Chapter 286 Garrett

Chapter 286 Garrett
Graves

My attorneys had begged me not to testify.

By then, the prosecution had finished presenting its medical evidence. A forensic nurse had described Garrett’s injuries, the marks on his wrists, the trauma she documented after he was brought to the hospital. A DNA specialist had confirmed that biological evidence recovered during the examination belonged to me.

None of that surprised me.
I had never denied that Garrett and I had been intimate. They simply refused to understand why.

“You do not take that stand,” my attorney had told me during the recess. “You have already done enough damage. Let us handle this.”

That was precisely the problem. Everyone had spent days handling Garrett.
His mother. His friends. Rivers. The prosecution. My own attorneys.
They had taken pieces of his life and twisted them into whatever version served them best. Reckless. Unstable. Violent. Obsessive. Dangerous.

Garrett was none of those things.
He was brilliant. Passionate.
Difficult, certainly. Fiercely independent. Emotional beyond reason when something penetrated the walls he built around himself. But there had never been anything wrong with his mind.
Only with what people kept putting inside it.

And now my boy sat across the courtroom holding Aslan Rivers’s hand, looking exhausted and frightened while everyone congratulated themselves for saving him.

They were confusing him again. I couldn’t allow that.
So I took the stand.

My attorney looked as if he already regretted asking his first question. “Dr. Graves, how long have you known Garrett Williams?”

“Since he was ten years old.”

“And when did you begin treating him?”

“Regularly? When he was twelve.”

“During those years, did you consider Garrett mentally unstable?”

“No.”

My attorney paused. I knew that wasn’t the answer he wanted.
“Dr. Graves, Mr. Williams has a documented history of self-harm, aggression, impulsive behavior, and obsessive attachments.”

“Those are behaviors. They do not make him insane.” I looked toward Garrett. “Garrett has an extraordinary mind. He feels things more intensely than most people. When properly directed, that intensity is one of his greatest strengths.”

Garrett’s eyes were fixed on mine now. So beautiful. So filled with concern.

Was he worried about me? About us?

“Did you ever deliberately harm him?”

“Never.”

“Were the treatments you prescribed intended to hurt him?”

“No. They were intended to help him gain control over impulses that were causing him distress.”

My attorney approached carefully. “We have heard considerable testimony about something referred to as stimulation therapy. Did you believe that treatment served a therapeutic purpose?”

“Yes.”

“And did you believe you were acting in Garrett’s best interest?”

“Always.”

His shoulders relaxed slightly. Then came the question neither of us could avoid.
“On the final night Mr. Williams was confined at Spring Creek, did sexual contact occur between you?”

“Yes.”

The courtroom stirred.

“Did you force yourself on Garrett Williams?”

“No.”

“Did you believe he consented?”

“I knew he needed me.”

My attorney’s expression changed. “That wasn’t my question.”

“Yes. I believed he consented.”

“What led you to that belief?”

“He was breaking apart. He asked me to help him. To make his pain for Aslam Rivers stop.” I looked at Garrett, wishing he would look back at me now. “He needed comfort. Security. He needed someone who understood what he was asking for without forcing him to explain it.”

“Did Mr. Williams initiate physical contact?”

I hesitated. He hadn't in the simplistic way they wanted me to say it.
“He reached for me emotionally long before anything physical happened. That night, he finally stopped fighting what he needed.”

My attorney stared at me. I could almost hear him telling me to shut up. Fuck him.

“Do you regret what happened?”

“I regret what happened afterward.”

His jaw tightened. “We’ll return to that.”

He didn’t. The prosecution did.

The prosecutor stood for cross-examination and approached me without a file in his hands.
“You admitted to begin treating Garrett Williams at twelve.”

“Yes.”

“You just testified that he was not mentally unstable.”

“He wasn’t.”

“Not dangerous?”

“No.”

“Not insane?”

“Absolutely not.”

“Thank you, Doctor.”

My attorney shifted beside me.
The prosecutor continued. “You testified that stimulation therapy had a therapeutic purpose. Did that therapy involve sexual contact between you and Garrett?”

The courtroom went silent. They were not going to like my answer.
“It involved physical stimulation intended to redirect inappropriate associations.”

“Sexual contact, Doctor. Yes or no?”

I glanced toward Garrett. “Yes.”

