Two months, he promised himself. He would stand by his side for two months while he got back on his feet. After the time had passed, nothing else would be necessary. It wouldn't be difficult.
He was standing on the splintered tracks and could see the freight train coming. Jump off, jump off. Or soon you won't be able to.
But then he adopted that child! The foolish man with his heart too big and his wallet too empty. Kristoph gave himself another two months. So you can sleep at night, he told himself. They'd be too hungry.
He couldn't look him in the eye for too long. It gave him a headache. He had a lot of headaches recently.
Get out of the way!
He brought the man to a darkened restaurant where he could focus his gaze upon other things. The food was fine, the prices were high—he picked up the bill and his companion never once offered. That was fine with him. It was fine. He let him drink until he was sure the accusations would come spilling out, but they never did.
"I've never seen you drink, Kristoph."
"I quit after law school. You know how it can get."
That was a lie: he had two full wine racks in his kitchen at home. The man saw them a couple weeks later but never asked. Either he forgot or didn't care enough to know the truth. I just don't drink around you.
It was seven months later when he remembered what he promised himself. Seven months later when he was standing naked and alone in his bedroom, stripping the bedsheets and listening to the sound of the shower in the bathroom. He poured them both another glass of wine and gave up on the search for his socks. But his feet were freezing.
They kept going to the Russian restaurant. He could maintain eye contact now; it was impossible not to be drawn to such an intense stare. But he didn't want to discuss the bill and it was easier to keep reaching for his own wallet than talk about what this was becoming.
"I can't accept this."
"I don't play it anymore. It's just collecting dust and spiders down here."
"I don't actually play, it's just a front for the poker."
"That's fine, I'll teach you."
"…If you insist."
It was like trying to catch a falling knife: any attempt to stop the blade would just make them bleed. He had no intention of bleeding in front of this man. But the knife must eventually be picked up. Who would reach down first?
Who would look away?
It was over a year later when he woke with his face pressed against the man's back. It was easier for him to stay here; his shift starts so early. They said little as they dressed quickly and left in opposite directions. He would win today's trial and go home to an empty house. Anything more wasn't his problem and he wasn't going to make it his problem. It can't be undone.
He was standing where the ocean met the land. The tide was out and the train had long since barreled into the sea. He refused to swim, but then again, the tide refused to stay out forever.
He never should have been caught off-guard.
"I never know what you're thinking." He set his cards down on the table.
"I could say the same about you. What are you thinking about right now?"
"I'm thinking about how I can see the ace of spaces in the reflection of your glasses."
It started with glances that lasted a little too long. Answers were clipped and cold. The man was changing and turning into something Kristoph didn't understand. It filled him with uncertainty. Fear. He covered his tracks so well, what was going wrong?
Get out of the way!
A man caught his eye during a Bar Association gala. Silver hair, dressed in magenta, entirely too stiff and reserved. He introduced himself to the other lawyer and soon he realized he was speaking to the man he had been hearing about for years. The man wanted to know how his friend was doing, were things okay? He'd heard he lost his badge a couple years ago.
"Four years ago, actually. He's doing fine."
"I haven't kept in touch."
"I can tell."
He was rude, the man was rude, too. Their personalities were too similar and yet wildly different—they would never get along. And yet.
They were in his hotel room in under thirty minutes. Kristoph smiled as he left and knew this man would never be a threat to what he had to offer.
"I met a friend of yours the other day at a Bar meeting."
"Miles?"
"Yes, we had a long chat. Nice man."
"Did he ask about me?"
"No, he didn't. I'm sorry, I'm sure he meant to."
The prosecutor avoided him whenever they were in the same room together. No doubt embarrassed and ashamed at what he had done, and certainly in no position to confront Kristoph about anything. He had fled when Kristoph hadn't.
But it was a misstep.
"I'm really glad you mentioned Miles a couple months ago, it made me realize I hadn't spoken to him in such a long time."
He was seeing the prosecutor again, in every sense of the word. It smacked Kristoph across the face and sent a bolt of rage through his heart. Towards the man,
"…so I'm sure you understand, Kristoph…"
And towards himself. "Of course. I'm happy for you." His palm began to bleed.
He spent long days and nights at work and rarely saw the sun. He hired two new interns and worked them harder than he meant to—one quit after a month, but the second seemed determined to impress. His name made Kristoph roll his eyes, but he lived up to it as best he could.
"He reminds me of you. And Trucy too, somehow."
"Then he must be spectacular."
Their eyes were different shades but held the same intensity. Justice had a tenacity Kristoph himself didn't have through law school, but it was a blunt instrument that needed to be sharpened. He didn't seem to have much of a filter, either.
"He has potential."
"Then I'd like to meet him."
It came too quickly, but how could seven years be too quickly? The man offered nothing to him except a drain on his wallet on Sunday nights and the occasional offer to watch his dog when he was out of town. It was fine, he didn't need him anymore. He never needed him.
The man didn't need him either, it turned out—he wanted Justice instead. It was five-thirty in the morning, he hadn't slept, and when he felt well enough to stop vomiting for a few minutes, he managed to call him back.
"This is a mistake! He's never had a client, and you know I can win this."
"No, I have faith in him. I want to retain Justice; do you need that in writing?"
He had to hang up. The bile burned in his throat and stained his tongue an angry yellow. He ignored the sound of his phone vibrating against the cold bathroom floor. He lowered his head onto the edge of the tub and screamed.
"Good morning, Kristoph."
It was his third coffee and his hand was shaking.
"You can still change your mind."
The man laughed and Kristoph could only walk away. Down the hall and into the restroom where he brushed his teeth for a third time that morning. He heard the door open and close after him but refused to turn around. He stared at himself in the mirror as he scrubbed his tongue.
"Kristoph." A sigh.
He turned.
"I'm not doing this because I want to."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
The man crouched down and glanced under the two stalls. Empty. He leaned in and whispered into Kristoph's ear.
It was a cold wave crashing down on top of him. He didn't want to hear it or think about it or repeat it or go anywhere near what the man was saying. He spat out his toothpaste and tossed his toothbrush into the garbage. Storming out of the bathroom and back towards the defendant lobby. This was not warranted, nor relevant, nor polite.
The tide had come in too quickly.
There was nothing more to be done.
He tried to look back as he was guided into the car but smacked his forehead against the doorframe. He cursed loudly—what did it matter now—and managed to catch a glimpse of colour as the cruiser pulled away from the courthouse. That goddamned blue beanie. He was standing on the curb.
He stared back at Phoenix Wright until the car rounded a corner and drove out of sight. Wright's words were ringing in his ears.
"I loved you."
I loved you, too.