13. | every single second

November came, laying out a damp chill over the grounds surrounding the prison. Two weeks went by since the court in which I witnessed for Ethan's innocence in the case that included the attack on me.

Somehow, I connected with Ethan the first time our eyes crossed. I connected to him on the first sight and that's how I began believing wholeheartedly in his innocence, without properly hearing his side of the story. I gave him time; I gave him trust. Only to be completely perplexed with the 'reality' in front of an entire crowd, the version of the reality the district attorney believes in and threw at me on the spot. Saying I was not prepared for that, would be a severe understatement.

Every fiber in me screamed for me to continue believing in his innocence, and I did. Yet, this time it had hit too close to home. I couldn't just accept his innocence. Maybe because that means that my mother's murderer has been wandering around freely for over three years now. Maybe because that means that person could have walked by me without me noticing. Maybe I had crossed that person in the streets and greeted them with one of my sincere smiles and a kind greet.

The thought of it felt like it was there solely to destroy me. I can't let that happen. I have to get to the bottom of it. I have to know why and how Ethan was blamed. I need to believe him without a single doubt and fight for not only his injustice, but mostly for my mother. The person who put her six feet under in such a horrific way, has to be put behind bars for a lifetime.

I will not rest until I am sure that they are.

I can't help but deeply wish I would have found out in a different way. A sudden amount of pressure and shock washed over me as the district attorney told me the truth.

"Not even the fact that he, the man you are witnessing for today, is your mother's murderer?"

His truth, at least. I hope. I really do.

Ethan didn't look me in the eye when those words were spoken. Was it because he somehow felt guilty, nevertheless? Guilty for not telling me earlier what his case was about? I told him it could wait. That he could tell me whenever he felt ready. Was I to blame? Have I been too naïve? He and I both know that my words would have been different if I had known that his case was the one of my mother's murder.

None of it made sense but made sense at the same time. Reed found a razor blade in Ethan's pocket in front of me, out of the blue. Michael kept repeating that he had to do it, almost as if someone was forcing him to do it. Was it all just to add up to the persona the attorney has created for Ethan, to make the entire story of him being a cold-blooded murderer even more believable? Did Reed know more about all of this? What does my father have to do with this entire situation? Are they all in this together?

Surprising both the district attorney and myself, I disregarded all of the questions that flooded my mind right that second and continued to witness for Ethan's innocence regarding the stabbing incident. The entire court went by in a blur after that. The jury finally came with a decision and declared Ethan not guilty of wounding me, mainly because I, the victim, spoke on behalf of him to defend his innocence. The defense was able to let out a relieved breath and I noticed Ethan turning around to see me. However, Lexi and I immediately left because I felt like I was getting suffocated. I was able to dodge my father as well and slept at Lexi's place for the entire week.

Now, I'm back at where it all began.

I sharply inhale as I look up at the grey building towering over me and its entrance. The last time I went through that, was on a bloody stretcher ushered to the ambulance.

Not letting these thoughts and the post-traumatic stress getting the best of me, I remind myself of why I'm still doing this. I've been told to stop the internship here, but I denied. I want to finish what I have started. I want to face my fears and I want to get to the depth of everything. I don't know if it's because I'm persistent or because I'm a stubborn idiot with a death wish. Still, this seems like the only place I will find information about the case, yet I have no idea where to start. It seems like everyone's in on it, except for Cole, Ethan, Lexi and me.

Deciding it'd be best to ask Cole about it all, I walk in to immediately search for him. However, I run into someone I did not really feel like running into today.

"Brooklyn..."

"Reed." I answer dryly, continuing my quick pace through the corridor while hoping he realizes I don't feel excited about seeing him. I wish Cole could somehow find me and save the day like he always manages to do.

"I—," He begins speaking as he catches up, "We need to talk."

Thinking about it for a mere second, I decide it couldn't do me any more harm. Oliver could spill some beans, after all he's been acting like my friend for the past few weeks. I stop walking and answer his plea, "You know what?" I face him, clearly making him slightly nervous, "You're damn right, we do."

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Several minutes have passed since Reed and I went and sat down in my office, out of the sight and earshot of other curious guards. He's been staring at his hands in a nervous manner ever since we got here, not daring to look me in the eyes. He's hiding something and I'm guessing it has to do with this mess.

"Honestly Reed," I finally begin since he seems to not be able to, "I'm confused and I need you to be an actual nice colleague and friend to me right now. Or was that all just a façade? Was it your way of trying to gain my trust?"

"No, it wasn't." He finally stops fidgeting with his keys as he looks up to face me.

"Great then, prove it by helping me." I move a little forward, leaning my elbows onto my desk for me to be able to place my chin into my right hand. Looking at his features, I try to figure out what kind of person he really is. During stressful times, people tend to show some of their true colors mostly through their body language, colors that are normally quite easy to disguise when you're not stressed. "I need you to clear things up for me because I'm not dumb, there's something going on."

"I—," he begins, visibly trying to pick the right words. "You're right." A sigh falls from his lips as he looks down at his hands once again. "There's something going on, but I can't tell you. I really can't."

