~13~


~Chapter Thirteen~


This is an aspect of crime stories I never fully appreciated until I became one: it is so ruinously expensive to mount a defense that, innocent or guilty, the accusation is itself a devastating punishment. Every defendant pays a price.

~William Landay, Defending Jacob~


The courthouse is abuzz with people. Packed to full capacity because everyone wants to be the first to report on today's proceedings. Outside, a crowd stands, hoisting signs in the air that say burn in hell, Gilbert, and other, more colorful expletives.

Cameramen lug their equipment around, hoping to get the best possible vantage point, so everyone at home can see the drama unfold just as vividly as those who woke up early to get a seat inside.

This isn't a new thing—trials have been broadcasted on television for many years. I believe the first case to get publicity as veracious as this would have been Ted Bundy's in the seventies. And of course, many other prolific trials followed: the Menéndez Brothers, Pamela Smart, Aileen Wuornos, O.J. Simpson… and now, you can add Jeremy Gilbert to that list.

The first accused murderer from the tiny town of Mystic Falls.

A reputation he will never truly be able to outrun, no matter how fast he goes.

I sigh, scoping out the lobby once more before smoothing my blouse and marching over to the side of the lobby where courtroom 5a is located. I've always found it surreal that a room so small, could be the place where people hand out fates of such enormity that they have the power to change the course of multiple lives in one fell swoop.

And that (ironically) is what I found to be comforting most of the time. Because, if I do my job just right, those who made other people suffer, caused innocent people such anguish, will feel the same; doomed to rot away in a cage until they die by execution or natural causes.

I never envied my opponent's uphill battle or willingness to help those who usually didn't deserve it—as it took an even greater emotional toll on them than my job did me. But I respected their ability to set aside their suppositions about their clients and disgust for the crimes to defend someone who is already condemned.

It's a lot of hard work, and they deserve praise for doing it, but I never fully understood the weight of losing such a fight if the accused aren't the ones who broke the law. If an innocent human being got punished for something so heinous that it makes even the most seasoned of lawyers and judges cry themselves to sleep at night, then how do you deal with the guilt of not being able to stop the damage?

Taking a deep breath, I search the sea of bodies for the Gilbert family.

Today is the first of very many battles, and I have to go over the procedure with everyone one more time before we enter the courtroom. My eyes land on them when I turn my head to the right. They're waiting by the side entrance into the building, which they must have used to bypass the masses outside. I briefly wonder who would've let them in that way, before tabling it in favor of more important matters.

Like the first day of Jeremy's trial.

I'd be lying if I said I am not the least bit nervous. My anxiousness skyrockets as I get closer to my family-not-related-by-blood. There's a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that tells me I may have bitten off more than I can chew, that I made promises without actually meaning to, and I'm worried that all I've done won't be enough.

And I know that's not an option.

Elena reaches for me before awkwardly pulling her hand away, eyes darting from one end of the room to the other. "Sorry—I forgot that we are in public."

"I know," I say sympathetically. My own heart drops when she draws back. Probably due to both nerves and adrenaline. "It'll be okay."

"Of course, it will! You always find a way to make things work."

I let out a shaky breath. "I try."

After a few minutes of giving Elena, Matt, John, and Isobel another quick rundown, I check my watch. My wrist feels as though it is weighted down like an anchor is pulling my whole arm toward the floor.

"It's time to go in," I say quietly. "I'll see you guys afterward."

My stomach does another round of somersaults as they walk toward the courtroom, mouth going so dry that the back of my throat hurts. I feel like this is my first-time practicing law as if this is the beginning of my career, a new lawyer with no confidence in herself.

It kind of is like that, though.

I just wish that were the sole cause of my anxiety.

Straightening my back, I raise my chin, hold my head high, and march into the courtroom as if nothing is bothering me. The last thing Jeremy needs is an article detailing how incompetent his lawyer is at her job. That won't do him any favors—especially since he already fucked up by posting on social media.

When I see Jeremy, I almost don't recognize him.

It's funny, if only because he listened to my every instruction to the letter. His tie is on straight, dark hair slicked back, shirt wrinkle-free and tucked into his khakis, a somber expression on his face.

