where the judge would be sat, waiting for Gallo to be brought in. This courtroom was the last place in the universe that she wanted to be. The imprint of his face in the back of her mind wouldn’t leave and she could hear his voice saying over and over again those five words that she’s repeatedly tried to bury and bury again, in a box in the corner of her mind, never to be reopened or touched by anyone. “I know you want it” kept sounding in her mind like a broken record player. She didn’t. She never did. Not from him.

Gallo was brought in by two security guards who would be stood beside him throughout the trial. She didn’t move her eyes from the point at which they were fixed. She simply responded to the squeeze of Eric’s hand with a small nod. Even though Gallo was innocent until proven guilty, the evidence did him no favours. He was to be held in custody whilst the trail took place. The defence barrister called Sarah to the witness box. It started here.

“In the defendant’s final statement, he said you whispered in his ear asking him to, shall we say, ‘fulfil your needs’. Why, in a final statement to facilitate him from a possible long prison sentence, would he lie? Can you tell me that Miss Rogers? ” Tears were silently streaming down her face and she could feel Gallo’s gaze burn into her like diamond lasers into wood. Of course she couldn’t tell her that, she didn’t know what went on in Gallo’s disturbed mind. She didn’t know whether to answer or not and so just sat there staring at the door at the back of the courtroom, so desperate to run straight through it and never look over her shoulder. Her mind flashed back to the day it happened. The smell of the alcohol soaked sheets of the B&B, his dirty fingers running over her flawless skin, those five words echoing, echoing through her mind. She got the chills. The barrister spoke again, prompting an answer. “Miss Rogers? ” Her emotions turned from pain to anger, as quick as a fire spreads in a dry field and it consumed her face like the darkness of a night sky. Sarah’s eyes locked on the barrister’s, so to make it perfectly clear. “That’s not what I said.”

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