A/N: Sorry for the uber long wait. I didn't think real life would get so chaotic but now that school is over, here's hoping for more updates. Just a quick note, I'm playing with the laws and common reasoning a bit here but hopefully everything makes since. I twisted things a bit to fit with the story. Also, Rose's perspective in this chapter might come off as little bit different than in previous chapters but hopefully you guys understand why. Honestly, I think this chapter is a bit slow and you guys might not like it so much but it's kind of a big part of the story. There's a little, chaos, insanity, unexpected surprises that might seem hurried... Anyways, thanks for the support and I'm doing my best to not let you guys down!

Dimitri was right.

I could trust him.

I do trust him.

I had said that I trusted Adrian to the extent that I would've assumed he wouldn't do something like that to me...that he wouldn't break me the way he did.

The way I trust Dimitri is much different. It is more than that. I trust him beyond any extent, beyond explanation, beyond belief.

Adrian and Dimitri don't even compare.

I know I can rely on Dimitri for pretty much anything without him expecting anything in return. And I know I'm going to rely on him after today to pull me back together or at the very least comfort me, hold me until I fall asleep and I don't have to think about anything for a while. As selfish as it is on my part to rely on one person so much, I know I'll continue to rely on him like that anyway.

I know that I have others; there are Liss, Viktoria, the entire Belikov family in fact, Christian, even Tasha has reached out to me recently without any weird or hard feelings...

The comfort and reassurances they give are enough to make my heart swell until I feel like I'm going to burst.

But it's different with Dimitri.

It's different with someone I can imagine being in love with than with someone who just loves and cares about you. The feeling is different, the amount of trust is different...I can see myself being in love with Dimitri in the future. I feel myself falling more and more into the vast amount of emotions I have for him every day, growing every second I'm with and without him just thinking about him.

I know that no matter what happens, no matter what I say on this stand today, that at the end of the day, he'll still be there with me, beside me, and for me.

I could see it in his eyes each time I looked into them, especially today in that bathroom.

I wish I was staring into those eyes now instead of facing the judge's bench. Lissa and Viktoria are sitting on either side of me while our lawyer, a young lanky man who seems no more fit to take this case than I do. Kislyak does his best to radiate an air of confidence that he really doesn't have. Even now, out of the corner of my eye I can see him on the other side of Lissa anxiously bouncing his leg under the table and drumming his fingers as Hans Croft, the defense attorney, continues to question Stan on the stand, asking him about the first time I'd tried to report Adrian.

I tune in and out, barely listening, too nervous to really focus.

I've heard it all before.

I was there, I know what happened but each time I tune into Croft's questioning, I can hear him trying to tear my story apart, poking at the story to make it seem as if I'd made the whole thing up as a distressed teenager upset at having been broken up with.

I had to give him credit. He is very persistent. But Stan is experienced in all of this and his gaze doesn't leave Croft's face once, barely batting an eye. I tune out the rest of the questioning and look around me. The judge is an older woman named Kirova. So far she's been pretty strict whenever she felt witnesses were badgered but other than that she's hardly said a word except to notify when it was time for breaks or for the next lawyer to question or call up a witness.

The jury is a mix of people both young and old, all sitting on the edge of their seats. The audience behind us consists of strangers. Stan's partner, Mark, is there. Dimitri and Christian, a few people from the studio who came down to both support and see what's going to happen. A few members of Avery, Meredith, Ralph, Charlie, and Jesse's family. A couple of reporters that were allowed inside...

It's still a weekday and, even though they wanted to be, most of Belikov's couldn't make it because of work but Yeva is there beside Dimitri.

I laughed inwardly at myself as it set in that no one from Lissa and I's family was here. I haven't heard from my mother in months and gave up a long time ago, expecting her call. Lissa's parents must have taken the advice I'd given them about staying away from Lissa after everything they'd said to her because we never heard from them after that day at the Dragomir house. I heard they went to Europe for a while. When I told Liss, she didn't care or have any reaction.

Next to me, both Lissa and Viktoria held my hands, grasping tight now and then when the questioning became too much to listen too. Viktoria's hands were much like her brother's, long and warm, a lot thinner than Lissa's swollen ones. Her other hand rested on top of her round, protruding belly. She's six months along now and the intensity of the pregnancy symptoms have decreased a lot more. The worst of it, she says, is that she can't really see her feet any more, can't fit her clothes either.

While I know she's scared of what will happen after the baby comes, I'm kind of excited.

