Categories > Celebrities > My Chemical Romance > Stockholm Syndrome
“Please state your name for the court.”
On the witness’ stand perched a fairly young looking woman, whose only proof of being a day out of her late teens were fine networks of crows’ feet branching from the corners of her outer eyes. A faint vertical line gently creased the area between her brows. A frown tugged the corners of her mouth toward her clavicles, and she looked as though food had been scarce the past few years. She swallowed thickly, but could only stare at the twelve people in the polished mahogany box, fiddling with the ends of her shoulder-length black hair.
“The defendant will state her name for the court,” the judge snapped impatiently. Not without cause; the trial had been dragging on for the past month. Somehow, witness after professional after psychiatrist had managed to take the stand in the court trial concerning the tiny woman who now sat erect and worried on the bench.
“Paulina James,” she murmured, still staring at the twelve men and women of the jury.
“Your full name, please, and into the microphone,” the defense attorney said loudly, but gently as he could for his very delicate client. She cleared her throat and tried again.
“Paulina Corrine James...Iero,” she muttered shakily, leaning forward so that the microphone magnified her tiny voice to fill the courtroom full of people, most of whom she didn’t know.
“Alright, Mrs. Iero--”
“Please,” Paulina interrupted. “Don’t call me that. Anything else. Not that.” She could see her attorney struggling to hide a covert smirk. He knew from preliminaries that she didn’t want to be called “Mrs. Iero,” and yet he had said it anyway. It probably looked good for the defense.
“Paulina,” he corrected himself, inclining his head toward his client. “If you would, please tell the court where you were the night in question.”
“I was at home.”
“With your husband?”
“Yes. With Frank.” Paulina shifted uneasily. This bench was not designed to be particularly comfortable, and her body-wracking nerves weren’t helping her to relax either. She wished she had just pled guilty and waived her right to a jury. She could be on Death Row right now, preparing to eat her last meal before being strapped to a cold, metal examination table and being injected with fast-acting poison in front of a bunch of strangers, gathered behind a sheet of glass for no other reason than to watch her die for what she’d done.
“And can you please explain, in detail, what happened, starting at nine in the evening and ending with your phone call to 911.” He leaned up on the door in front of Paulina and offered a small smile. “You can do it, Paulina. Just look at me. Not them. Just me.” He said this quietly, and it did little to comfort the small woman, but she appreciated the effort just the same.
“Alright...Uh...” She took a deep breath, nervous that everything she had practiced saying so many times with this same man would come out all wrong, condemning her in the minds of these jurors, the observers, the millions of people who would be watching the trial on every major news channel across the country. She would need a lifetime of breaths to settle her nerves this time. “Well...we were--ah--we were sitting on the couch, watching television. There was a commercial break. I got up to get some water, and when--” she cleared a lump in her throat and tried again. “When I got back, Frank looked at me. I could feel him looking at me. He just sat there, staring. I tried to ignore it, staring at the television, pretending I didn’t notice, but it made me so nervous. I--I--I...” Paulina trailed off and took a few steadying breaths. She tried swallowing again, but her mouth was dry as cotton, and she felt nausea squeezing her stomach. When she was certain she wasn’t going to let loose a damning sob, she continued.
“Sorry. Excuse me. As I was saying, I knew what was coming. I didn’t know what I’d done, but I’d done something. He’d been drinking, and--we used to be able to drink without him--Frank--without Frank getting violent. We used to be able to have a nice evening together. But the last few years, he just--I...I’ve strayed. He had been drinking, and I could smell it on him. He just reeked of booze. I tried to scoot away from him, but he grabbed my arm in such a tight grip, I--I just froze. I was terrified. I didn’t want to resist for fear of making him angrier. He pulled me to him. The smell on his breath was just...unbearable. I tried to turn my head away, but he grabbed my face and made me look at him.” Paulina could feel herself getting worked up, she was speeding through this part, but her attorney had expressly told her not to do that. The jury needed to hear every word as clearly as possible so they wouldn’t think she was lying or trying to omit any part of the truth. She closed her eyes and took another few deep breaths. Despite herself, a few hot tears leaked from the corners of Paulina’s eyes.
