Chapter Twenty-Eight
Annika
Sitting on the hard wood benches in the courtroom, we wait. Again. That’s all we’ve been doing for the last several months, so I really shouldn’t be surprised.
Laughter catches my attention and I look over to see a bailiff chatting with some random member of the court like my life hasn’t been on hold for so long. Like Jaxon’s life hasn’t been on hold.
But I suppose working here, you get immune to how difficult this process actually is. How much it drags. Even now, it feels like we’ve been sitting here for hours, when I know it’s only been fifteen minutes or so. Not that it’ll make a difference.
The justice system is not all like you see on television. The district attorneys don’t sit around in their expensive clothes, piecing together their plans for court, while coming up with some aha moments that will make the case go off without a hitch. Nor are they in court the next day.
Oh no. The DA usually looks pretty disheveled, has way too many cases on his or her plate, and things get scheduled. And then rescheduled.
And then rescheduled again.
There are depositions. There are inquisitions. There are lots and lots of media. At least in cases like mine.
We had been warned that things were going to be hard, so the first thing I had to figure out was how to give my dad a heads-up. That was, by far, the hardest part of this process.
Multiple times, I tried picking up the phone to let him know, but I couldn’t do. I didn’t want to hear the sound of his voice when I spit out the words. And frankly, I wasn’t sure I could get the words out anyway.
With Jaxon’s help, I sat down the night after our trip to the police station and wrote my dad a letter. I told him all about that night. I told him all about Jaxon’s involvement. And I told him how I was stronger than what had happened to me and was already in the process of healing.
I fretted for several days after dropping the letter in the mail. When my phone finally rang and his number came up, I knew he finally knew.
When I answered the phone, he didn’t say a word. He didn’t have to. I heard him crying on the other end of the line, and it was clear his heart had been broken. We didn’t say anything for a long time, the two of us sat there sobbing. We were on opposite ends of the phone line, yet it felt like he was right there with me.
Finally, when he pulled himself together enough to speak, the first thing he said was, “Damn that Jaxon Hart. I didn’t want to be a Cowboys fan.”
I laughed out loud when he said that, and I knew we were going to be okay. We talked for a little while. I refused to give him more details, knowing they would all come out in the newspaper anyway, except to say I didn’t remember. That seemed to help him out a lot. I think if I had had a memory, it would have been worse for him. At least this way, I wouldn’t live with memories for the rest of my life.
Now, he sits next to me, his knee bouncing up and down as we wait for this to finally be over so we can move on.
Jaxon sits on the other side of me and appears to be much more calm. Much more pulled together. I know it’s an act, though. He’s as nervous as I am. The difference is he spent years in the public eye and knows what to do. His knowledge came in really handy as this process unfolded.
By the time the news media caught wind that a rapist had been caught, Jaxon, his family, and their entire team of managers and PR reps were fully aware of the situation. They knew Jaxon’s involvement with the case. And they knew Jaxon’s involvement with me.
I was warned that it was inevitable my name would come out. At least locally. It doesn’t matter if the press was ordered to keep the victim’s names quiet, when one of the victims is dating the guy who stopped the crime in action, and that guy happens to be the son of one of the most beloved retired players in the history of the NFL, it was bound to happen.
Rumors circulated all over the internet, and my name was one of those rumors. It was never in any official journalism capacity. But it was in blogs. In chat rooms. On social media. People put it together, and it was humiliating.
Part of the evidence that was released publicly was every sick detail about what had happened. Now people knew that information. It made me nauseous all the time.
But then a funny thing happened. People started to come out of the woodwork to thank me. At first, I didn’t know what was going on, but then I realized women were feeling empowered. They were feeling a sense of connection.
Men, guys I knew who had never given me the time of day, were suddenly feeling enraged that women could be treated that way.
Women I didn’t know would come up with tears in their eyes and share their story, thanking me for having the strength they didn’t have.
I didn’t like the attention, per se, but Jaxon and my therapist encouraged me to embrace it. To recognize that this horrific thing I had gone through could make a positive difference in the world. If I’d had my way, I would have made a positive impact another way. But since I didn’t have my way, I started looking at the positives.
