A.N. Here we go, another attempt at an AU. This is something which is a even further from my comfort zone but testing ones limits is what writing is all about. Thank you in advanced for giving this a try, and a huge thank you to InevitablyWicked19, for all you do.
Prologue: Lull
(Lauren's POV)
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Tuesday—8:56 a.m.
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"Will you state your name for the court?"
I know his voice, I know it well enough to pick up on every variation of tone he has. I know that despite the way he is keeping his back stiff, chin tightened and his tone as professional as the best of them, there is a slight softness around the edges on the tail end of his question. I know that despite his enormous amount of respect for me, in this moment there is merely only pity to be found. I know that no matter how many times we've practiced this over the past months, it all suddenly means nothing in this moment.
But most importantly, what I know is that standing in front of me is no longer the man I've built a personal relationship with. No longer is he the man I argue with about basketball and the stupidity of criminals. No longer is he the man I see several times a month to grab a beer and pretend I have an actual social life outside of my work. No, now he is merely A.D.A. Dyson A. Thornwood.
There can't be an emotional attachment here, not now.
"Doctor Lauren Lewis." My answer followed by a slight sigh, eyes on my neatly folded hands resting atop my lap.
"Objection." Evony lets out in a slight snort. She leans back in her chair, brow furrowed looking up at the judge.
"You're objecting to her name?" Judge Asher chuckles, seemingly once again amused by Evony's cheap and distasteful tactics.
"She is a material witness, not an expert witness. By stating she is a doctor the jury has no choice but to endow her with a certain level of excess credibility. Not to mention, she was not actually a doctor at the time in question."
"Are you questioning the witness' credibility?" Dyson's antagonistically playful tone accompanied by a smirk as he turns his head just enough to face her.
"That's enough. Objection overruled and Mrs. Morgan, I've warned you."
It doesn't matter, she's gotten her point across. She's reminded them I'm not an expert, and I certainly wasn't at the time of what happened. She's managed to irritate me to the point that I've forgotten half of what had been written on my note cards. On top of that, perhaps the most damaging thing she managed to do is show them the smug side of Dyson. No longer is he the visually pleasing, sweet but stern crusader for justice. Now he's the smug asshole who gets off on winning over a woman.
Nicely done, Evony.
I'm not surprised though, it's been a while since she had pulled anything, may as well have been with me on the stand.
"Do you mind telling the jury why in fact you are a material witness?"
"I um," I can't help but trail off, my mind drawing nothing but a blank. "I was present."
"Present when?"
"At the time of the crimes."
"And by crimes you mean?"
"The several laws broken on the morning of October thirty-first, two thousand and ten." My attention snaps to him just in time to catch the ever so subtle nod he's giving me.
He wants me to focus, to stay on track and remember everything we've walked through but my grasp is slowly slipping. It's one thing to watch as a spectator, to see those three animals sitting there and never get more than a glimpse of the side of their faces. It's another thing entirely to sit here and have them staring at me. A faint smirk and silent laughter I can see in their eyes from here every time I hesitate.
"And why were you there?"
"I was making a deposit for my father, we were running errands."
"We? You and your father?"
"With my brother, yes." I nod.
"Were they in the bank with you?"
"No, not initially." This time I shake my head, my chest steadily growing heavier and heavier with each breath drawn.
"Not initially?"
"No." another shake of my head, my tone growing harsher. I know he's only doing his job, but the closer he goes to bringing me back to that morning, the more I feel myself slipping. "My brother never entered the bank, my father-my father did though."
"Okay." He says softly, nodding his head as he slips his hands in his pockets. "I can see, everyone can see that talking about this, it's difficult for you. I know why, these three men and their lawyer know why. Hell even the jury knows the cold, hard facts of why, but I'm going to ask you to do what I'm sure you feel is impossible. I'm going to ask you to make us, to make them understand the terror that happened that morning."
He wants me to make them understand-how?
Swallowing at the dryness creeping up the back of my throat I look over, I think I meant to look at Evony but find myself staring at the oldest of the Wright brothers. Maybe it's because he's leaning over with a smirk whispering in her ear. Or maybe it's because I simply want to know what a real monster looks like when not cowering behind a mask.
Bryan Wright, the oldest of them all. By looking at him it would be easy for one to think he was an extra from American History X. A six foot tall lean and pale hardened looking man with tattoos covering the entirety of his arms and neck. His hair cut short on the sides while longer atop, and died a shade of blonde that was easy to tell was unnatural.
Sad part is that if he was in fact a new age Nazi it would have been easier to convict. A tactic Dyson planned to exploit, only problem with a morally questionable yet perfect plan? His brother was bi-racial.
Taylor Wright an oddly spitting image of his brother if you looked past the slightly more rounded face, along with the fact he was about three skin tones darker. While his brother effortlessly looked hard, he puts effort into keeping his feature tensed. He sort of looks like a bulldog, but every so often he forgets people are looking and relaxes. It's then he looks like a baby. His hair jet black and cut to fashion his brother's, though he slicks it back. A thin, in-style goatee tracing the outline of his mouth.