“Please continue,” the judge said softly. She opened her eyes and nodded at him before turning back to her attorney. Always him, never the jury, he’d told her. It was just so hard not to look at them.
“I’m sorry. Anyway, Frank grabbed me and said something. He said...I can’t remember exactly what, but he scolded me for not asking him if he wanted anything. He said I was inconsiderate and selfish, and a terrible wife. He said I disgusted him. He told me how miserable I made him. I closed my eyes and tried to think of something else, but his voice was all I could hear; it was the only thing in my head. He threw me toward the kitchen and told me it would only be wishful thinking to expect an apology from a simpleton like me. He told me to get him an apple and a knife to cut it with, since I was too stupid to do it myself.
“I did what he said and I...I could only hope he’d keep drinking and pass out soon. I kept hearing his words over and over again in my head, telling me all those awful things. It was like some broken record player, skipping around, repeating certain things over and over again. It was almost like a physical pain. I--I don’t know how else to explain it. So, I got him the apple and the knife and I brought it to him. I still couldn’t look at him. He was speaking again, but I couldn’t listen. I just heard the voice in my head, repeating over and over and over. He knew I wasn’t paying attention and he hit me. I barely felt it, but I looked at him. He held the apple up in front of my face and then he threw it across the room. It hit the wall and rolled toward the stairs. He told me to go get it.
“I was still holding the knife. I was frozen. I just stood there. He stood too, he seemed so big, so much bigger than me. I was so scared. He moved closer. He was yelling, but I just kept hearing his words from before, in disconnected order, running through my head. He raised his hand to hit me again and I--I stabbed him. I reached around and stabbed him in the back, right between the shoulder blades. He collapsed into me. I pulled the knife out and it fell onto the floor. We both stumbled, and I tried to bring him down as easily as possible. I laid him out flat on his back and brought his head into my--my lap--” Paulina began to gasp for air, more tears running down her cheeks. It hurt so much to tell, to relive. She wanted it to be over, but she knew the only way to do that was to continue to the end, despite her desperate desire to flee the courtroom and bury herself in the ground.
“I--I--I didn’t know what to do. He was bleeding so much! He was coughing and saying my name, and there was just so much blood! I apologized, I said I was sorry, but I could already see he was dying! I yelled at him not to die, I pleaded, but he...he died anyway. In my lap. I saw his eyes go from light to dark. I...I just sat there for what seemed like forever. After I was done crying, I got up and called 911. When they got there, he was dead, and I was arrested.” Paulina sniffed deeply, wishing that telling the story would have made her feel better, but it just increased her anxiety tenfold. She reached into her pocket and grabbed her inhaler, shaking it and holding to her mouth for a hit of that musty medicine to calm her nerves.
“Thank you, Paulina,” her attorney was saying. “I know that was difficult for you. I just have a few more questions.” Paulina nodded, sniffing and swallowing, trying desperately to compose herself. “Now, Paulina, can you explain to the court why, if your husband was so abusive for so many years, you suddenly snapped?”
“Well, I...I just...All of a sudden, all I could think of was...was how he would treat our child. I know it sounds ridiculous, but, I just didn’t know. I didn’t want to bring this child into the world, not knowing whether it would lead a life worth living. At--at the time, I had just found out I was pregnant. I hadn’t even told Frank yet. I didn’t know if it was going to be a boy or a girl. If it was a boy, he’d at least have a chance, but...I just couldn’t chance that I would be bringing another girl into this world to suffer the way I was. I just--I couldn’t let that happen.” That had been surprisingly easy to relay. Paulina took another hit from her inhaler, all the same.
“And tell me, Paulina, are you having a boy or a girl?” Paulina hesitated, but her attorney had asked her this for a reason. The answer to this question could mean the difference between her walking free and swinging from a rope. Still, she felt wracked with shame and couldn’t look at anyone, choosing to stare at the microphone in front of her face, instead.