I relax a little. It's nice to know that Jer is beginning to realize that he needs to take things a little more seriously. Maybe my many reminders of how everything about him is under scrutiny has finally sunk in.

When he finally walks over to his spot, I have to resist the urge to reach for him. For a moment, all I can think of is that preteen boy with the crushed expression on his face, depressed that he had to play second fiddle because Elena was getting married.

No one else knows how much Jeremy cares about his family. His gloomy mood morphed into a sense of apathy that locks so many people out that they think he has it in him to stab someone he loves to death.

I wonder, though, how many people besides me—and Anna—saw his vulnerability. Surely someone else caught a glimpse of it. Kai hinted at that very thing when he gave me his perspective on Jeremy and Anna's relationship. Maybe I needed to rely on him a little more; see what other information I can gather from his intel.

At first, it's easy to tune out the side conversations going on around me. But then, every so often, I'd catch the tail end of a nasty comment, and my nerves would go haywire once more.

It's a vicious cycle—one that doesn't stop until that familiar phrase breaks through all of the chatter.

"All rise."

The room goes silent. All that can be heard are the sounds of people shuffling to their feet as the judge graces us with his presence.

The person presiding over the actual trial isn't the same one from Jeremy's arraignment. This judge makes the previous one look like she spews sunshine and rainbows. His age shows in the wrinkles on his forehead. Lines that are more than likely exacerbated by his severe expression. He is frowning, gray eyebrows furrowed, his beady eyes narrowed into slits.

Immediately, I know that he is the kind of no-nonsense person I'm usually happy to see walk into a courtroom. He doesn't look like he has the patience to put up with leading questions or surprise witnesses—the kind of person who doesn't put up with pushing the envelope.

I have to remind myself that I'm not the prosecutor, though. Usually, I don't have that much trouble with guys like him because I make sure to choose my words carefully and use them to bolster the evidence. I have to present the motive, discount an alibi, point to glaring flaws in the defendant's claims. Now, whatever I say has to be strong enough to sway the jury's perception of the narrative and by-the-book people like Judge Grey don't like giving attorneys a platform to do that.

You are being presumptuous, I chastise myself. Stop borrowing trouble; you've got enough of that as it is.

"Would the defense like to provide an opening statement?"

My voice doesn't sound like my own. I feel like I'm having an out of body experience as I begin to speak. It's as if I'm high above everyone else and a robot is standing in my place. "Yes, Your Honor."

I glide across the floor, positioning myself in the center, glancing at the rows of everyday people, though I don't recognize any of them—my motion to select from a jury pool outside of Mystic Falls had been granted without much fuss. It had become clear, quite early on, that Jeremy wouldn't stand a chance if anyone from his hometown had a say in the verdict.

"The prosecutor is going to paint a compelling picture for you, he's going to set the scene; tell you every salacious detail of my client's romantic evening with Miss Zhu. He'll tell you that Mr. Gilbert—" I pause for emphasis, pointing to where Jeremy sits, hoping that he is making appropriate use of his wide brown eyes. "Wanted to take things much further than Miss Zhu did. He's going to tell you all about what allegedly happened after that. He's going to claim that my client forced himself upon an innocent young girl, brutalizing her in the most disturbing way many of us have ever seen. What he won't tell you though, is that my client couldn't have possibly murdered Anna Zhu. He was with his sister when she was killed, that he reacted as anyone would in this situation, with surprise and sadness. Disbelief, at first. Who wouldn't? He had seen her less than ten hours before the news of her death broke… in my client's mind, the was no way Anna could be dead. He'd dropped her on the street that faces her backyard. She was home. She was supposed to be safe—and she wasn't. What happened in the hours after they parted ways is anyone's guess…? The only person who will be able to fill in the blanks for us is the killer and that is not Jeremy Gilbert. As you listen to the prosecution's argument, keep in mind the timeline… you'll see that it doesn't match the evidence that will be presented to you. Anna Zhu's death is a tragedy. She was the light of her family's life… let's not tarnish her memory by putting the wrong person behind bars. Anna was a young woman who always tried to do the right thing… let's keep that going by searching for the true perpetrator. Let's get this right—for Anna."