I still don’t have to remember what happened that night. I never regained my memory, and I hope I never do. But that doesn’t mean I can’t allow my story to be used to encourage others to come forward. Jaxon has suggested we work together to lobby for rape kits to be paid for by the state, versus being charged to the victim. But that’s more responsibility I don’t want to bear at this point. I’m not ready.
We got through the spring semester waiting for the trial to be set. The DA wanted to push it forward quickly, but the defense attorney always had a reason to wait. Finally, the judge had enough and scheduled it for trial.
In mid-July, in the middle of the heat, in the middle of the summer semester, the trial began.
Originally, I agreed to testify as a last result. But, thankfully, the facts spoke volumes and all the DNA results said more than I ever could. Then, there was Jaxon’s testimony. As an eye witness, his testimony was vital to prove the attack wasn’t consensual, in case the drugs in my system weren’t enough evidence. While Jaxon didn’t see that Ron guy’s face (and to this day that’s what I call him), he saw the attack. He saw me unconscious, and he saw him on top of me. And according to the media, it was Jaxon’s testimony that made the difference.
I didn’t go to court the day Jaxon testified. I wouldn’t let my dad go either. But Jaxon’s dad did. He refused to let Jax be in that room without being there for moral support. And even though he’s biased, he says Jaxon’s emotions helped the jury see beyond the DNA and clinical side of things. If I know him, his love for me and disgust for what happened, for what he saw, helped the jury members see the victim’s side of things.
They got to see his shock, at finding me half naked behind a dumpster.
They got to see his anger when he realized I was unconscious and that Ron guy ran.
They got to see his confusion when he had to decide between keeping the perp pinned to the ground or saving my life.
And then the DA took it one step further and the jury got to see Jaxon talk about how many nights he held me while I had nightmares and how many times he held me while I cried.
Of course, the defense attorney tried to rip that story to shreds. Since Jaxon didn’t know me before the attack, he had no idea if I was an emotional basket case before. He may have discredited Jaxon a little bit, but not enough to make a difference.
The trial wasn’t long, but it was still nerve-wracking. Finally, after what seemed like forever, he was found guilty of two counts of aggravated sexual assault of an unconscious person. My dad cried when the guilty verdict was read, but I didn’t. I refused to shed one more tear over it. Especially not when I was in a courtroom with the guy who had tried to destroy me. I wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. I would, however, give him a piece of my mind.
Both of the victims were given an opportunity to speak at the sentencing. The other girl didn’t want to. She’s local and knew she would be recognized. I get it. This is a very personal crime. It’s not something you want following you for the rest of your life.
But I wanted to. I put in a lot of thought about what I wanted to say. Nothing I say will sway the judge. His mind is already made up. But what I say will influence me. It will influence other people. It might influence that Ron guy. Doubtful, but you never know.
So now we sit and wait on these hard benches in the courtroom, waiting for my chance to speak.
“You okay, babe?” Jaxon whispers in my ear, squeezing the back of my neck. I lean into him, inhaling his scent. It calms me.
“Just ready to do this and move on.”
“Did I ever tell you how proud I am of you?”
I giggle. “Only every day since this stupid trial started.”
He kisses me on the top of the head. “Well, I am. So proud of you.”
“I know.”
Before we can say anything else, the bailiff yells, “All rise,” before the judge enters the courtroom.
We all stand and wait while the judge gets settled and tells us to sit. Finally, he seems ready to go.
“We’re at the sentencing hearing of Jonathan Ronald Campone. Mr. Campone, you realize you’ve been convicted on two counts of aggravated sexual assault of an unconscious person.”
“Yes sir. I understand.” I refuse to look at him when he speaks, instead staring straight at the judge.
“You also understand this is your sentencing hearing, and once I give my judgment, it is final, and you will immediately return to your cell while you await further instructions.”
“Yes, your Honor.”
“And you realize if you don’t agree, you have the right to appeal.”
I squeeze Jaxon’s knee, knowing he’s rolling his eyes. From a judicial stand point, we understand the appeals process and why it’s necessary. But knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt we’ve got the right guy, it feels more like rubbing salt into a wound.
“Yes, your Honor.”
