The judge looked down at her file again and then over to where Amber sat. “Ms. Bryant,” she said, more gently than she had spoken to the lawyers. “The D.A. has informed me that you would like to make a statement today, before Mr. Hicks’s sentence is read into the official record?”
“Yes, Your Honor,” Amber said. Her voice shook as she stood up and made her way to the table where the prosecutor sat. I was happy to see that she’d put on some weight in the month since I’d seen her last, the day she dropped me off at the police station. Her eyes looked brighter, and her cheeks were pink. She held a piece of paper in her hand, but she didn’t glance at it as she began to speak. Instead, she kept her eyes on the judge, seeming to purposely not look at me. I couldn’t blame her.
“Tyler Hicks was my best friend,” she began, and I could see that her entire body was trembling. I blinked back tears and forced myself to focus on her words. My knee began to bounce under the table, and unobtrusively, Peter reached over and put his hand on my thigh to get me to stop moving.
“He was my best friend,” Amber repeated. “Like a big brother to me, really, from the time I was thirteen years old. We did everything together. We talked for hours about our families and what we were going to do with our lives. He was the person I knew I could always count on. The friend that I went to whenever I was upset or stressed or scared. He was there for me, no matter what, and I think I was there for him.” She paused, and cleared her throat. “But everything changed almost six months ago, on the Fourth of July, when we went to a party. We both drank too much and started kissing, then headed upstairs to a bedroom.” Amber’s voice cracked here, and I watched her swallow a few times before going on. “At first, I kissed him back. But then something changed. It felt wrong to be with him. It felt horrible. And I told him to stop, but he didn’t listen. I tried to struggle to get away from him, but he was so much bigger and stronger than me, there was nothing I could do. And even though I was crying and I told him I didn’t want to do it, he forced my legs open, pushed up my skirt, and pulled down my underwear.” She took in and released a quiet but shuddering breath, wiped away a stray tear that had escaped down her cheek, then looked back up at the judge. “He raped me. He forced himself inside me and jabbed at me until I bled. I had bruises on my body for weeks from where he held me down. I didn’t think I’d ever feel safe again.”
I felt sick to my stomach as I listened to what I’d put my best friend through. No wonder she took me to the cabin, I thought. No wonder she shot me.
“I couldn’t understand how he could do it,” Amber said, not trying to hold back her tears now. “Which was partly why I didn’t go to the police. I blamed myself for leading him on, for giving him the wrong idea, because he’d always been such a good person. It didn’t make sense that someone like him could do something as awful as this. He was there for me when I went through some incredibly tough times. He held my hand and listened and never asked me to be anything other than what I was. He was the person I trusted more than anyone else, but now, after what he did to me, I just don’t think he is that person anymore. Something has to be seriously broken inside him for him to be able to rape me, a girl he supposedly loved.”
She finally looked at me then, eyes glittering with conflicted emotions of revulsion and concern. “And honestly, Tyler, I’m glad that you finally confessed. I hope you find out what is wrong with you. I hope you get help and fix the fucked-up thinking that allowed you to attack me like that. To make me bleed. I hope there’s a way for you to someday become the kind of man I always thought you were, instead of the one that’s sitting in front of me right now.”
She kept her eyes on mine the entire time she spoke those last words, and I made myself nod, once, as I held her gaze, hoping she would understand that I’d taken in everything she said. I made a promise to myself then, the same way I’d made one to her the day she shot me. I promised myself that I would start treatment with Dr. Philips as soon as I could. I needed to figure out why I hadn’t been able to hear her pleas over my own desire and my conviction that we were meant to be together—that having sex was something we both wanted, even as she had begged me to stop. I would do as Amber had asked—I’d dig in deep and take it seriously. I’d try to figure out how I could have spent my entire life not wanting to be like my father, and still end up doing something so similar to what he might do. I’d try to figure out where my thinking went wrong, I’d be truthful about the depth of the anxiety I felt; I’d be willing to go on medication if that’s what the doctor wanted me to do. I needed to do whatever it took so that I never hurt anyone else like this again
“Thank you, Ms. Bryant,” the judge said, and then ordered that Amber’s statement be made a part of the permanent record in regard to my case. A few minutes later, after I’d stood up and officially entered my guilty plea, Peter shook my hand and told me he’d check in with me in a few days so we could get the final paperwork signed. I turned around to face my mom and Mason, both of whom had stood up, too. My mother hugged me, and I patted her back.
“It’ll be okay,” I said, and she nodded against my chest, before sniffling and pulling away.
“I need to get to work,” she said. “I’ll talk to you tonight.” And then she left, avoiding making eye contact with any of the Bryant family, who were huddled together with Tom’s and Helen’s arms around Amber’s shoulders. A moment later, they left, too, without so much as a glance in my direction.
“So,” Mason said in a low voice, standing in front of me.
“So,” I said. “Thanks for coming. It means a lot.” He nodded, but didn’t say anything more, so I spoke again. “You know I’m sorry about all of this. About everything.” I stared at him, wanting him to know just how much our friendship meant, holding out hope that he would understand I wasn’t just referring to what I’d done to Amber. Hoping that he might find a way to forgive me.
“Don’t be sorry,” he said, firmly. “Be better.”
“That’s the plan,” I said. I held out my hand, and after a brief hesitation, he shook it.
“Good luck,” he said. I knew it wasn’t luck I needed—it was rigorous honesty. With others, of course, but mostly with myself. It was taking ownership of the mistakes I’d made and dealing with the consequences. And then maybe, after all of that, I’d earn a chance to start again.
Amber