~~X~~

"If we're going to do this, we're going to do this right."

I snort. "And what is the 'right' way to play hooky, Damon?"

"By getting as far away from Mystic Falls as we possibly can without leaving the state," he says simply, throwing my backpack into the trunk of the Camaro.

I glance at the sky. It's early in the morning—the sun hasn't risen yet—but I can tell that there is very little chance of rain today. There isn't a cloud in sight, but that doesn't mean I want to rely on Damon's car to take us to wherever we are going. No rain means the unreliability of the flimsy roof won't be that big of an issue. However, I'm still skeptical of Damon's auto repair skills.

Faulty doors and convertible tops aside, I'm wary of the Camaro's engine. It's okay when we are going to the old movie theater or the diner on the outskirts of town, but will it hold up during a long trip?

"Can't we take my car?"

"Your car is lame," Damon shakes his head and pushes my sunglasses off the top of my head and onto the bridge of my nose.

"She is not!"

He laughs at me as I rip the glasses off my face. It's much easier to get my point across when I can look at him directly. "You're a jerk—you know that used to be Grams' car."

He gathers up all the seriousness he can muster before he answers me. "I know, and your Gram's left it to you, so you weren't stuck here, she wanted you to be free… she wanted you to be happy. So, just relax… feel the wind in your hair… have fun, Bennett, it won't kill you."

I don't answer him—he makes a valid point. Grams always used to tell me that I needed to stop worrying so much. That there will be plenty of time for me to work as an adult. That I'm only young once. That I need to enjoy myself. And, so far, Damon has been the only one that has allowed me to do that.

This thought brings a lot of guilt, though. I feel like Elena should be doing some of these things with me. I feel bad that I am relieved she isn't with me right now. Her life has been consumed by Matt Donovan… and every other guy that tries to get her attention.

I don't blame them—Elena is amazing. She's funny, kind, and popular. But the more time she devotes to Matt, the less she notices how I'm feeling. It used to be easy to tell her things, it used to be easy to cry on her shoulder if I needed to let it all out. But lately, she's been too distracted to listen to me vent.

And now… well, I don't need to spend hours dissecting the tone in which Matt told her that he loved her. I don't need to put our study session on hold when her boyfriend calls her on the phone. I don't have to try to block out her girlish giggles or watch as she twirls the cord around her finger and makes plans for the following weekend.

"Fine—I'll let you drive."

Damon smirks, blue eyes glittering triumphantly. "I knew you'd give in."

"I'm not 'giving in,'" I counter indignantly, walking around to the passenger's side. I heft my leg up and over the door. "I'm being gracious. You should try it sometime."

"And steal your thunder?" he asks, slipping his own pair of sunglasses on his nose. "Never."


The sun has disappeared behind the rows and rows of headstones and now the moon hangs in the sky, shining down upon the Founder's mausoleum, a beacon of light in the darkness, reinforced by millions of sparkling stars.

It's much cooler now and I have pulled my knees up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them. I should've brought a pair of pants along with me but all I have are the denim shorts I'm wearing, still damp from the time we spent in the ocean.

"Cold, Bennett?" Damon's voice breaks the silence.

I fight against the shiver that runs down my spine. "I'm fine."

"Yeah… and I've got an A in Tanner's class. Now that we've both spewed bullshit, you can stop being a martyr and tell me the truth."

The truth is a bit more complicated than that. I'm cold, but I'm also feeling pensive—like I could spend hours and hours inside my head wondering why breaking the rules feels better than following them.

Or why being with Damon is so easy when I know that, if my father were to find out about all the trouble I've been partaking in, I'd not only be grounded but also given a lecture about how he is working so much to make sure I don't need to take out as big a loan to go to college.

"…Do you ever regret hanging out with me?"

His answer is immediate. "No—what does that have to do with your savior complex?"

I sigh. "I don't know… I was just thinking about how I'm glad we are friends… that I don't hate you like I used to. Today was… nice," I smile at him ruefully.

"Yeah, it was," he agrees, sliding across the hood of the Camaro, closing what little distance had been between us. "I'm glad I don't hate you now… I can't believe I thought you were boring."

"Are you saying you were wrong about something?"