“I--A few days after I was arrested, the prison doctor told me I had miscarried due to...due to unbearable trauma. He confirmed that it was most likely from Frank pushing me down the stairs the day before I--the day before he died.” There was a general gasp throughout the courtroom and Paulina saw, when she lifted her gaze, that every member of the jury had subconsciously drawn back in their seats at her words. “There is no more baby,” she added in a low murmur.
“Thank you, Paulina,” the defense attorney said. He offered a smile that she couldn’t find it in her to return. “No further questions,” he added to the judge.
“Prosecution’s witness,” the judge mumbled, clearing his throat loudly.
The prosecuting attorney stood. He frightened Paulina. He was small in stature, but something about his presence commanded attention. This formidability intimidated Paulina, and she prayed for her sake that his questions would be brief and few.
“Mrs. Iero,” he began. Paulina winced, but said nothing. “Can you tell me when you met your late husband?”
“Approximately eight years ago,” Paulina said clearly, assured by the nod from her attorney she caught out of the corner of her eye.
“Could you be a little more accurate?”
“Nine years ago this November.”
“Now, Mrs. Iero, weren’t you abducted for a period of about six months that November?” A heavy anchor of dread dropped into Paulina’s stomach. She had known this question would come up. Or rather, her attorney had foreseen this question, and, feeling it would benefit her for the prosecution to ask, had forgone its mention in his own cross-examination.
“Yes, I was.”
“And how did you meet Mr. Iero?”
“He was the one who kidnapped me.” Now that got a reaction. Her full account had been in the police report, but a lot of effort had gone into keeping it very quiet. Now, the information was out. Jurors gasped, gaped, and looked to each other for confirmation that yes, Paulina had actually just said that.
“You’re sure of this?”
“Yes.”
“Now, Mrs. Iero, it was remarked in your file from the incident eight years ago that you suffered great emotional and physical trauma during your disappearance. Can you please explain why on earth you would ever marry the man that you knew to be your captor and abuser?” He had a smug smile on his face. Paulina would soon wipe it right off. She sat up straighter and spoke clearly as she could, his grin giving her the drive she needed to make people believe her.
“I sought him out for months after I returned home. I thought I loved him, and that he loved me. I had mistaken a dependence on him for love, and I mistook the act of keeping me alive as his affections. We both did. I didn’t realize what I had gotten myself back into with him until it was too late. I really thought he’d change. There was no experiment. He was just an evil person that felt compelled every day of his life to make others miserable.” Paulina stared down the prosecutor, who remained unshaken.
“Mrs. Iero, I’m going to be blunt. Did you seek out and marry your late husband with the intent to kill him as revenge for your torment?”
“No.”
“And why should I believe you?”
“Because,” Paulina said. “If I were to go back to the beginning, I still would’ve lit that stranger’s cigarette on the sidewalk outside my house.”
There's going to be a lot of confusion about this last chapter. I know that. I have half a mind to add an epilogue. But here is the explanation of this culmination to this epic of a story: this was never going to end happily. From the beginning, when I was writing it, something like this was going to happen. There was no alternative to this, there was no happily ever after. How could there be? You can sugar-coat it, and dress it up, and make it seem like love, but abuse is not love. Assault is not love. Rape is not love. This is not a sweet love story. This is a smack in the face to every story that's ever been written where Stockholm Syndrome results in a happy ending. That's impossible. Manipulation, mind games, and abuse don't create love, they create affectionate feelings out of an instinctual survival instinct. If your life is in jeopardy, you will latch onto whoever is in charge, and you will convince yourself of anything if it will help preserve your life. It is not healthy, it is not sweet, it is not love's all-enduring nature, it is a sickness, and it has to be seen as such. I'm sorry if this ruins the story for some or all of you, but this was my story to tell and this is how I had to tell it. It's not for everyone, but I believe it had to be written. Thank you all for sticking through to the end with this story. I truly value all your support throughout the past few years. Leave your final thoughts in the comments, and we'll see where it goes from there. OverAndOutxx
On the witness’ stand perched a fairly young looking woman, whose only proof of being a day out of her late teens were fine networks of crows’ feet branching from the corners of her outer eyes. A faint vertical line gently creased the area between her brows. A frown tugged the corners of her mouth toward her clavicles, and she looked as though food had been scarce the past few years. She swallowed thickly, but could only stare at the twelve people in the polished mahogany box, fiddling with the ends of her shoulder-length black hair.