There was a day a while ago, long before the trail started I remember looking at his picture along with basic information. Young, visually appealing, smart, athletic, what any twenty year old would kill to be. Even had a scholarship to UIC but threw it all away. I remember wondering what he would be without his brother's influence. I remember posing the question of nature versus nurture. Though now looking at him, all I see is a monster.
The third of them Jason Wallace, a playboy in every sense of the word. Everything about him screams trouble, screams self-entitled, screams trust fund baby. That's what he is, and perhaps the most puzzling thing about this. There was a time when I tried to figure that out, put the pieces together but I've come to the conclusion I don't care. The over pronounced smirk that stays on his lips as he leans back in his chair as if this is some game took away any curiosity. His hair styled to hang down in his face simply so he can push it back from time to time and flash his expensive watch, just to remind everyone he has money.
"Mrs. Lewis?" Dyson's voice bringing me back to reality.
"Yes," I take a deep breath, lips parting to give him what he wants but just out of the corner of my eye I see Jason Wallace wink at me.
Just like that the fear, the anger from that morning is rushing back and I can't breathe.
I can't do this.
Feeling the tears beginning to pull in the corner of my eyes I choose not to look back at him—at them. I honestly can't. My eyes dance over the crowd behind them, over the gap between the isles, the gap in which I find myself wanting to run down. Run out and never look back.
My intention was to look Dyson in the eye and tell him I couldn't do this, I can't go through with it. But the woman sitting on the aisle seat, two rows back from the prosecution's table catches my attention.
Just like the first time I set eyes on her, I find myself getting lost in her. She's looking at me, this somber look, this look of pity. She's changed, I guess life will do that to you. Still looks like trouble in the best way possible, sill as beautiful as ever. But just something about her is different, perhaps a loss of innocence.
It's funny to me in a sad way that we spent that morning together and I never even learned her name. It wasn't until we started prepping for trial I found it out.
Bo Dennis.
Taking another deep breath, my eyes fall to the floor.
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*** October 31st, 2010. ***
"You speak English?"
"Excuse me?" I say on reflex, before even looking up from my index card. But the extended pause of silence coupled with the facts his words actually register with me, I look up to my right.
I stare at him for a moment, choosing to ignore his scrunched scowl that causes him to resemble an old bulldog. He's about two inches shorter than my height, Caucasian, and easily over two-hundred fifty pounds-far too much for his height. But beyond looking as if he just stepped out of a horrible, mafia movie from the fifties, I don't recognize him.
So, why exactly is he speaking to me?
I look from him over to my left and see there is now at least three, maybe four feet between me and the chatty, playboy who hadn't gotten off his phone since I arrived. They really should ban cell phones in banks-at least voice calls anyway.
"I'm sorry." I say through an apologetic smile, turning back to him.
"Don't be sorry, just move." He snarls at me.
"Y—yes, of course." I mumble to myself, and nod unsure of what else to really say to that. Starting to look back down at my cards I shuffle my feet moving up the semi-recently vacated spot. "Dammit." Another mutter under my breath as several cards from the bottom of my stacks slip from my grip.
"Do you mind?" he snorts pushing passed me. My back hitting the ledge of the counter behind us as the rest my cards fall to the floor.
"Sorry-again." I can't help but heavily sigh, embarrassment and irritation quickly setting in.
Note to self: ALWAYS have coffee before bank.
Second note to self: Force brother to take father errand running.
Keeping a tight grip on the bank deposit slip in my right hand, I run the other through my hair as I kneel down. Another wave of irritation making it's rounds as I realize I hadn't numbered the study cards, and now looking at them scattered about, all I can think is it's going to take hours to place them back in order.
"Some people." It's a gentle voice but something about it screams trouble. Maybe it's the way I can hear the smirk behind the words without even glancing over. Maybe it's the way I can't help but to smile softly. Or maybe it's the way that despite telling myself I wasn't going to look, I can't help but to do just that. "You're a doctor?"
I know she said something but I was right, I shouldn't have looked.
I know I should be scooping up my cards as quick as possible and moving up the line to avoid further embarrassment, not to mention the people waiting outside for me. I know I should really hurry up the line considering there is about another six people behind me-not including my new 'friend' here. I know I should be completely focused on what I am doing and reminding myself that I swore no distractions of any kind until after I graduate.
One could say that last little bit is thinking a little far ahead, but just looking at her now-serious distraction written all over her.
Despite knowing all of this, all I can think is that she is absolutely, flawlessly, gorgeous. But also completely trouble from head to toes, and if there was any doubt about that the leather pants and two sizes too small tee-shirt just confirm it. She smiling at me or rather smirking as she helps scoop up my fallen notes.
