Chapter 3: Melancholia

I head to the hotel that night utterly exhausted. As soon as I reach my room, I drop my things on the floor and let myself sit on the floor, too.

It takes me several minutes to get myself back up.

When I do finally get back up, I'm dizzy with exhaustion, so even though I'm hungry again, I strip out of my clothes and collapse into bed naked, not caring that it's winter—I keep my room at 75 degrees Fahrenheit anyway.

Then I spend the next ten minutes crying myself to sleep.

All night I dream of Daniel coming to hurt me, meeting me alone in our apartment and cornering me against a wall. His hands on my throat, a knife in my belly, a gun to my temple-the various ways he kills me all blend together; and towards the end of the night he finally comes back as a zombie, with cloudy eyes and pale skin and a deep slash in his chest where I drove the knife between his ribs and up into his heart. I finally wake abruptly in a cold sweat with my pulse racing, and to my surprise I see that it's nearly ten in the morning.

I feel terribly groggy, as if I hadn't slept at all. I have to scrub the fog out of my eyes quickly, though, because only a few minutes after I wake, I receive a call from Crane, Poole, & Schmidt that we have a meeting with the judge today to set a court date.

Since I have only an hour until I need to be at the law firm, I take a quicker shower (only ten minutes long instead of twenty), opting to skip washing my long hair, and throw it up in a bun speared by a chopstick that pushes up painfully against my already-throbbing head. This is shaping up to be a tough day.

After brushing my teeth for a good two minutes, I dress in a tight-fitting sweater, as I feel extra chilly today, along with skinny blue jeans and my favorite ankle boots. Then I grab my coat, purse, and phone, tie on a scarf, and head out the door.

By the time I arrive to the office building, it's only three minutes until I'm supposed to be at Mr. Crane's office. I hate being late to anything, so I practically run the entire way to the elevator, which I will to go faster while simultaneously battling my everlasting fear of elevators. When the upward motion finally ends, I stumble my way out of the elevator with exhaustion, a headache, and dizziness on top of it all.

I pop a couple ibuprofen pills and swallow them down with water from a fountain before heading back to Mr. Crane's office with the go-ahead from the receptionist. He's sitting at his desk when I get there, polishing an old revolver, and I cautiously sit down in the chair across the desk from him and angle it away from the barrel of his gun.

"How are you today?" he asks in a way that I imagine sounds pleasant to him but unctuous to me.

"I'm..all right," I respond, a little wearily. "And how are you?"

"Absolutely wonderful," he exclaims.

I practically recoil away from his enthusiasm. "Fantastic."

He continues swiping a cloth over the pistol. "So, have you thought any more about going out to dinner with me?"

I inwardly cringe. I'm already growing tired of his advances. "Mr. Crane, with all due respect... I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but we must be fifty years apart in age. You could be my father—no, my grandfather, and you're my lawyer on top of it. So I don't think it's quite appropriate that we go on a date together."

He stares at me blankly for a long moment, then says, "So you're saying you'd like to?"

I sigh.

He looks at me with all the slyness he can muster. "I see. You want to skip straight to sleeping together. I, I can appreciate that." He stands and grabs the belt on his pants. "Let's get to it then."

"Mr. Crane!" I shout, holding out my hands to stop him. When he looks startled and finally sits back down, I sigh, annoyed, and say, "Mr. Crane, I will not sleep with you. Ever." I grimace after saying the words alone.

I can tell he's about to start up again when I hear footsteps behind me. I turn to see Alan Shore coming into the room, for which I am abundantly grateful.

"Good morning, Bella," he says, actually pleasantly.

I'm relieved that he doesn't ask me how I'm doing as he sits down beside us; I think it has something to do with the expression on my face at this particular moment in time. He looks over my face for a second before directing his attention to Denny, who has finally set his gun in a drawer in his desk, along with his unwelcome advances.

"Are we ready for the meeting with the judge?" Mr. Shore asks us both.

"Ready as I'll ever be," I say.

"It should be a quick meeting—we'll just meet opposing counsel, speak briefly to the judge, and set up the date of the actual trial. The whole thing event take no longer than fifteen minutes."

I nod, then hide a yawn with the back of my hand.

"Tired?" Mr. Shore asks.

"Yes."

"Nightmares?"

I raise my eyebrows a little in surprise. "Yes."

He nods, then stands. "We should get going to the courthouse now."

I drive separately from the lawyers in my own car, following them for the short drive, and we reach the courthouse around 11:30. The courtroom is fairly large and imposing, even though there aren't that many people here.

When the opposing attorney walks in, a man probably in his forties with dark hair and an annoyed expression, he looks our way and immediately shoots a glare at Mr. Shore, who returns a smug smile to him.

I turn to Alan sitting beside me. Denny sits on his other side. "What was that about?"