“The defendant will state her name for the court,” the judge snapped impatiently. Not without cause; the trial had been dragging on for the past month. Somehow, witness after professional after psychiatrist had managed to take the stand in the court trial concerning the tiny woman who now sat erect and worried on the bench.
“Paulina James,” she murmured, still staring at the twelve men and women of the jury.
“Your full name, please, and into the microphone,” the defense attorney said loudly, but gently as he could for his very delicate client. She cleared her throat and tried again.
“Paulina Corrine James...Iero,” she muttered shakily, leaning forward so that the microphone magnified her tiny voice to fill the courtroom full of people, most of whom she didn’t know.
“Alright, Mrs. Iero--”
“Please,” Paulina interrupted. “Don’t call me that. Anything else. Not that.” She could see her attorney struggling to hide a covert smirk. He knew from preliminaries that she didn’t want to be called “Mrs. Iero,” and yet he had said it anyway. It probably looked good for the defense.
“Paulina,” he corrected himself, inclining his head toward his client. “If you would, please tell the court where you were the night in question.”
“I was at home.”
“With your husband?”
“Yes. With Frank.” Paulina shifted uneasily. This bench was not designed to be particularly comfortable, and her body-wracking nerves weren’t helping her to relax either. She wished she had just pled guilty and waived her right to a jury. She could be on Death Row right now, preparing to eat her last meal before being strapped to a cold, metal examination table and being injected with fast-acting poison in front of a bunch of strangers, gathered behind a sheet of glass for no other reason than to watch her die for what she’d done.
“And can you please explain, in detail, what happened, starting at nine in the evening and ending with your phone call to 911.” He leaned up on the door in front of Paulina and offered a small smile. “You can do it, Paulina. Just look at me. Not them. Just me.” He said this quietly, and it did little to comfort the small woman, but she appreciated the effort just the same.
“Alright...Uh...” She took a deep breath, nervous that everything she had practiced saying so many times with this same man would come out all wrong, condemning her in the minds of these jurors, the observers, the millions of people who would be watching the trial on every major news channel across the country. She would need a lifetime of breaths to settle her nerves this time. “Well...we were--ah--we were sitting on the couch, watching television. There was a commercial break. I got up to get some water, and when--” she cleared a lump in her throat and tried again. “When I got back, Frank looked at me. I could feel him looking at me. He just sat there, staring. I tried to ignore it, staring at the television, pretending I didn’t notice, but it made me so nervous. I--I--I...” Paulina trailed off and took a few steadying breaths. She tried swallowing again, but her mouth was dry as cotton, and she felt nausea squeezing her stomach. When she was certain she wasn’t going to let loose a damning sob, she continued.
“Sorry. Excuse me. As I was saying, I knew what was coming. I didn’t know what I’d done, but I’d done something. He’d been drinking, and--we used to be able to drink without him--Frank--without Frank getting violent. We used to be able to have a nice evening together. But the last few years, he just--I...I’ve strayed. He had been drinking, and I could smell it on him. He just reeked of booze. I tried to scoot away from him, but he grabbed my arm in such a tight grip, I--I just froze. I was terrified. I didn’t want to resist for fear of making him angrier. He pulled me to him. The smell on his breath was just...unbearable. I tried to turn my head away, but he grabbed my face and made me look at him.” Paulina could feel herself getting worked up, she was speeding through this part, but her attorney had expressly told her not to do that. The jury needed to hear every word as clearly as possible so they wouldn’t think she was lying or trying to omit any part of the truth. She closed her eyes and took another few deep breaths. Despite herself, a few hot tears leaked from the corners of Paulina’s eyes.