"No." I clear my throat, shake my head and look down at the cards.
"Oh," I look up at the odd tone, she's still smiling. "So, the scrubs are what then? A fashion statement?"
"Um," I chuckle looking down at myself, I had completely forgot I was even wearing them. Hard to believe considering their turquoise, but I guess that happens when you live in your uniform. "Actually yes," I chuckle, picking up the last of my cards from the floor. "I think it makes me come off as something I'm not."
"And that would be?" she gives me this tiny chuckle, handing me back my cards.
"Interesting."
"Oh I see, you're one of those."
"One of those?" I can't help the way my eyebrow raises. I can't be certain if she is insulting me, I've never been very good at reading people's behavior-in regards to myself. Even if she is though, something about the way she's smirking at me makes it okay. Well, maybe not okay considering I just met her and she's insulting me—but okay in the 'it's a playful and sort of flirty' way. At least I think it's flirty.
"Yeah, you know." She does this little shrug, then nods forward. "Overly modest."
"Oh." A nervous chuckle escapes me as I walk the few feet up the line. "Um, yeah-I guess I can be modest."
"Overly modest."
"I don't think it's overly modest. I simply know my limitations, shortcomings—"
"You're standing here in scrubs with a handful of note cards on Halloween morning, managing to piss off the worlds grumpiest guy—and grab my full attention, which isn't easy to do—"
"It's not, hm?"
"Nope, I think I have that AHD thing."
"AHD?" my brow raising again, my head tilting back toward her. "ADHD actually, attention deficit hyperactivity disorder."
"I'm sorry what, I stopped listening after the A." she raises her brow once playfully. "The point I was trying to make before so rudely interrupted—"
"You interrupted me first."
"Wh—" she cuts herself off, a moment of silence as her smirk falters just long enough to convince me I've offended her. "You are—you're something, aren't ya?"
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***Present-August 23, 2014***
"Objection." Evony blurts out, pulling me back to reality. "Not that I and I'm sure several other people here don't enjoy a nice little flirtation between women, but what exactly does this have to do with anything."
"I—I wasn't-" I cut myself off, Dyson giving me a little shake of his head.
"The witness was simply just trying to paint a picture of the events." He answers for me.
"Objection overruled. But counselor, perhaps narrow the scope a little." Judge Asher warns, I can't prove it, but I'm ninety-three percent sure he isn't fond of the A.D.A.
"Of course," Dyson nods, pauses as his features tense and then looks back to me. "Mrs. Lewis, after you met Mrs. Dennis, who was with you through the entire incident, what happened?"
"Me and her made small talk until I was next in line, it was then that my father came in. He had forgotten another deposit."
"So you proceeded as normal? Didn't notice anything-unusual?"
"No. Everything was normal, we finished our business and were starting to walk out."
"And then?"
"And then." I hesitate, eyes falling back down to my lap. I remember every detail of that morning, time hasn't numbed the pain for me. Time hasn't diluted the details, no—for me it's only made them clearer. It's not that I don't remember, it's not that I'm panicking but simply the fact that I know once I say this, it's over. Practicing detail after detail in the comfort of Dyson's office, in the back of Vex's bar, in my own home—it made it clinical. It made it somewhat less real in a way, but now—now it matters.
Now my words count for something.
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*** October 31st, 2010. ***
"She's cute." My father whispers to me in the most playful way a five-ten, retired detective with a deep raspy voice and overbearing presence can. His elbow nudging my arm, as he chuckles.
"Father."
"Daughter." Another chuckle accompanied by another nudge. "You need to get out more, all those books all the time aren't good for you."
"Really?" it's my turn to chuckle as I look over at him.
"GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!" Bryan yells as he and his brother burst in from the main entrance, just as we reached the start of the four steps up to the platform where they're now standing. "GET DOWN ON THE GROUND!" he repeats, cocking his shotgun.
My hand going to my father's arm stopping him from doing what I know he's thinking about. Just out of the corner of my eye I see Jason and Barry Reed coming in from the secondary entrance on the opposite side of the bank.
"Back up old man." Bryan orders, him and his brother starting down the steps giving us no choice but to walk backward. My father holding his arm out in front of me, trying to usher me behind himself.
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***Present-August 23, 2014***
"Objection."
"Mrs. Morgan, the word isn't going out of style." His tone now less amused with her antics. "What is the cause of this one?"
"The witness is using the defendants' names, these men who committed this crime were wearing ski-masks at the time. How could she possibly know?"
"Perhaps if you didn't object every five second she could explain." Dyson's irritation beginning to gnaw at his once calm resolve.
"Mrs. Lewis, how exactly are you sure if in fact the men were in masks?" Judge Asher looks down at me, I can feel his gaze but I won't look up.