Out of all this evil and darkness, something, someone, good can come out of all this. The circumstances aren't ideal but maybe once this all over, things will be better. If we make out of all of this, we'll be better.

The operative word here is if.

"... Rosemarie Hathaway to the stand."

I've zoned out so much that when I hear those five I'd been dreading the most in all of this, I wince, flinching as I suddenly sit erect in my chair. I can feel my eyes growing wide, beyond that of a deer caught in the headlights. That was one of my favorite idioms; just the image of someone's eyes so large that they're compared to that of a deer...

Now all I can think about is what happens after that deer is caught in the headlights?

Does it react quick enough, smart enough, to dodge out-of-the-way before being damaged beyond recognition or is it simply too slow, too weak to avoid the trouble that's headed its way to save itself?

In my case, I think it's the latter.

I was too slow to realize how much of a monster Adrian, Camille and their crew of followers were...by the time I did, it was too late and now here I sit, a deer caught in the headlights, as the bailiff, Hans Croft, and Judge Kirova each repeat my name, calling me to the stand.

It's Viktoria that jars me from my morbid musings about deer, headlights, and the aftermath when they come together.

I turn to look at her and as usual, I'm startled by how her eyes match that of her brothers. They're the same warm, inviting brown...and yet they don't offer me the same level of comfort her brother's does.

"Rose, go up there," Kislyak whisper shouts, commands, at me, gesturing to the witness stand.

But it's not him I listen to.

I look over my shoulder. Despite knowing he'd never leave, I just need to see with my own eyes that Dimitri still here, still behind me the way he's been behind me throughout this entire ordeal.

I feel every single pair of eyes on me but I ignore them all, searching for those gentle brown one's I cherish so much.

When I immediately find them, I feel ready to cry with relief.

I wish I could reach out, hold his hand...

Or maybe just take his hand and run until we're far enough away that no one can find us. Just for a little while. Long enough for me to feel safe again.

He doesn't say anything when I look at him and doesn't have to. I meet his eyes and I can see everything he wants to say. It's the same things he's said to me since I let him in on this current nightmare that is my life.

"It's okay. I'm right here."

When I look at Viktoria, Yeva, Lissa... everyone here, all of their eyes convey the same thing.

"You're not alone."

I look back too Dimitri and nod once, telling myself more than him that I can do this, that I'm going to do this.

I just don't want to.

Maybe if I sit here long enough-

"Ms. Hathaway," Judge Kirova repeats patiently.

I turn around to face her. She's leaning forward on the judge's bench, podium, whatever it's called. For a judge, she's being pretty patient with me but I know from the look in her eyes that I can't be a deer caught in the headlights forever.

I'm not going to get a better support system than I have now so I may as well get this over and done with.

I focus on the thought that once I go up, it might be a little easier for Lissa and Viktoria to do the same when they're called.

I stand on shaky legs and make my slow, reluctant, painful trip to the witness stand.

I feels like an eternity has passed when I finally set myself at the stand. I'm half surprised when I turn to face my audience to find no one has aged in the time it's taken me to get up here.

"Raise your right hand?" the bailiff instructs.

I do as I'm told as more random, weird thoughts float in my head.

Maybe it's a mental defense mechanism or something.

I suddenly wonder how people are sworn into court if they don't have a right hand.

I make a mental note to google it later when this is done.

"Do you solemnly swear that you will tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help you God?"

I wonder what happens if I say no, I don't want to do this at all.

What if I'm an atheist? Does it still count?

I nod before realizing they need a verbal answer. "Yes." My voice is barely above a whisper. I imagine my face would flush with embarrassment if I wasn't so full of fear right now. Apparently I spoke louder than I thought because I'm not told to repeat myself. I hesitantly sit down.

I'm already picturing myself falling apart on the stand just as Avery and Meredith had as Hans Croft slowly stands to approach me. He walks deliberately slow, like a lion stalking it's prey, waiting to come in for the kill.

With an average height, thinning hair, and slim body, he isn't a very scary looking man. Appearances can be deceiving though, I remind myself with images of Avery and Meredith on the stand crying uncontrollably until the judge okayed it for them to step down. That's what scares me the most. If I do break down crying up here, I can't even really leave the stand until I'm allowed. I can't go running into the security of Dimitri's arms and ask him to whisk me away from here.

I'm trapped.

I feel trapped, caged in by my nightmares only there won't be any waking up to save.

Croft had played nice at first, making it seem as though he was only trying to hear their side of the story and not paint them to be just as much at fault in this as Camille and Adrian. I don't think he'll even attempt to play nice with me. I can already see his painted on polite smile and a certain glint in his eyes as he readies with his first line of questioning.