“Please continue,” the judge said softly. She opened her eyes and nodded at him before turning back to her attorney. Always him, never the jury, he’d told her. It was just so hard not to look at them.
“I’m sorry. Anyway, Frank grabbed me and said something. He said...I can’t remember exactly what, but he scolded me for not asking him if he wanted anything. He said I was inconsiderate and selfish, and a terrible wife. He said I disgusted him. He told me how miserable I made him. I closed my eyes and tried to think of something else, but his voice was all I could hear; it was the only thing in my head. He threw me toward the kitchen and told me it would only be wishful thinking to expect an apology from a simpleton like me. He told me to get him an apple and a knife to cut it with, since I was too stupid to do it myself.
“I did what he said and I...I could only hope he’d keep drinking and pass out soon. I kept hearing his words over and over again in my head, telling me all those awful things. It was like some broken record player, skipping around, repeating certain things over and over again. It was almost like a physical pain. I--I don’t know how else to explain it. So, I got him the apple and the knife and I brought it to him. I still couldn’t look at him. He was speaking again, but I couldn’t listen. I just heard the voice in my head, repeating over and over and over. He knew I wasn’t paying attention and he hit me. I barely felt it, but I looked at him. He held the apple up in front of my face and then he threw it across the room. It hit the wall and rolled toward the stairs. He told me to go get it.
“I was still holding the knife. I was frozen. I just stood there. He stood too, he seemed so big, so much bigger than me. I was so scared. He moved closer. He was yelling, but I just kept hearing his words from before, in disconnected order, running through my head. He raised his hand to hit me again and I--I stabbed him. I reached around and stabbed him in the back, right between the shoulder blades. He collapsed into me. I pulled the knife out and it fell onto the floor. We both stumbled, and I tried to bring him down as easily as possible. I laid him out flat on his back and brought his head into my--my lap--” Paulina began to gasp for air, more tears running down her cheeks. It hurt so much to tell, to relive. She wanted it to be over, but she knew the only way to do that was to continue to the end, despite her desperate desire to flee the courtroom and bury herself in the ground.
“I--I--I didn’t know what to do. He was bleeding so much! He was coughing and saying my name, and there was just so much blood! I apologized, I said I was sorry, but I could already see he was dying! I yelled at him not to die, I pleaded, but he...he died anyway. In my lap. I saw his eyes go from light to dark. I...I just sat there for what seemed like forever. After I was done crying, I got up and called 911. When they got there, he was dead, and I was arrested.” Paulina sniffed deeply, wishing that telling the story would have made her feel better, but it just increased her anxiety tenfold. She reached into her pocket and grabbed her inhaler, shaking it and holding to her mouth for a hit of that musty medicine to calm her nerves.
“Thank you, Paulina,” her attorney was saying. “I know that was difficult for you. I just have a few more questions.” Paulina nodded, sniffing and swallowing, trying desperately to compose herself. “Now, Paulina, can you explain to the court why, if your husband was so abusive for so many years, you suddenly snapped?”
“Well, I...I just...All of a sudden, all I could think of was...was how he would treat our child. I know it sounds ridiculous, but, I just didn’t know. I didn’t want to bring this child into the world, not knowing whether it would lead a life worth living. At--at the time, I had just found out I was pregnant. I hadn’t even told Frank yet. I didn’t know if it was going to be a boy or a girl. If it was a boy, he’d at least have a chance, but...I just couldn’t chance that I would be bringing another girl into this world to suffer the way I was. I just--I couldn’t let that happen.” That had been surprisingly easy to relay. Paulina took another hit from her inhaler, all the same.
“And tell me, Paulina, are you having a boy or a girl?” Paulina hesitated, but her attorney had asked her this for a reason. The answer to this question could mean the difference between her walking free and swinging from a rope. Still, she felt wracked with shame and couldn’t look at anyone, choosing to stare at the microphone in front of her face, instead.