"Barry Reed was identified by his body. Taylor Wright had at one point in time briefly pulled his mask up before his brother calmed him down. I know it was Bryan because in order to calm Taylor down he called him brother and they were never more than fifteen feet apart. Jason," I can't help but find his name catching in my throat the way air does right before you find yourself vomiting. "I recognized him by his eyes, by his voice."
"Your honor seriously?"
"Your honor, the witness is saying what she saw and knows to be fact. Besides the only other way to go about this would be to assign them numbers, masked-man number one and so on. Not that I doubt the jury's intelligence but I find myself getting dizzy now just thinking about trying to keep track."
"Objection overruled, but I'm warning you counselor—don't make me regret the leeway I am so generously granting you."
"Of course." Dyson nods respectfully, though I'm sure he's called him ten different names in his mind by now. "So, these men came in with force?"
"Yes, they were loud at first that was it. They were trying to be intimidating, and for a while a few of us weren't worried all too much."
"Why is that?"
"Because they seemed to be over compensating. They never touched anyone, they never threatened to kill us. Just loud, waved their guns around but didn't really point them at anyone in particular. Barry and Taylor seemed—nervous."
"Well they were robbing a bank full of people, nervous would be-understandable."
"No, more as if they were having second thoughts. It actually made me, my father and Mrs. Dennis rather optimistic about the situation. Barry stayed toward the exit, constantly looking as if he was going to bolt. Tylor kept telling a pair of crying children it was going to be okay."
"Well if you, and several others followed their instructions implicitly, even felt safe, how did things get so far out of hand?"
"They-it had to have been five minutes and then Bryan said about the money and Jason realized that no one had alerted the police. They were in full control." I run my hand through my hair, looking up to meet Jason's eye. "He said he wanted to play."
"To play?" he snorts. "That sounds more like a line from a movie than something someone would say."
"At first they argued amongst themselves, then it was pretty much just Jason and then Bryan followed when people began to struggle. Just, taunting people, hitting them, ripped the shirt off a bank teller. It was childish at first, cruel but nothing you wouldn't see on a playground."
"What changed?"
"It must have been thirty minutes, maybe twenty no one even tried to come to the bank, it was like suddenly the world forgot about us. Then-then my brother came looking for me and my father. Long of the short, the police came, they panicked, things turned very violent but then-"
"But then." He nods his head, features softening as he walks toward me. "If I'm to understand correctly it wasn't until the twenty minutes prior to their escape that things turned deadly."
"That's correct." Sighing I nod as I give him my answer, I know what comes next. He's going to ask me what changed, and as much as I'd like to give him an answer-I don't know what changed.
But I do know the events that followed-they would have to suffice.
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*** October 31st, 2010. ***
"Are you okay?" I ask, looking over at Bo as she rubs her right hand with her left. Apparently she hadn't been moving fast enough for Bryan which earned her a shove to the floor.
"Define okay." Her answer accompanied by a faint chuckle.
"Um, a state of being satisfactory, though not exceptionally or especially good."
"Seriously?" her brow raises, a timid smirk pulling at the corner of her mouth as she tilts her head toward me.
"Yes, what?"
"Tone it down." My father says under his breath in a fake cough, earning me to look to my left at him, but his eyes stay firmly on Jason.
"Well, then I would say I am okay." She chuckles softly, almost as if for a minute she's forgotten where we are. "So Doc," her features turn serious, her shoulder digging into mine as she leans against me. Her voice dropping to a whisper as her eyes move out onto the floor. "Do you think any of the injuries are dire?"
"Define dire." My own eyes staying on Barry now as he stares out toward the door.
"Like if these assholes decide to keep us in here a few more hours they won't make it."
"Probably not, most are superficial with a mere few slightly over that. The only one I would worry about is the bank manager, I didn't see how bad the stab wound was."
"I give him another hour, tops." My father whispers, he would know since he was the closest when it happened.
"Scardy and Dopey would be easy to take," she glances at me. "The other two though would be the issue."
"What exactly do you do again?" my eyes fixing on her, though she's already looking away.
"Me? I'm a bartender for two different clubs, what I'm going to do is be a cop, change the world and all that."
"Sound more enthusiastic about it on your interview." My father cuts in, looking at her-at me. "They pay attention that."
"What are you doing?" Taylor's voice cuts through the air, everyone's attention going to Jason as he has this girl, no older than eight by the wrist. He's jerking her with no regard for her screams, or those of her mother's, who is holding on for dear life. "What are you doing man?!"
"I want to play." His chuckle suddenly the scariest thing in the world-until I hear the pop of his gun. An array of screams coming from us, myself included-I think. For a moment I think it's the girl he's shot, but then I see her mother's body slump to the floor.
"What the fuck?!" Barry lets out, the question repeated over and over as he goes toward Jason, who in turn just keeps laughing and telling him to calm down.
I can hear the four of them screaming at one another, their voices blending into one as they begin to fade away. My eyes never once leaving the pool of blood beneath the woman's head. I was used to cadavers, used to blood and organs-but there was something about the fact that just moments ago she was alive-and now-she isn't. I don't even realize I'm shaking until I feel Bo's hand on my arm.