"Opposing counsel is an old friend of mine."

Somehow I'm not getting the feeling that they're friends.

"Don't worry, it won't be a problem," he says, sensing my concern.

I let out an anxious breath. "I hope not. I don't need more help locking myself up."

He chuckles. "I don't think you'll be getting locked up anytime soon."

Now the judge walks into the room in front of us, and everyone else stands as the man at the front calls, "All rise. In the Commonwealth versus Bella Ramirez on charges of first degree murder, the honorable Judge Gloria Wheldon presiding. This court is in session." Once the judge, a surprisingly pretty blond woman who must also be in her forties, sits down on the podium, everyone in the room also begins to sit.

"Oh dear," I hear Alan breathe beside me as we sit down.

I turn to him, wondering what caused him to react that way. "What's wrong?" I ask. "Is the judge an old friend too?"

"Actually, yes," he says to me under his breath. "Many years ago, we..."

"Dated?"

"Eh...something like that."

Mr. Crane stands and clears his throat to our right. "Denny Crane and Alan Shore for the defendant, waive reading of charges," he says gruffly.

Alan stands also, unbuttoning his suit coat and laying his hands across his stomach. "Your Honor, at this time I would request to come up to the stand."

She regards him coolly. "Approach."

Mr. Shore does so, with Mr. Crane eagerly tagging along. I watch curiously as they talk quietly, Denny interjecting something obviously unwelcome every once in awhile that is met with unimpressed stares from the other two. I can only make out a few words from Mr. Shore, such as "recuse yourself" and "prior history," before they finally come back after a few minutes and sit down next to me.

"Is everything all right?" I whisper to Alan.

He nods. "Oh yes. Just needed to get something worked out."

I don't ask any more, because I'm guessing that my repeated interruptions will not be welcome; I'm also guessing that Alan was asking the judge, unsuccessfully, to recuse herself.

"Defense, how do you plead?" the judge asks, addressing Alan specifically with a slightly annoyed gaze, which I don't take to be a good sign.

Alan doesn't flinch. "We enter a plead of not guilty, your honor."

I'm thinking of how fast-paced this is going so far as opposing counsel stands now and addresses the judge. "Your Honor, we're here today for a simple matter, one that I personally find too simple to even need to be contested." He points to me suddenly, making my heart skip a beat and my spine straighten even more than it already is. "This woman killed her ex-boyfriend in cold blood for a long-held grudge."

As my stomach twists in disgust at such manipulation, Alan suddenly stands and says, "Your Honor, I wouldn't qualify protecting one's life against a vindictive and dangerous man who has already beaten you viciously to be in cold blood."

Judge Wheldon gazes over the lawyers with low eyelids. "Noted, counsel. Now sit."

Alan frowns, sitting and unbuttoning his jacket.

The prosecutor clears his throat, shooting a sharp glance at Alan as he says, "Now, as I was saying, Miss Ramirez claims that she killed her ex-boyfriend in self-defense, but there is no evidence to suggest that. There was no sign of a struggle in the apartment, the ex-boyfriend had arrived only moments prior to the attack, and—"

Alan jumps up again. "Your Honor, this is preposterous! My client has enormous bruises and marks from where her ex-boyfriend heinously beat her, and if you speak with any doctor he will tell you that they are clearly from the night that Ms. Ramirez killed her ex-boyfriend in self-defense! This man clearly has a grudge against women trying to save their own lives, and frankly against me as well—opposing counsel has been out to get me for years."

"Counsel, take your seat."

Alan frowns again, this time more frustratedly, but does as the judge says.

Our opponent finishes by saying, "I recognize that the defendant's ex-boyfriend was an abusive man, but I do not see any evidence that he went with to her apartment that night with the intention of killing her, and furthermore demand that she be charged with second degree murder."

My eyes widening, I look with panic at Alan, who pats my hand and stands.

"Your Honor, I have sitting beside me an injured, deeply hurt young woman who lost her entire family only months ago. She was living with her boyfriend with nowhere else to turn when he began to abuse her, at which point she had no choice but to tell him to leave. Instead of honoring her wishes, her ex-boyfriend stalked her, chased her, continued to abuse her, and finally attempted to kill her one night when she did what any human being would do in her situation: she protected herself. Do not punish her further for saving her own life."

He sits back down. I can't look at him, even though I'm deeply grateful, because right now I'm very absorbed in staring at my hands so that my watering eyes aren't obvious to the rest of the room.

"I'm setting the trial date for November 9th, five days from now," the judge announces. "You are all dismissed."

Standing with Mr. Crane and Mr. Shore, I take a deep breath to steady myself.

"Are you all right?" Alan asks, placing his hand just barely on my arm.

I nod. "Just overwhelmed. I'll be fine."

He nods back.