"How are you feeling today, Ms. Hathaway?"

Ok, I was wrong. He is going to mess with me by feigning niceness first.

"As well as can be expected," I answer honestly in a hoarse voice.

I suddenly feel completely bound to the promise the bailiff swore me into.

"That's understandable. It's been a pretty rough day for all of us here. Wouldn't you agree?" He raises one brow as if he expects me to contradict him.

I hate lawyers.

"I suppose."

He nods as thought pleased with my answer. The courtroom of spectators is bristling with tension just waiting for the questioning to start as anxiously as I am. Some spectators are sitting as still as stone on the edge of their sits, doing their best to not make a sound or motion so as not to miss anything.

I try to focus my eyes anywhere but at the defendants table or on Croft but he makes it hard as he paces back and forth in front of me. I wish he'd pace in front of Dimitri so I could at least distract myself by looking at him the same way I did when Kislyak ran through questioning scenarios we might experience on the stand.

"Is there going to be some questioning here?" Kislyak asks from where he's still seated beside Lissa.

"There will be no outburst of any kind in my courtroom," the judge warns him before she turns her face to Croft who is eyeing me up and down as if he's trying to decipher how to go about making me cry until I'm nothing but a puddle of Rose tears and taking blame for the entire ordeal. "Please get to your line of questioning," she instructs, gesturing with her gavel.

He nods his compliance. "I'm trying to make sure the jury as well as everyone else here knows the persons involved well enough to come to an honest decision. I'll get to my point."

"See that you do." She steeples her hands under her chin and waits with the rest of us for Croft to really begin.

"Ms. Hathaway, let's start with something simple. I know it must have been difficult earlier to watch two girls you used to call friends leave this courtroom crying," he stated, referring to Avery and Meredith.

Those two were never really my friends but I don't tell him that. I stay silent. He's trying to geode me into saying something that will work to his benefit. I just have to do what Dimitri says every time we practice, keep calm and in control. It isn't a question so I don't know where he's raised that same brown as if expecting an answer.

He looks to the judge for help and almost want to laugh when she point out, "That wasn't a question."

He releases one short breath and amends his earlier statement. "Was it hard watching Avery Lazar and Meredith Badica leave the courtroom as they did?"

"Yes," I answer honestly.

"Because they were former friends?" he guesses.

I shake my head.

"Ms. Hathaway, it makes our court reporter's job a little easier with verbal answers," he admonishes politely.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and answer out loud for the court reporter. At the same time I'm struck with the thought of why America's justice system had to evolve. In the Salem Trials, people were given a questionable trial, executed, and then people asked questions later. Can't we do that now? Punish first and then ask questions later?

I might be going insane. This trial is driving me insane.

"...said before, since you agree it was a difficult sight to watch, let's start with simple basic questioning. Hmm?" he suggests as I tune away from my rambling thoughts and musings in time to hear Croft speak. "We should still hear a little more about you." He raises that darn brown again as though he really won't continue unless I agree, thereby seemingly handling me all the power to try to feel comfortable.

It isn't working.

I've seen enough episodes of Law and Order: SVU to know how this game is played.

"Please, state your full name for the court."

"Rosemarie Hathaway."

Out of the corner of my eye from where I wasn't scanning the court room, I could see him walk to the desk where Adrian and Camille were seated and pick up a file. I refused to look anywhere near where they were.

"No middle name?" he asks as he skimmed his eyes over the papers in his hand. He looked up at the last second to hear my answer as if it was the most interesting this in the world.

"Abrayl."

"There's a rare name. Any special meaning?"

"Excuse me, Judge, but is there a point to this?" Kislyak interrupts just as I figure out where Croft is going with this.

"I warned you before about outbursts," Judge Kirova says calmly before turning to Kislyak. "But I have to ask the same thing. Is there a point to this line of questioning?"

"There is," he says confidently. "I promise, we're just getting to it."

She nods and gestures for him to continue.

"So, where were we...ah! Right, your middle name. Anything special about it?" he 'remembers' as he comes to stand only a couple of feet from me, the closest he's been so far probably to see my reaction.

"I'm named after my father," I say simple as if isn't a big deal but he makes it into one anyway.

"Ah, do you live with him, your father?"

"Only my mother."

Sort of.

"Hmm," he muses, as if this is new-found information to him.