"Keep her here." I hear my father say, and for a minute I don't understand what he's telling me to do. It's not until I feel the grip on my arm tighten that I know his words aren't for me. "Listen," he says walking toward the arguing foursome, his arms raised up from his sides. "I'm a retired cop, they just heard a gunshot, and they're looking in here—if they see you holding onto the girl like that, they will come in."
"Sit the fuck down." Jason says as calmly as can be, the girl whimpering—I think he's pulled her or maybe tighten his grip around her throat. My father obstructing most of my view.
"Just think about this rationally, I don't want anyone else to get hurt."
"Then sit back down."
"I will-as soon as you let the girl go. In fact you want a hostage-you want a punching bag, I volunteer. I know how they think out there, they won't storm if they see you have me."
"Listen to him, let the damn girl go." Barry snarls at him, his free hand pulling his mask off and tossing to the floor. "Let the kid go, leave me here and go. Let them have me, she's just a kid man."
"Stupidity, poverty, morals—all disgusting fucking diseases." His absurd statement followed by another shot, another wave of screams.
This time though the screams, the sobs don't stop after a few seconds. The yelling doesn't stop. My father falls to his knees, Barry rushes Jason allowing the girl to run for the door. There's several shots, several things yelled from the bank-robbing brothers.
It takes me a minute to realize my father is on his knees, I mean I know he is but it doesn't register that something is wrong. It's not until he falls to his side-and then his back that it clicks for me.
Bo is pulling my arm to keep me in place as I try to stand-try to crawl along the floor to him.
I brake her hold, my hands and feet pushing against the ground as I make my way to him. Less than three feet away there is another shot—but this one is followed by a thud. My body jumping at the sound, and as I scoot the last three feet to my father, my eyes move up just enough to see Barry's body lying on the ground. A gunshot wound to his head, eyes open and staring into mine.
"Back up." Jason's voice cold, but no longer as calm as it was, no longer is there enjoyment lacing his words. "I said back up."
"I heard you." My words a snarling sob, as I glare up at him, my trembling hands covering the gushing wound on my father's chest. I haven't seen it, haven't even looked down at him but the word seems fitting considering that even pressing as hard as I am, blood is still managing to find a way out.
"You didn't look all that stupid," his eyebrow raises as I assume he smirks, his gun raising up to become even with my forehead. "Seems I misjudged."
"It's her father. It's her father." I hear Bo repeat, over and over again. One hand on my shoulder as she holds the other up toward him, as if that would make him stop.
I keep the pressure tight as I never once break eye contact, even when I realize my father isn't breathing-I don't think he ever had been since the moment his knees hit the ground—but I can't bring myself to accept that.
"He isn't breathing." Bo's voice, full of panic. Her own trembling hands going over mine that have fallen still, and then to his head. I don't look over at her, but from my peripheral I see enough to know she is trying CPR-it's too late. "He's not breathing." Her wrist grazing my hands as she attempts chest compressions, but my eyes stay locked with Jason's, never once breaking. "He's-not breathing."
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***Present-August 23, 2014***
I look down at my shoes, my heart aching to the point that I feel like I can't breathe. Tears run down my cheeks but I don't wipe them away, my hands stay folded in my lap. Bo's voice, those words echoing in my ears. The look in his eyes as fresh in my memory as it was that day.
"No further questions." Dyson's voice sounds distance, I wonder why at first until I hear the sound of chairs being moved-then the sound of heels follows.
"I'll make this as quick and as painless as possible." Bullshit. "Just two very simple questions Mrs. Lewis." I look up at her, tears no longer falling freely but regardless my vision still slightly distorted. "The first being that please correct me if I am wrong, but apart from Barry Reed, you never saw any of their faces?"
"I told you, I saw—"
"You saw the third bank robber pull up his mask, but you didn't get a good look did you? I mean it's understandable, you were in a horrible situation, you were in shock from your father's death. You can't be sure what you saw."
"I gave a description of him—"
"No, you gave a description that could fit any young man with a darker skin complexion."
"I—I'm not racist."
"No, of course not. But my client, Taylor has a very distinct look-your description looked very stereotypical. Very—basic. You even got the hair style wrong."
"I only saw the side of his head, that part was correct."
"Right, the side of his head was correct, the only problem is the rest wasn't. You said he took his mask off, but that isn't true otherwise you would have known his hair was different and described that, right?"
"Objection, she's attacking the witness' character." Dyson snaps.
"I'm not, really. I have nothing but respect and sympathy for Mrs. Lewis, I am just pointing out that in a traumatized state, after just seeing her father murdered in front of her, she could have possibly not been thinking clearly."
"I'll allow it." Of course he will.
"Is it possible Mrs. Lewis?"