"I'm saying that you changed my mind—there's a difference."

"Uh-huh. Sure, there is—your nose is growing."

Stupid smirk. Low chuckle. "That sounds like the perfect set-up for a dirty joke."

"You are so gross, Salvatore!" I shove him, laughing despite myself.

"Sorry—I forgot how innocent you were. Don't want to ruin your angelic brain."

"I'm not innocent," I argue, sticking my tongue out at Damon. "I may not be as experienced as you, but Elena gave me all the gory details when she and Matt had sex for the first time." I shudder. "We had to have a talk about boundaries after that."

"And did she listen to you?" Damon raises an eyebrow.

"Yes," I say curtly. "Now she just keeps asking me if I'll let her set me up with Luka. That way, we can go on double dates and I might loosen up or something."

"Are you going to let her?" I can't quite put my finger on it, but Damon sounds less than happy about that idea.

I shrug. "I don't know—I tried talking to him a few times… we didn't click, but I'm getting tired of her bugging me about finding a boyfriend."

"Luka's a douchebag. You can do way better than him."

I scoff. "No one else has shown any interest. And besides, I'm just sick of her gloating about her love life."

"So, you've said."

"Why would I want to set myself up for that kind of heartbreak anyway?" I ask, not expecting a response. "My mom ditched my dad… people like to dip when shit gets tough."

"And I thought I was jaded… but yeah, you're right…"

"I don't think I'll ever settle down," I go on, not sure where all of the raw emotion is coming from. "It's not worth it in the end."

Damon is quiet. He is probably thinking about Rose and Elena. Rose ripped his heart out and Elena is constantly waxing poetic about Matt. He can't argue with anything I've said thus far, which goes against his every instinct, and it must be killing him.

"I can have sex without the attachment if I want to…" I look at Damon from the corner of my eye. He's gone from morose to curious.

"Can you, Bennett?"

"Watch me."

It's pure defiance that fuels my next move. I lean closer to him. And then I kiss him. He goes still at first, and I feel very smug. I caught him off guard. Damon thought I was blowing off steam and he couldn't help himself—he had to push my buttons.

A breeze picks up, Salvatore's shock melting away as the trees rustle. Later, I will wonder if the gust was strong enough to carry my tank top away, but it isn't a major concern at the moment. All I can think about is Damon.

Damon, with his handsome features, dark hair, and gorgeous eyes. Damon, who is the only one who understands how and why I think the way I do. Damon, who makes me happy—even if he is trying to get under my skin.

It will occur to me later that there are some things you can't take back, and you can end up being invested in something you never intended on caring about. Of course, this realization won't happen until after it is too late to turn back. And I don't know that I ever wanted to change what happened anyway.

~~X~~

The next day, when Elena shows up at my door, ready for school, I am wearing a Beatles t-shirt and a smug grin that I can't get rid of.

"Since when do you wear vintage concert tees?" she asks.

"I was going to wear that green top," I supply, remembering how I searched for that very shirt last night. How I couldn't find it anywhere; even though I had been sure I tossed it on the ground, right next to the left tire. When Damon stopped laughing at me and tossed me the extra t-shirt he had in his car. "But I lost it. This was all I could find."

"Did you find it in the back of some dude's closet?" she presses, clutching her science textbooks closer to her chest. It's almost funny—she's only a little off. She surveys my appearance: the odd wardrobe choice (which will throw Salvatore off his game when he sees it), how I am smiling even though I haven't had coffee yet… a look of understanding spreads across her face. "Oh my God! You did! Who'd you sleep with… how come you didn't say anything?"

"I don't kiss and tell," I say conspiratorially.

She rolls her eyes. "Well, you have to at least tell me what you were doing yesterday not in school… besides the obvious."

"I just needed a day to decompress. School's been kicking my ass lately. I've been stressed about grades and applications and financial aid deadlines—I just needed to make my own plans for once, you know?"

"I do! Matt and I were just talking about how we are going to campaign for Homecoming King and Queen in between cheer practice and football…"

Elena continues speaking, only pausing when we pull into the school's parking lot. "Thanks for listening to me vent, Bon. I don't know what I'd do without you."