“I--A few days after I was arrested, the prison doctor told me I had miscarried due to...due to unbearable trauma. He confirmed that it was most likely from Frank pushing me down the stairs the day before I--the day before he died.” There was a general gasp throughout the courtroom and Paulina saw, when she lifted her gaze, that every member of the jury had subconsciously drawn back in their seats at her words. “There is no more baby,” she added in a low murmur.
“Thank you, Paulina,” the defense attorney said. He offered a smile that she couldn’t find it in her to return. “No further questions,” he added to the judge.
“Prosecution’s witness,” the judge mumbled, clearing his throat loudly.
The prosecuting attorney stood. He frightened Paulina. He was small in stature, but something about his presence commanded attention. This formidability intimidated Paulina, and she prayed for her sake that his questions would be brief and few.
“Mrs. Iero,” he began. Paulina winced, but said nothing. “Can you tell me when you met your late husband?”
“Approximately eight years ago,” Paulina said clearly, assured by the nod from her attorney she caught out of the corner of her eye.
“Could you be a little more accurate?”
“Nine years ago this November.”
“Now, Mrs. Iero, weren’t you abducted for a period of about six months that November?” A heavy anchor of dread dropped into Paulina’s stomach. She had known this question would come up. Or rather, her attorney had foreseen this question, and, feeling it would benefit her for the prosecution to ask, had forgone its mention in his own cross-examination.
“Yes, I was.”
“And how did you meet Mr. Iero?”
“He was the one who kidnapped me.” Now that got a reaction. Her full account had been in the police report, but a lot of effort had gone into keeping it very quiet. Now, the information was out. Jurors gasped, gaped, and looked to each other for confirmation that yes, Paulina had actually just said that.
“You’re sure of this?”
“Yes.”
“Now, Mrs. Iero, it was remarked in your file from the incident eight years ago that you suffered great emotional and physical trauma during your disappearance. Can you please explain why on earth you would ever marry the man that you knew to be your captor and abuser?” He had a smug smile on his face. Paulina would soon wipe it right off. She sat up straighter and spoke clearly as she could, his grin giving her the drive she needed to make people believe her.
“I sought him out for months after I returned home. I thought I loved him, and that he loved me. I had mistaken a dependence on him for love, and I mistook the act of keeping me alive as his affections. We both did. I didn’t realize what I had gotten myself back into with him until it was too late. I really thought he’d change. There was no experiment. He was just an evil person that felt compelled every day of his life to make others miserable.” Paulina stared down the prosecutor, who remained unshaken.
“Mrs. Iero, I’m going to be blunt. Did you seek out and marry your late husband with the intent to kill him as revenge for your torment?”
“No.”
“And why should I believe you?”
“Because,” Paulina said. “If I were to go back to the beginning, I still would’ve lit that stranger’s cigarette on the sidewalk outside my house.”
There's going to be a lot of confusion about this last chapter. I know that. I have half a mind to add an epilogue. But here is the explanation of this culmination to this epic of a story: this was never going to end happily. From the beginning, when I was writing it, something like this was going to happen. There was no alternative to this, there was no happily ever after. How could there be? You can sugar-coat it, and dress it up, and make it seem like love, but abuse is not love. Assault is not love. Rape is not love. This is not a sweet love story. This is a smack in the face to every story that's ever been written where Stockholm Syndrome results in a happy ending. That's impossible. Manipulation, mind games, and abuse don't create love, they create affectionate feelings out of an instinctual survival instinct. If your life is in jeopardy, you will latch onto whoever is in charge, and you will convince yourself of anything if it will help preserve your life. It is not healthy, it is not sweet, it is not love's all-enduring nature, it is a sickness, and it has to be seen as such. I'm sorry if this ruins the story for some or all of you, but this was my story to tell and this is how I had to tell it. It's not for everyone, but I believe it had to be written. Thank you all for sticking through to the end with this story. I truly value all your support throughout the past few years. Leave your final thoughts in the comments, and we'll see where it goes from there. OverAndOutxx
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