"I know what I saw."
"With all of these inconsistences, with everything that was happening around you. Is it possible you got it wrong?"
"I know what I saw."
"Just yes or no."
"Evony I know what I saw." My voice raises, an indescribable pain in my chest replaced with a pure and undiluted anger.
"Your honor I request a recess." Dyson practically yells his 'request', as he jumps up.
"Answer the question first Mrs. Lewis." Judge Asher says in a lower, sympathetic tone.
"If-you look at the facts on paper, in black and white then yes."
"Thank you." Evony says, already turning her back to me. "No further questions."
She can twist the situation as she wishes. Manipulate the facts to her benefit. Attack my character. It doesn't matter.
I know what I saw.
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Municipal Building—Women's Bathroom—10:13 a.m.
"Hey." Her soft, unmistakable voice echoes the room but all I really hear is the pity that laces her words.
"Hey." I can't help but sigh, hands gripping the white porcelain as if for dare life. My eyes stay focused on the little, silver circle around the drain but my head is tilted just enough toward the door to see her perfectly out of the corner of my eye.
"I um," her voice cracks as she looks behind herself and gestures pointlessly at the door. She seems—different, less confident than I remember her being. "I wanted to see if you were okay." It takes a conscious effort not to snort at the comment. "Things kinda went to shit in there rather quickly."
"You think?"
"I'm up next. I've been prepped and shit, hell been in court more times than I can count in my life time but this, this is-something else."
"Word of advice," inhaling deeply through my nose, clenching my jaw as another wave of nausea ripples through me, I look over to her. "May as well say goodbye to your dignity now."
"Yeah," she does this sort of snorted chuckle, arms folding over her chest. "The defense attorney seems like a real ballbuster."
"Oh, you have no idea." My eyes advert to the floor, it's not like she'll notice. She hasn't looked me in the eyes once.
"You've been coming to all of-"
"Been here every single day," I turn back to the sink, eyes finding the drain once again. "Every day I've been allowed to I mean."
"I've wanted to, but-"
"No you didn't." I turn to face her again, the sharpness in my tone catching her off guard. "I didn't want to come. Reliving this day over and over again, hearing it over and over again-getting to experience it through different people's eyes. Experience their fear while never forgetting my own."
"Yeah." Her jaw locks as she nods almost as if in defeat.
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Lauren's Apartment—9:56 p.m.
What are you doing?
That's the question I seem to always find myself asking.
I've yet to come up with an adequate answer.
I take a gulp of my freshly refilled wine, I know I may as well just stay in the kitchen-it'll be gone by the time I make the short walk to the couch.
I ignore logic—partially. I find myself stopped in between the kitchen and the couch, eyes falling on the several bags I've packed that now resemble a pile next to the door. A slight twinge of guilt breaking through the seemingly unwavering anger. The same anger that caused me to get a speeding ticket on the way home. The same anger that caused me to tear apart the bedroom, office and bathroom searching for her shit to throw away. Luckily I calmed down before I actually threw it in the dumpster, spending my night chasing down a garbage truck through the city would be a little too much for my already devastated ego.
Tearing my eyes away from the very expensive pile of crap, I walk around the couch. I know I should double back and refill my glass but I suppose having to get up every few minutes is actually detouring me away from downing the entire bottle.
I lean back into the corner of the couch, I mean to look at the television. Some stupid reality show on, about the only thing they play now a days. Have to love American television. But instead my eyes fall onto the row of pictures resting atop the length of the bookshelf which runs along a decent portion of the wall, just underneath the television.
Some book-or movie said that photographs were nothing more than lies. Something about how if you wanted to you could make the picture come across however you wanted. I suppose it's true.
Looking at them in this moment, they all seem so fake. Even the way I have them displayed, it's all an illusion of sorts.
Seven pictures, seven little lies feeding into bigger lies.
The one in the middle that of my mother and father along with a very young version of myself and my brother. Two pictures of graduations, my brother's and my own. Just my father and us. A picture of myself and my father on the beach back just before I graduated high school, and one of him and my brother on the same day. One of myself, Vex and Evony at the Seventh Symphony, the night she won her first big case. Then the last little lie, one of just me and her—smiling and looking so happy.
All of the pictures look perfect, may as well use them as the model pictures in the frames.
Seven perfect little lies, lies because if we were really all that happy-this wouldn't be where we've ended up.
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Wednesday
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Seventh Symphony—8:23 p.m.
"You plan on babysitting that all night?"
"Hm?" my brow furrows before I even realize what he's asking me. My only answer a trademark wolf grin as he reaches across the table, and clanks the bottom of his bottle against my own. "Oh, I'm going to finish it."
"You sure?"
"I'm positive."
"I thought you hate warm beer."
"I do, but it's not warm." I bring the rim to my lips, a mere sip slipping passed but it's enough to make my stomach turn-I won't give him the satisfaction though. "Mmm." I force a smile, bringing the bottle back down to the table where it will stay until he ventures off to the bathroom, in which time I'll get another.