“Okay then.” The judge shuffles a few more papers around. “Before we get to the sentencing, one of our victims has requested to read a statement. Mr. Campone, I highly suggest you listen closely to what she has to say.”
“Yes, your Honor.”
He sounds monotone, like he doesn’t care. Frankly, I don’t think he ever did. He’s been on house arrest for the six months. His bond was set at three hundred thousand dollars and lucky us, his parents were able to come up with the thirty thousand to post his bond. It was tough knowing he was out, but a comfort knowing if he left his home, they’d snatch him up, and it would be all over.
“Victim number two. I’ll have you speak first. If you’ll please come stand next to the district attorney. You’re welcome to begin.”
I take a deep breath as Jaxon squeezes my hand in support, my dad patting me on the back. Making my way up to the front, climbing over Jaxon and his dad, who is way bigger in person than I originally anticipated, I know all eyes are on me. But it’s not all those eyes I’m nervous about. It’s just one pair. The pair of the man I love, who has gotten me through so much in the last year.
I stand next to the district attorney, who quietly says, “Are you ready?”
I nod.
“Victim number two, the floor is yours,” the judge says kindly.
I take another deep breath and look at my paper and begin reading the notes I had carefully put together.
“You all know me as victim number two. A nineteen-year-old woman who was drugged at a bar, taken out to a back alley behind a dumpster, and violently raped. But let me tell you who I really am. My name is Annika Leander. I’m a sophomore at Southeast Texas University. I turned twenty a few months ago. I am not victim number three. I’m a survivor of an infinite number, because there are hundreds of thousands of women out there like me. They may not have been a part of this trial, but they have a stake in the outcome.
“You see, Mr. Campone, you’re not special. You’re not original. You didn’t do anything that thousands of other men haven’t done before you.
“I remember you talking to me at that club. I remember you pretending to be kind when I needed help. That’s all I remember of you. That’s all I’ll ever remember of you.
“That night, when you chose to take my body, you thought you were taking much more. Because rape is not about sex; it’s about control. The entire time you were hurting me, I’m sure you felt powerful. Justified.
“But the thing is, you may have taken my body, but that’s all you took. You didn’t take my dignity. You didn’t take my pride. You didn’t take my intellect or my drive or my motivation. Hell, you didn’t even take away the ability for me to have a satisfying sex life with my boyfriend.”
I hear Jaxon groan in the background.
“And you didn’t take away the ability for me to laugh at the fact that I just embarrassed my boyfriend in the middle of a courtroom while he sits next to his dad. And mine. Because the night you decided to rape me violently behind a dumpster is the night your life ended. But it’s the night mine really began. I am much stronger than I was before then. I am much more resilient. And from what will easily be known as the worst time of my life, I ended up finding the love of my life.
“Now, while you are about to rot in prison, while you are going to have to look over your shoulder for the next however many years, while you are stuck in limbo, not able to move forward, but not able to go back, while you’re stuck waiting for your life to continue, mine has already moved on.
“By the time you get out of prison, I’ll have a degree. I’ll have a career. I’ll probably be married. I might have some children. I’ll have a house. I’ll be on my third new car. Because my options are endless. Where will you be? Nowhere. Your life will still be stuck.
“You’ll still be looking over your shoulder. And for the rest of your life, whenever you can’t do something, like get a passport so you can go on a cruise, you’ll be reminded of why. You’ll be reminded your life is on hold because you took from Annika Leander.”
“And for the remainder of my life, you’ll never even cross my mind. Because I don’t have to look over my shoulder anymore. I don’t have to sleep with one eye open. You took my body, but I took it back. And my future is looking bright. The only life you obliterated was your own.
“So remember as you rot in prison, remember every time you’re stuck in the middle of a gang war in the cafeteria, remember every time you’re sleeping with one eye open, you did this. And every time you wonder what I’m doing, rest assured, I’m not at all thinking about you.
“I would like to thank the jury. Thank you for recognizing the truth of this situation. Thank you for taking a stand to say ’enough.’ Thank you, Your Honor, for allowing me the chance to stand here and show every woman out there they’re stronger than the coward who attacked them.”
With that, I lay my paper on the district attorney’s table, I turn around, and I walk out the door to my future, not looking back.