“How old was Garrett the first time you used this treatment?”
I hesitated. They were not going to like this either.
“Fourteen.”

Someone in the gallery gasped. Ignorants.

“And you were his doctor?”

“Yes.”

“Was Garrett free to leave those sessions?”

“It was residential treatment.”

“That means no?”

“No.”

“Was he sometimes restrained?”

“For his safety.”

“Yes or no?”

“Yes.”

The prosecutor let that sit for a moment. “And today, knowing what you know, you still don’t consider what you did to that fourteen-year-old boy sexual abuse?”

“No.”

The gallery erupted into whispers.

“Why not?”

“Because the objective was never sexual gratification. It was treatment.”

“And yet you were sexually gratified.”

My attorney stood. “Objection.”

“Sustained.”

The prosecutor nodded and moved on. “Let’s discuss the final incident. Garrett had just been told that Aslan Rivers was dead, correct?”

“Yes.”

“He was crying?”

“Yes.”

“Distraught?”

“Obviously.”

“He had attacked you with a lamp?”

“He was overwhelmed.”

“Staff restrained him afterward?”

“Yes.”

“And then you ordered those staff members to leave?”

“Yes.”

“You were alone with him?”

“Yes.”

“You engaged in sexual contact with him?”

“We were intimate.”

“Afterward, Garrett attempted suicide.”

The words bothered me more than anything else he had said.
“Yes.”

“And you still believe that sexual encounter was consensual?”

“It was.”

The prosecutor stared at me. “Then why did Garrett try to kill himself immediately afterward?”

“Because I left.”

Silence. Even my attorney stopped moving.
The prosecutor frowned. “Excuse me?”

“That was my mistake.” I turned toward Garrett. He finally looked back at me.

God, he looked terrified. I hated seeing him like that.

“I should never have left him alone afterward. I thought he needed time to process what had happened. I was wrong.”

“Doctor, Garrett testified that he attempted suicide because you raped him.”

“He believed everyone had abandoned him.” My voice rose despite myself. “His mother had just destroyed him. She told him Rivers was dead. His friends weren’t there. His family had failed him. He thought he had nobody.”

“And your response was to have sex with him?”

“My response was to give him what he was asking me for!”

My attorney whispered my name. I ignored him.
“He needed to know someone still wanted him. That someone understood him. That he belonged somewhere. I gave him that.”

Garrett shook his head. “No.”
The sound barely reached me.

The prosecutor watched me carefully. “Do you regret having sexual contact with Garrett that night?”

“No.”
My attorney closed his eyes.

“What do you regret?”

“Leaving him afterward.”

There was no reason to lie about it now. I looked directly at Garrett.
“I’m sorry.”

His entire body went rigid.

The judge immediately intervened. “Dr. Graves, address your answers to counsel.”

But Garrett needed to hear me.
“I should have stayed with you. I wanted you to calm down, but I should have known better. I knew you better than that.”

His sister moved closer to him. And I saw Rivers lean forward.
My Garrett practically disappeared against their side.

The prosecutor’s voice cut through the room. “So to be perfectly clear, Doctor: your regret is not that you engaged in sexual contact with a patient you had treated since childhood?”

“No.”

“Not that you used sexual contact as part of his treatment when he was fourteen?”

“No.”

“Not that you did it again while he was confined, restrained only minutes earlier, and grieving someone he believed was dead?”

“No.”

The prosecutor paused.

“Your regret is that afterward, you left him alone.”

“Yes.”

“The prosecutor stared at me for another moment. “No further questions.”

“I should never have left you, Garrett.”

My attorney immediately rose. “Dr. Graves—”

I looked directly at Garrett. “But I won’t leave you again. I swear. I’ll be here for you. I will always be here for you, and no matter what happens, I’ll come back for you.”

“Dr. Graves, that is enough,” the judge ordered.

I barely heard him. Garrett was staring at me, his face pale, his eyes glassy and confused. Lost. Grieving.
Of course he was.

They were going to separate us again.

A bailiff took my arm and guided me away from the stand while my attorney hissed at me to stop talking. I did. There was nothing else Garrett needed to hear.

I know you’re hurting now, my boy. I know you’re lost.
I let them take me back to my seat without resisting.
But as God is my witness, no matter where they send me or how long they keep me there, I will come back.

I would always come back for him.