Page 111 of A Tragic Melody

I flex my fists, watching a few cuts reopen. The bruises and cuts have been well-documented. The extent of Hendricks’s injuries and my own tell a story of pure violence. The court is not going to be kind to me taking matters into my own hands, quite literally. Maybe the reason will move some people on whatever jury they assign me, but I know I’m going to be spending some time in prison regardless.

I try not to think about that, or the mountain of debt I’m in. There is nothing I can do about it now.

The only part that really drives me crazy is not knowing what’s going on outside of here. My lawyer won’t tell me much. I doubt he knows much, anyways. He is some court-appointed idiot who has no idea who I am.

I haven’t tried to call Tuesday or even Quinn. My lawyer says Tuesday has been calling him, but I told him to tell her nothing. She needs to focus on herself and her own issues.

It’s hard not knowing how she is doing, but I can’t face her after what I did. She may not have had the sense to hate me in the moment, but she will in time. When the reality hits her, she won’t be able to look at me the same way. I’ll be another hurtful memory for her.

I hate myself for doing it. Fucking her in front of him like that was terrible, disgusting, and so wrong. Those emotions mix with the satisfaction that even though I added to her pain, I took out the main source.

She may always be damaged, a tragic mess with more missing pieces than I can count, but I just hope she finds a way to hold herself together. Because underneath it all, she is worth saving.

That’s what I want her to see. I want her to realize how much she is worth. To know she deserves to be taken care of, protected, loved. I want her to find real happiness, not the fake kind she ingests in the form of drugs. She should find peace, not in petty sex, but in real, passionate embraces. She deserves the kind of love you feel deep in your soul. The kind that makes the pain barely noticeable.

I just wish it was me who could show her it.

The next time I stand before the judge, I have a different lawyer.

This one is a woman. She has short, auburn hair and wears a black pencil skirt, a white button-up blouse, and a black blazer. She has nude tights on with black heels and wears round glasses.

When she walked in, I assumed she was for the other side, but she strolled over to me, dismissed the man standing next to me, and didn’t say a word to me.

I should’ve asked who she was and what was going on, but Hendricks’s lawyers threw a fit before I could. Just like me, they didn’t know this change was happening. Unlike me, they aren’t happy with changes. I’m simply not in a place to care, so I just roll with it.

When the judge appears, one of Hendricks’s lawyers begins to complain.

“This is a conflict of interest,” he says. “She works for Veritas, my client’s label.”

“It’s not his label,” my lawyer counters. “Not anymore. He broke the bylaws. Should’ve read the fine print.”

“I don’t care,” the judge says. “This isn’t about that. Today is about the defendant taking matters into his own hands.”

“Your honor, my client witnessed a crime and jumped in to defend the victim. Sure, he may have gone a little overboard, but shouldn’t we cut him some slack? Anyone with a heart would’ve done the same thing.”

“The crime she is implying hasn’t been proven. Came from some drugged-up girl,” the prosecution argues.

“That, too, hasn’t been proven,” my lawyer replies.

“Enough. Save it for the trial. We are here to re-discuss bail, but I’m inclined to deny him. He was out on bail for another charge when this happened, why should I think he will behave this time?” the judge asks.

“Those charges have been dropped, your honor. It was a misunderstanding.”

“How do you misunderstand a pile of drugs?” Hendricks’s lawyer scoffs.

“It was makeup,” my lawyer replies. “They tested it, and it wasn’t drugs. Nor were any drugs found in Mr. James’s test results.”

“You have documents to prove this?” the judge asks.

“Yes. And reason to believe it was a set-up.”

That is all new information to me, but I keep my face blank. I don’t need to know how the charges were dropped or who this lady is, I just have to sit back and see what happens. So far, she seems like my best shot out of this mess.

She steps forward, handing a package to the court martial, who passes it to the judge. The judge takes a moment to glance over it, before looking up at me.

“Mr. James, if I grant you bail, you should know the terms are going to be extreme. You won’t be able to leave the county. You’ll wear a monitor and get random drug and alcohol screenings. Are you willing to agree to that?”

“Yes, sir,” I say quickly.