"Always so stubborn."
"It's in my nature."
"Is that so?" he chuckles, taking another hearty drink. "You need to get out of your head Lauren."
"My father used to say that." My eyes falling to the table as I take another drink. Shit. Forgot. I try not to make a face but by the way he shakes his head, I know I'm busted.
"Your father was a smart man."
"That he was."
"Well since you know that, why don't you take his advice?"
"I will." I nod, earning another 'yeah, sure' look from him. It was always a double edge sword with him.
He could play the role of brother yet on the other hand it only reminded me of how my relationship with my real brother had diminished. He could substitute in almost every way for a lover, though on the other hand it only reminded me from time to time how much I missed a real relationship-perhaps that's why I continuously fall back into my-situation with Evony. He could play the role of the best friend perfectly, but then there are always the little things that remind me that at the end of the day, he's an A.D.A and I'm his witness.
"I really will." I smile, another nod. "Once this trial is all said and done. Once those monsters are off the streets for good, then I can focus on having a life beyond the court room."
"And the hospital."
"Yes, and beyond the hospital."
"And not just with Evony."
"Let's not," I hold my hand up, shaking my head. "Just let's not go there now."
I lean further into the back of the booth, fingers of my right hand taping the bottle as I listen to the beat of a song I would never listen to on my own. My eyes wandering out onto the dance floor as his attention turns to the rest of his obnoxiously, large hamburger.
He's right, I should let go of this thing with Evony. It wasn't always toxic, in fact for the longest it was quite the opposite. Honestly, even now if you were to remove this little courtroom drama, it still has it's moments. She's beautiful, smart, caring when she wants to be-we have history. But I constantly find myself defending our relationship-mostly to myself. But beyond the red flag that raises, what scares me more is that I find myself wondering if it's really her I want or that I'm just afraid of going through this alone.
"Hey."
"Hey." I can't help the little smile that forces it's way onto my lips as I look up at Bo who has managed to approach our table without detection.
"Goodbye." Dyson chuckles, nearly jumping to his feet as he grabs his plate in one hand and beer in the other. "Oh yeah," he looks between us and gives the most immature nod I've ever seen. "Goodnight ladies."
"Mind if I?" she smirks, eyes glancing at the freshly vacated seat as she needlessly gestures to it with her bottle as well. I'm beginning to wonder if she actually gestures this frequently-or perhaps specifically when she's nervous.
"By all means."
"Thank you." She starts sliding into the seat, her eyes meeting mine—she's a bit tipsy I can tell. Something about her level of comfort, the body language-the fact she actually looks me in the eyes. "This doesn't really seem like the kind of place I'd imagine you hanging out. Dyson, maybe though." She chuckles and I can't help but to do the same.
"It grows on you. Sort of like diatoms." I can't help but chuckle again as she just stares at me blankly. "It's a prolific type of algae." I take a sip as she continues to smirk blankly at me. "Algae is-"
"I know what algae is."
"Okay, good. I was getting a little worried."
"I bet you were." She shakes her head, laughing as she brings the bottle to her lips.
"I'm actually close with the owner."
"Vex?" her eyes widen, I guess it's safe to say she knows him.
"Yeah, he um, he grows on you too."
"I've yet to have that happen."
"When exactly did you meet him? You're definitely the type I would hear about."
"Please don't make it sound like we've gone out on a date or something."
"Not your type?" my eyebrow raises as does my bottle, another chuckle escaping.
"Not in the least."
"Well then, what exactly would be Bo Dennis' type?"
"Ooh, tough question." She gets this devilish smirk, I know I'm in trouble. "Long legs, blonde, pretty eyes with a beautiful smile-to start with."
"Flirty as ever I see."
"You know what they say, flirting is just like a sport."
"No one says that." I can't help but laugh.
"Oh, I'm sure they do. I've heard it before."
"Yes, in a song from the early two-thousands."
"Then it's a saying."
"No." I shake my head. "It's simply not the same."
"Well, fine then. As of now I adopt it."
"Adopt it?"
"Yes, adopt it. It's my saying now, put a 'TM' on the end of it."
"I worry about your sanity."
"Do you now? What a coinkydink, so do I."
I run my hand through my hair, eyes wandering back out onto the floor as I try to keep from laughing. I was right, she had changed. I can admit I am not the best person to pass judgment on character. I can also admit I hardly know her well enough to say definitive there has been change but-there's just something I see.
That day in the bank, she was flirty and charming but in a very sexual and seductive way. Nothing wrong with it, in fact I ended up dating someone like that. But now, there is this softness, this gentle maturity I didn't see that day.
She still has that sexual, seductive, smoldering appeal but there is also something disarming about her—something safe.
"I'm sorry about our mishap in the bathroom yesterday."