And as if he can read my mind, he continues. "Only your mother," he repeats. He speaks as though talking to himself but loud enough for the court to hear. I can see from the bristling court room that people are starting to become interested or at least aware of where he's going with this. Living in small town, most people already know my mother hasn't exactly been around lately. And it probably helps that the news and tabloids have probably printed something about it.

"Is she here today, your mother?" He clarifies.

It's just as Stan had warned us. He was going to try to paint a bad reputation of my family, paint me in the worst possible light to make the jury doubt credibility. He doesn't have to do too much work. My mother leaving has already painted a blurry enough image.

I hesitate only a second before shaking my head.

"Answer aloud so the court reporter can properly record please," he says, painting on a plastic smile.

I wonder how the court reporter would record me throwing a shoe at his face.

"My mother isn't here today," I say clearly.

"On a day like today, through such a trying time, your mother isn't here?" He asks me but turns to face the jury who look just as surprised as he, Croft, feigned surprise. "Is she ill? I mean there has to be a good reason for a mother not to be here to support her child."

I don't answer.

As if my non response has pleased him, he smiles.

"Tell me, Ms. Hathaway, perhaps we should start this from the beginning, make things as clear as we can about why we're all here today. Hmm?"

He walks back to his desk and my eyes follow him but I quickly avert my gaze when I almost catch Adrian's familiar piercing green gaze. I focus on the double doors that led outside this court room.

I just want to leave.

Forget the trial, forget everything that's happened-

No.

No.

No.

I made it this far.

We're so close to seeing the end of this...

...and yet it feels like it'll never end.

If I just stare at the doors, look at no one in particular I'll be alright.

Suddenly the doors to the courtroom both fly open, hard enough to slam and bang against the wall with a dramatic flourish. The entire court audience turns in their seat to look at whoever has just entered, interrupting the proceedings.

"Excuse me!" the judge calls with the most emotion on her face I've seen so far.

"Forgive me judge but I just have to intrude."

The man who has spoken is tall with a thick head of dark hair with a beard to match. The court audience watches in a mix of amazement, amusement, and anticipation as they stare at the older man's fine tailored suit, bright silk scarf, and the many gold and silver rings decorated on his fingers. He even has a few pierced into his ears.

"And who are you? Speak quickly before I have you fined and put in jail for contempt of court," she instructed coolly.

Everyone waited in silent anticipation for him to answer. He looked like something out of old mobster movie as he calmly made his way down the aisle and towards Kislyak who stood wide-eyed beside the still seated Viktoria and Lissa. Everyone waited for him to set the leather briefcase he carried down on the table beside the long dark cane he also placed on the table. He removed his overcoat that is draped around his shoulders and neatly placed it on the chair behind him as if he had all the time in the world.

Everyone was waiting for answer but I already knew who this man was.

It's unbelievable...but he's really here.

The man I've only seen in pictures.

The man I held responsible for making my mother so heartbroken and weak.

"Abe," I murmured.

Apparently I didn't murmur too quietly because the judge turned to look at me. "Did you say Abe?" There was this quick moment where she took a moment to put the pieces of his name and the information I'd provided earlier about my middle name together. I could practically hear the click in everyone's heads as the judge spoke aloud while flipping through a few of her own files behind her bench. "Abraham Mazur?" she ask, flicking her eyes up to meet his dark, opaque ones.

"Ibrahim," he corrects, strengthening the throaty accent of his name. "But yes, that's me. I apology for being so late. It's just disgraceful," he says with a wide grin on his face as he flicks open his briefcase moving some of Kislyak's papers aside.

Kislyak looks dumbfounded unsure of what to do with the man suddenly sharing his table space. His mouth opens and closes as if he wasn't to say something but looks unsure of what to say for the first time since I've met him.

"Ibrahim Mazur as in Rosemarie Hathaway's father," Croft states as he flicks through his own papers on his side of the courtroom.

For the first time since I've entered the courtroom, I dare a glance at Adrian and Camille who look just as surprised and confused as the rest of us.

"That's what her mother tells me," Ibrahim jokes, eliciting laughter from small groups of the audience while others murmur together about this new information.

Judge Kirova taps her gavel once and the courtroom is immediately silent.

"Well I must say Mr. Mazur, you have perfect timing," the judge mused as she steeped her hands together once more and rested are chin on top. "We were discussing you not moments before you entered which bring me to my previous question about what is you think you are doing here."

"I am here to aid in representing my daughter."

Now I have a headache.

How can this be happening?

Does nothing go right in my life? Is anything normal? I can't even get through a legal trial without something like this happening?