"Mr. Shore, see me in my chambers." I turn to see the judge staring at Alan.

He looks at me briefly with raised eyebrows. "Go on to the firm; I'll meet you back there soon." Then he follows the judge away.

Denny steps up to me with a grin. "I'll take you back. There's lots of paperwork to be done back at the firm." He waggles his eyebrows.

"I think I'll just drive in my car, thanks," I say.

After doing many hours of paperwork as promised by Denny, I find Alan in his office where he sits on his couch and reads a tome of a book. He looks up when I peek through the doorway, smiles amicably, and gestures for me to come in.

I don't know why, but I close the door behind me. "I just wanted to thank you for today. You were great in the courtroom."

"Of course." He gestures towards the other couch and says, "Sit, sit."

I oblige with a small smile and let out a breath once I've gotten mostly comfortable.

"Mr. Shore—"

"Please, call me Alan," he says.

I smile. "Okay. Alan." I like the feeling of his name on my tongue.

"What's on your mind?" he asks after studying me for a moment.

I blink in surprise; he's practically a mind reader. "Oh, nothing," I lie.

He doesn't seem to buy it. Cocking his head to the side slightly, he sits motionlessly for several seconds, then repeats without a smile, "What's on your mind?"

I bite my lip, then sigh. "I..." I stop and start over. Waving my hand around vaguely, I say, "It's just, being here... I went to law school, is all."

He looks surprised. "And you passed the bar?" It's barely a question.

"Yes," I say.

"So why didn't you start practicing? You could have even come here; I'm sure we would have hired you." He smiles a little at that, and for a moment I don't know what to say.

"My family died," I finally reply in a small voice.

Alan purses his lips. "Oh."

"Only days later," I continue, my voice strange. Alan looks pained, and I suddenly hate that I'm talking about this with him.

"How did they die?" he asks, almost startling me.

I look up quickly from my hands; I find that my eyes are starting to burn. Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I say, "Car crash. They were on their way home from a movie in the dark, and I was the only one not there—because I was with...my boyfriend." Even now, the shame and self-loathing feels as though it burns freshly within me. "And they died. I had four siblings."

I can't stop, can't stop talking, can't stop the tears from coming. "And if I had been there...maybe if I had taken over driving, if I had seen the deer..." I choke out a strangled sob.

Alan looks horrified, and I can't look at him any longer. I move to get up, unable to take his gaze on me anymore.

As I'm standing, I feel his hand take ahold of my wrist, and I whip my head around.

"Bella," he says, his voice almost cracking. He looks up at me with eyes full of emotion. "It is not your fault."

I burst into tears, just like that, and he stands quickly and envelopes me in his arms. I let myself be held by him, my body crumpled into his, sobs racking my chest, and he holds me. My lungs feel like they could burst, like I could drown in my tears, and the pain is excruciating, like I'm being torn apart.

Many long moments later, when I finally can stop crying, he sets me back down on the couch and retrieves a box of tissues for me. As he sits down in front of me, I blow my dripping nose loudly.

I notice the large dark spot on his suit and let out a pained breath. "I'm sorry," I say, pointing to his chest, my voice congested and hoarse. "I can pay for that to be dry cleaned. I have a lot of money now, from...life insurance."

It's not meant to be a joke, but Alan releases an almost relieved breath when I say it. I let out my own, too, and it almost feels good.

"That's how I'm able to stay at the Liberty Hotel here," I say, feeling a nervous push to speak to fill the silence. "They're so expensive."

I realize that Alan's looking at me strangely. "What is it?" I ask.

"That's where I live," he says, suddenly strangely reserved.

"You live in a hotel?" I ask incredulously. "But you're..."

"Rich?" he provides, letting out a sharp laugh. "Yes, that is unfortunately true."

"Then why do you stay in a hotel?"

It takes him a long time to answer, during which time he stares off into the distance. "My wife died, years ago," he finally says, his voice low. "And I can't bear to live in an apartment, let alone a house, without her. Alone."

I suddenly understand exactly why he seemed so pained when I was telling my own story: he's been through the same thing.

"I'm so sorry," I breathe. "I...didn't know." I feel bad for questioning him like that.

He finally looks at me, and I can see the deep pain in his eyes clearly. It hurts me to see him like this, even though I barely know him.

"It's been...several years," he says now. "But I still don't...feel the way I used to, or...love. The way I used to."

My brow furrowed, I suddenly feel the compulsion to take his hand, so without thinking, I do. It's warm in my own, and his fingers are supple as I massage them gently.

"I understand," I say simply, and he nods, satisfied with my reply. He looks away at the wall again, old, and also maybe new, pain still lingering on his face, but he doesn't remove his hand from mine.

A minute later, I get up and leave him alone.

Author's note: I hope you all liked this new chapter of my story!