"I could take that comment somewhere very dirty." I smile softly, I'm sure she could. In fact I'm pretty sure she could take pretty much any comment there, but by the way her smirk turns to a polite smile, I assume she realizes I am trying to be genuine. "No worries Doc, I understand."
"Do you?"
"Completely." She takes a swing. "After my—run in with the escapee of the ninth circle of hell, I went over to the shooting range. I don't imagine doctors have a release like that."
"Golf is the normal M.D. pass time."
"Golf?" she snorts as if I've just told the world's funniest joke. "You—golf?"
"Oh God no," my head shaking excessively before I even think about it. "I just meant that's what most doctors do to relieve stress."
"Does it work?"
"It didn't for me, in fact had the opposite effect considering I could hardly hit the ball. When I did, I could never get it in the hole." My lips curving into a smirk as I watch her eyes get this little glimmer to them. "Don't even."
"I wasn't going to say it-but you know." She nods, her laughter mixing with mine until that's the only sound filling my ears. "You know-"
"What?" I ask, watching her as she takes another drink.
"You were right."
"I often am." What was our continuous laughter slowly begins fading away. "About what?"
"What you said, about not actually wanting to be there." Six seconds and ten words and I'm right back to that day. Right back into this soul shattering vortex I can't seem to break free from. "I've never been one to scare easy, even less since I've started working. Those times though that I have been, I've always been able to fool others, trick myself even into believing I'm not. That day though—"
"People tend to try and avoid situations in which remind them of their pain, their mortality, even their weaknesses."
"I'm confronted with mortality every day, not just my own." Her tone hardens ever so slightly, a narrow point to her words. I've offended her.
"Weakness then."
"You know, there's this quote. 'One of the greatest discoveries a man makes, one of his great surprises, is to find he can do what he was afraid he couldn't do'."
"Henry Ford."
"You know it?" she just chuckles softly, brow raising a bit. "Of course you do, how silly of me."
"It's a very powerful quote."
"See, I don't think I'm-or I was trying to avoid weakness, but rather who I was."
"Who were you?"
"I-I was someone very different then. Don't get me wrong, I'm not saying I shit rainbows, run with unicorns and have a permeant halo now or any bullshit like that, but I was just-"
"Different."
"Yeah."
"I know what you mean." Sadly.
"It's funny."
"Funny?" I'm sure I make a face, since that was not what I was expecting her next words to be.
"Funny how everything can change in an instant."
"I don't know if I agree with that."
"What?" this time it's her turn to give me the puzzled look.
"I understand the broad meaning of the statement, but I just, don't know if an entire life can change in its entirety in a mere instant."
"I think it can." She gives me this little shrug.
"Clearly." I take a drink, a second to remind myself this isn't debate class. "Do you have any proof of this notion of yours?"
"Proof?"
"Yeah, proof. Evidence or argument establishing or helping to establish a fact or truth of a statement."
"You know, sometimes I can't tell if you're really just a smartass or if this is just really how you interact with people."
"Probably a little of both." I try to stifle my smirk.
"Both, huh?" she flashes a grin, her eyes falling to my lips. "Well Mrs. Lewis, it is very endearing in an odd sort of way."
"A paradox of sorts."
"Now you're just showing off with your fancy vocabulary-trying to impress me."
"Possibly." This time it's my eyes that wander down the curve of her jaw to halt at her lips. "Is it working?"
"Possibly."
I shift slightly, watching her as she take another drink. I don't actually think we're drinking to drink anymore but rather to give us a brief reprieve. A reprieve to think of the next thing to say, the right thing to say maybe is a better choice of words. It's not that it's difficult to talk to her, in fact it's easier than ever expected. The conversation just sort of flows between us, like water down a stream. I'm not even really nervous-until I realized she has been checking me out this entire time.
I just find myself scared. Scared of saying the wrong thing. Scared of offending her. Scared of letting something slip. Scared of pulling her into this little black hole I spend most of my days in.
My lips pars to ask her something I've never asked someone before, but the sound of my phone going off shatters my confidence.
"I'm sorry." Sighing to myself, I look down at my phone.
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Evony: I know you don't want to talk to me right now but a friend at the station just called. Your brother has been taken in on another DUI. I'm already on my way to the station. (9:31 p.m.)
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"Everything okay?" she asks with such genuine concern, it's interesting to me how she can be so empathetic and yet hardly know me.
"No. Yes, it's fine." I give her a polite smile as I bring myself to my feet, scooping up my jacket as I do. "Thank you-for tonight, it's been a while since I enjoyed someone's company so much."
"Anytime." She smiles up at me, this sweet and innocent smile that I honestly never expected to see from her.
I can't help but wonder if she means it in the passing polite way people tend to use it as-or maybe she actually means it in its literal sense.
I hope it's the latter-at least I think I do.
Returning the smile, I slip into my jacket and steal one last glance of her before slipping back into the real world.