My life is a soap opera waiting to be written.

I'm still working to process that the man who abandoned my mother and I is standing here, in this courtroom, ready to represent me.

The judge looks just as surprised by his answer as the rest of us.

"Ah, I can see your confusion," he notes. "I didn't introduce myself completely. I am Ibrahim Mazur, attorney at law."

Nope. No way. This isn't happening. I'm dreaming...no. I'm having another nightmare and I can't wake up. There is no way this is happening.

He isn't going to represent me or going to have anything to do with this. I'm not going to have anything to do with him. Not now.

I shouldn't have anything to worry about though. The judge can't possibly allow this-

I look over at her and she looks surprised and contemplative as she gestures for him, Kislyak, and Croft to approach the bench.

"You have to be kidding me," I murmured to myself. I couldn't bring myself to look away from his grinning face, amused by the surprise that flooded the courtroom.

"No, no, not kidding," he answers and I remember I'm still on the stand with a microphone in front of me, carrying my voice out to the audience. He straightens his bright blue silk tie and walks around the table towards the judge's bench. "Your mother sent me."

"Where is she?" I find myself immediately asking. My resolve to not have anything to do with man immediately broken.

He's close enough now that he can hear me without the microphone and I cover with my hand and turn to face him.

"She's alright," he swears, easily trying to evade my question

"Where. Is. She?" I repeat slowly.

He opens his mouth to answer but Croft cuts him off.

"What is going on here? Is this a game the prosecution is trying to play to buy more time, maybe find practical evidence? Perhaps you don't have enough valuable evidence to successfully win this case," he prods, hissing at Kislyak who is just staring up at Ibrahim.

It's Ibrahim who answer, turning his full body to face Croft and I catch a whiff of his familiar heavy cologne. My mother use to buy a bottle a spray the pages of the album that Ibrahim was in because she liked to be reminded of the smell. "That baby in Vasilisa Dragomir's stomach is evidence enough."

Croft just glares at him. "Again, what are you doing here? You are not an attorney on this case."

"That is where you're wrong. As of about..." he glances at his watch, "Five minutes ago, I am."

"Judge Kirova-" Croft and Kislyak sputter facing the judge.

She picks up her gavel and slams it down five times silencing the murmuring, bristling court audience and wounding the ears of those of us who are a few inches away from her.

"Silence! We will take another recess and court will reconvene in twenty minutes."

"What the hell is going on?!"

It's Yeva who says it as she approaches me, Lissa, Viktoria, Stan, Mark, and Christian who are all waiting outside in the hallway as far away from the rest of the courtroom crowd as we possibly can be.

It's funny hearing the older woman say things like 'hell' and 'damn'. I usually laugh with everyone else when she does it. I want to laugh now but not today. Not when it feels like the world is closing in on me and I'm suffocating.

Dimitri walks beside her and silently moves to stand beside me. No one else can see it from how we're standing but he grabs a hold of my hand and squeezes it tight, simultaneously letting me know he's still here and that this is all real, really happening. It's a quiet game we started to play when the nightmares were really bad. I'd wake up screaming and he'd be there to wipe away the tears, brush my hair from my face, hold me and hold me hand, squeezing it tight to let me know that he's still her. He's what's real.

"Who the hell knows," Mark, Stan's partner, answers with a heavy sigh. He turns to look at me.

"You still haven't had any contact with your mother? You didn't know-"

I shake my head but Lissa answers aloud, angrily. I don't think it's just the hormones this time. "Of course Rose didn't know!"

"I'm sorry. I have to ask. We can't have any more surprises like this. The judge can't think we're bringing people in to buy us more time."

"This case is already jumbled enough, hanging by a thread with all of our evidence only really amounting to the comprising to commit murder charge. All of our other evidence, the car crash, assault, rape, the child pornography charges, can only be used against Ralph, Avery, and Meredith. The Ivashkovs were careful not to do any of the dirty work themselves," Stan grumbles angrily, pacing back and forth in a small space, remind us of the lack of power we have in this case. "All we have are four written witness statements, one those from a boy who committed suicide," he listed.

He was right. We didn't have much. There hadn't been enough viable DNA on my clothes from the attack and both Lissa and Viktoria had washed their clothes to forget. The results of our physical examinations didn't help either.

"There are obviously indicators of an attack or at the very least...rough sex," Dr. Odenlenski explained to the three of us, her eyes sympathetic. "But unfortunately these exams say nothing about whether it was a consensual act or not."

The three of us stared at her with hopeless eyes. We'd hoped there'd been something, anything, left to prove that Adrian, and not just Ralph and Jesse, had raped us. But there was nothing.

"What are we supposed to do now?" Viktoria asked, voicing what was on all of our minds.

Dr. Odenlenski hadn't been able to give us an answer other than one that we were tired of hearing, one that felt useless at this point.

"Hope."

DNA couldn't be take from Lissa's fetus yet because she is considered a 'high risk pregnancy' because of her young age and because she actually hasn't been eating much for a pregnant woman since all this started. She says it's the stress, the memories.

I can't blame her.

The doctor didn't want to risk harming the fetus to drawn DNA. Unfortunately for the case, she said the only safe time would be after the baby is born. After talking it out with Lissa and with careful planning, the doctor agreed to try to draw DNA. It went well and now we had to wait who knows how long for the results.

It all comes down to time and that we'd waited so long to say anything. There's that old saying 'better late than never'. I'm starting to realize that saying isn't always the most comforting nor true.

This entire case really only relies on whether the three of us girls can convince the jury that what Adrian and Camille did was real and not some made up story that three 'heartbroken, desperate teenagers' are trying to weave together to gain sympathy. That's how Croft is trying to paint us. At one point during Avery and Meredith's testimonies, he compared us to the little girls during the Salem Witch Trials whose lies punished the innocent.

It's sickening, experiencing someone thing as horrible as what happened to us and only being able to hope that everyone else believes you.

Lissa's small shoulders heave up and down despite Christian's gentle hold to try to calm her down and I know she's still angry that Mark had accused me of somehow knowing about Ibrahim and my mother supposedly sending him.

My mother...

"Do you think she's alright?" I whisper to Dimitri. He immediately know who I'm talking about.

"Ibrahim Mazur said she was," he answers though he sounds as uncertain as I do. I feel relieved that he and everyone else here has referred to Ibrahim by his name and not as my father.

"I wish I knew for sure."

"We can talk to him once everything here is straightened out."

We.

He said we.

I can feel my heart growing with every moment I'm with Dimitri. Earlier it had beaten as rapid as a mouse's out of fear.

It's beating just as fast now.

But for an entirely different reason.

"He's officially a lawyer signed on this case?" Stan asked, skepticism clear in his voice.

"More like an assistant," Kislyak corrected. He didn't look any more happy about this than the rest of us. He looked beside him at Ibrahim who didn't seem the least bit deterred by everyone's confusion, surprise, or general displeasure. In fact he was grinning. Grinning while I'm having an internal breakdown about him being here, standing here in front of me.

"Well let's be real here, I have more experience between the two of us so I'll be taking over as lead but semantics," he shrugs.

Kislyak opened his mouth to protest or correct him but he never got the chance. Without even looking at him, Ibrahim held up a hand, silencing him, as he took a step forward examining those of us standing in front of, scrutinizing. From left to right he identified each and every one of us.

"Mark Greysner. Police officer for fifteen years, recently promoted to detective working under Stan Alto who has been a detective for twenty years and was the main detective on this case. You both dedicate your time, if not too much time, to your work neglecting the opportunities of having a personal life but I admire that to some extent." Stan and Mark looked none too pleased at being profiled and scrutinized but they said nothing as Ibrahim moved on to the next person.

"Yeva Belikova, grandmother of four and mother of one. Work for twenty years in a factory before settling down as a housewife. You take great pride in your family and go to great lengths to care and protect them, especially from the abusive men that have come in and out of your family's lives resulting in you becoming a generally silent woman, stoic woman but gentle when necessary."

If looks could kill, Ibrahim would be pushing daisies right about now instead of slowly moving on to his next target.

"Christian Ozera. Culinary student, assistant chef in training at Vladimir's Restaurant downtown, and an assistant defense instructor and trainer at the only Self Defense Studio in southern Montana. An unintended victim in the attempted murder of Rosemarie Hathaway. Went to great lengths to protect her and now spends the majority of his personal time with Vasilisa Dragomir despite the circumstances. Admirable."

Despite Ibrahim ending his scrutiny by complimenting him being admirable, Christian is fuming.

Our group, our makeshift family, goes out of our way to avoid talking about subjects we probably should talk about. Like that Dimitri and I are dating or the amount of time Lissa and Christian spend together or the fact that we all have less than ideal, imperfect family histories. Ibrahim is slowly unravelling the work our little makeshift family has done, building a protective wall around us with a silent unspoken rule about avoiding topics that makes us the most uncomfortable and just accepting it quietly.

I don't know if, despite his abandonment, I'm supposed to be grateful or like this man who is my father because he's apparently a successful lawyer who has agreed to help win this case even if he's only doing it because my mother asked him to.

I do know that he isn't exactly winning any points with me or making me like him any more. Are anyone else here for that matter.

Lissa and Christian are going a little too out of their way to avoid looking at one another. Instead, they're both opting to glare at Ibrahim, both of their cheeks flushed red in a mix of anger and probably embarrassment.

Lissa's shoulders are angrily trembling again. Her previous anger at Mark now aimed directly at Ibrahim.

If looks could kill, there'd be a tomb stone sitting right where Ibrahim is standing.

"Vasilisa Dragomir. One of three accounted victims of Adrian Ivashkov, Camille Ivashkov, and Jesse Zecklos. Decided to pursue pressing charges when you discovered you were pregnant. Currently Six months pregnant with the alleged child of Adrian Ivashkov though it could also be Jesse Zecklos. Test results are pending. Currently residing with Rosemarie Hathaway while estranged from your parents Rhea and Eric Dragomir. They do not support any aspect of this case and have flew out of the country, most recently to Tahiti. Also decided to keep the baby you are currently caring. Commendable," he concluded, bestowing a similar compliment on her that he did Christian. "You had a brother André whose death has caused a rippled affect, possibly becoming the reasoning behind any past decisions you have made about the defendants and being temporarily estranged from Rosemarie."

Lissa stepped forward, ready to strike him, knocking him down despite the cane he leaned on and her protruding swollen stomach. Luckily both Viktoria and Chrisian held her back though Christian looked like he was willing to let her go.

If looks could kill, Ibrahim would be slowly choking to death right about now.

"Ah, Viktoria Belikova. You were among the most curious aspects of this case I learned about." Beside me, I felt Dimitri shift, instantly ready to physically protect his sister from anything Ibrahim had to say. The entire time Ibrahim had spoken Dimitri had stiffened. He felt ready to move, say something, anything to protect everyone standing here. I can feel his anger rolling from him in waves. I'd never understood that saying until now. I can feel the broiling heat practically emanating off of him.

Dimitri generally came off as calm, cool and collected and as a result, anyone lucky enough to be in near to him felt just as calm. He's one of those giant teddy bears that can turn ferocious if he feels those he cares about are in any type of danger. He's warm, and mostly only ever emanates so much warmth when he's with his friends and family and he's even warmer when he's just holding me.

It's taken me a while to pinpoint it, but when I'm with Dimitri, I always feel like he's hiding something from me. Nothing bad or horrible. It's more like he's just not telling me something or letting me one hundred percent in on whatever it is he's thinking. It's taken me a while of watching and putting the pieces together but I finally know what it is.

Dimitri puts a lot of his strength into keeping himself collected to comfort everyone else. The only other times I've felt this much heat, this type of angry heat, roll off of him, is when Charlie confronted us that one time at the studio or when I feel his entire body stiffen anytime someone mentions the attempted murder, the rapes, or really any part of this case. Dimitri does his best to hide it and he mostly succeeds but the more I spend time with him the easier it was for me to pick up on it.

It makes me feel even stronger for him than I already do. If that's even possible.

Ibrahim held up a hand as though that would stop Dimitri from making any moves. "I'm only stating facts. Nothing cruel will be said. Only the truth," he told Dimitri all the while looking at Viktoria.

"Viktoria Belikova," he repeats. "You would have been charged and tried just as the others are now. Based on your character, if Rosemarie and Vasilisa hadn't convinced you to press charges, you would have made a similar deal that Avery and Meredith did. I have no doubt about it. Thankfully, they convinced you and you decided to accept that you're a victim too and not a victim and an accomplice. You come from a large, loving family, though your family has endured its hardships similar and yet more difficult than other families such as the tragedy in Vasilisa's family. You are considered the most well-adjusted of the three victims attending counseling discussing your father and his actions, your relationships with your family particularly your brother, your own actions in spreading crude pictures of Rosemarie Hathaway, and contemplations of suicide."

Viktoria's mouth dropped open along with the rest of ours but Stan was the first to speak. "Counseling sessions of any kind are confidential even, and especially from lawyers."

"Confidential unless the patient intends to harm themselves or others. In that case it's a little easier to get particular bits of information from any session," Ibrahim responded, undeterred but seeming a bit annoyed at having been interrupted in his personal examining. He then turned to Dimitri.

If looks could kill...

There isn't even an appropriate enough ending to describe the murderous look in Dimitri's eyes.

"Dimitri Belikov. Mid to late twenties, owner of the only self-defense studio in southern Montana, comes from a large family, shot in the line of duty by your father. Protective, caring, hardworking...and in a not so secret personal relationship with seventeen year old Rosemarie Hathaway."

Maybe it was just me but Ibrahim's analyzing of Dimitri wasn't as long or detailed as everyone else's and he didn't sound nearly as...unhappy about Lissa and Christian kind of being together as he did about Dimitri and I's relationship. Whatever disapproving tone he has in his voice doesn't matter. He doesn't have nay right to judge anyone, especially no one here, especially not me.

And especially not about unhealthy relationships.

Whatever relationship he had with my mother destroyed her and left her the ghost of a formerly happy woman. Or at least a content woman. Anything I have with Dimitri is a step up from that. Despite the age difference and the circumstances.

Dimitri's darkening gaze didn't deter Ibrahim or make him look away. For the longest, awkward moment of my life, they stared each other down until finally Ibrahim spoke.

"Just stating facts."

The clarification did nothing to calm Dimitri's obvious anger. All the effort he usually put into being calm, cool, collected flew out the window along with his usual friendly or at least gentle everyday expression. His expressionless mask was gone too leaving behind this silent, angry one that I just wasn't completely used to.

Not caring who saw, I grabbed a hold of Dimitri's arm and held his hand, hoping that I was successfully telling him not to kill Ibrahim Mazur with his stare. Not because Ibrahim is my father but because we're in the middle of a courthouse, with too many witnesses and the last thing any of us needs is for Dimitri to be on trial for murder at this point.

When did my humor get so dark?

Thankfully Viktoria grabs a hold of Dimitri's other arm and with both us of joint together, Dimitri settles a bit and Ibrahim, satisfied that he feels he's won the stare down, moves on to his last target.

Me.

He doesn't need to do his detailed profiling and assessment of me. I already know the facts.

Rosemarie Hathaway.

First victim of Adrian Ivashkov and his accomplices to agree to press charges.

Currently in a relationship with Dimitri Belikov.

Best friend of Vasilisa Dragomir, close friend of Viktoria Belikov, and makeshift family members of the Belkov family as well as Detective Alto and Christian Ozera.

Daughter of Janine Hathaway and, unfortunately, Ibrahim Mazur...

Looking at him now, looking at this man who is supposed to be my father, I realize something...

Unless it's in self-defense, to protect a loved one, I will never accept or understand anyone's reasons for murder.

I will never understand any type of reasoning Adrian, Camille, Jesse, Charlie, Ralph...any of them, I will never understand any type of reasoning they provide for any and everything they've done.

The few times Dimitri or anyone else has let me torture myself by watching newscasts on our case, I heard the officials and news reporters using the excuses of too much violence on tv, in movies, mentioned in song lyrics, and video games. They blamed the unfit parents and maybe issues of mental illness. Some even said murder, rape, the urge to commit violence is a genetic issue and not a moral one. Others have argued that it's just the pressure of being a teenager and that high school is hard and makes some teens crack.

That last excuse is based on crackpot reasoning because if it were true, there'd be teenagers everywhere going all Hunger Games on each other and any else they come across any chance they get.

I guess maybe some of their reasoning might be true or can be true.

I think that it's most just emotions.

Emotions are one of the scariest aspects of human lives. We base the majority of our decisions on how we're feeling. I'm not saying that this explains everyone's actions and makes it okay to hurt others. I'm just saying the emotions, feeling a certain way, is enough to set someone off sometimes.

For instance, I'm feeling particularly angry right. I'm feeling every form of the word 'hatred' right now I'm not even completely sure why.

Is it because of how he's already alienated everyone standing here, everyone who has become my makeshift family?

Is it because he was never apart of my immediate family despite being my blood relative?

Is it because he knows where and how my mother is and won't tell me a damn thing about it? It could be because he's here, after seventeen years, acting as though the huge elephant in the room isn't important enough to be dealt with.

Or maybe it's because he's willing and capable to help us and I have to let him despite wanting to just tell him to hit the road, go to hell, and take his mobster cane with him?

Whatever the reason is, I know I hate him.

I'm angry, upset, unhinged, unsettled, uncomfortable.

And I hate him.

Forget what I said before. I think in particular circumstances, I can kind of understand someone killing out of hate.

If looks could kill...