Getting frustrated by his answer, I try to push through. "Why can't you? Would it threaten and ruin your life, just like how all of this ruined the life of an innocent guy? For your own good, pick your side, Reed. You don't want to be on the wrong one when I get to the bottom of all of this one way or another."

"Yes."

"Yes what?" I can't help myself but snap back. Is he trying to piss me off or actually be helpful?

"Yes, it would threaten and ruin my life Brooklyn." He pushes his chair backwards in a frustrated manner and gets to his feet. "I know you don't get it right now, but I cannot tell you yet. I wish I could, I want to. It's the least I could do to earn some of your forgiveness."

Rubbing my temples, I find his gaze. "So, you're going to tell me more, but not yet?"

He nods at this. "I swear I'm going to tell you everything. I just need some time to figure out how I'm going to do that and set things straight at the same time, without getting murdered somewhere in between those two things."

Not wanting his blood on my hands, I decide not to ask him further about any of this. Not right now.

Just as he turns around to leave the room, I speak up again. "Can I ask you to do one last thing for me?"

"Anything."

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"Oliver Reed bringing me in on his own will? Even though I'm not even on the list with names?" Ethan's voice greets me as they both enter the room a few minutes later. "I surely must be dreaming."

"Don't try me right now." Reed mumbles, slightly pushing Ethan towards the chair.

"You," I look at Ethan, "Shut it, please. And you—," I turn my gaze to Reed once again, "Thank you." After a smile and a nod, he silently walks out and closes the door behind him.

"I see you two are somehow still friends." Ethan begins, leaning back into his chair as he places his cuffed hands on his lap.

"He's not my friend." I reply, folding my arms over my chest. "But I need to keep him close. He seems like the only one that is prepared to tell me stuff. Unlike some."

He doesn't reply and just stares at me, a blank expression taking of his features. His eyes darken, making his gaze so intense it forces me to look away before I can speak.

"I looked like a fool." I manage to get out, "Even if you don't care about that, we could have lost the case. It could have been added onto your life sentence."

"Yeah, and what would that even change Brooklyn?" His dull tone involuntarily sends some shivers down my spine. "I'm in for a life sentence without a chance for early parole, you know that."

"You know what that would change Ethan?" I lean forward as I bite back some tears. "It would make my mother's murder look even more like an overkill. Your attorney was able to rule that out before, but now that my mom's alleged attacker tried to fatally harm me, they would think this was all part of some plan of yours."

He gives me a somewhat puzzled look, causing me to nervously chew on my bottom lip. "You could be put onto death row for an overkill Ethan."

And I can't let that happen.

I notice him gulping as the situation dawns on him, yet he surprises me with his reply. "As if you care."

"I do care." I reply without hesitation.

"You barely know me. You have no fucking clue who I am." He raises his voice a little, sounding rather frustrated. "For God's sake Brooklyn, stop trying to save me. You can't. I've been screwed over and blamed as a teen and now I have to live like this. There's nothing you can do."

"You know what? Fuck you Ethan, go fuck yourself then." I spat back, a wave of too many emotions washing over me. "I went to that court for you and this is how you talk to me? " I huff, "You barely know me Brooklyn." I imitate him, annoyance dripping of every single word I let out. "Leave and don't come back then, if you think I barely know you."

He tries to speak up, but I don't even grant him the chance as I continue to let it all out. "You know why I barely know you? Because you haven't told me shit about yourself. First you acted all mysterious, trying to get me intrigued. Then you try to get closer to me. Well, you did it in such a short amount of time, you should be proud of yourself." I let out a frustrated laugh as I put my face into my hands. "Here I am, your naïve fucking therapist, just like how you called me the first time we met. You were right. Does that satisfy you? Are you truly happy now that you've ruined the tiny bit of progress we made?"

"I'm—," His voice comes out rather soft, causing the entire mood to switch. I breath hard, rubbing my temples to push back the headache. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean any of that."

"Sure." I reply, letting out a pained breath.

"You're not naïve." He seems to be trying to fix the situation, "You're not just my therapist. You're my—," Stopping for a mere second, it looks like he's searching for the right words. "Friend. And I appreciate every single second and breath you've spent on me even though I'm an asshole."

Not wanting to interrupt, I let him continue. "It's the frustration and stress building up inside of me, I can't even recognize myself lately. Still, I know it's not an excuse for me to act like this."

"I'm used to being everyone's scapegoat." I softly scrape my nails over my notebook, "It's quite pathetic."

"You're not pathetic. If anything, you've been the most caring and loving person I've met." He puts his cuffed hands on the desk, right in front of mine.

"Of course, you deserve answers. I should have told you more about the entire situation before the court." He mumbles, "You've believed in my innocence from the beginning. Not many people do that, Brooklyn, and I appreciate it more than anything."

"I really wish you'd told me more, in time." I finally let the angered tone fall away as I match his finally softened voice.

"Honestly, I didn't tell you about it all because I didn't want this," He moves his hands between us, "—to end."

A few seconds of silence falls between us as neither of us breaks their gaze.

He softly speaks up again, the raw emotion evident in his voice. "Remember what I told you in our first conversation Brooklyn?"

"I don't want to scare you off or make you think I'm a monster." I repeat one of his sentences from the day that seems so long ago.

"I didn't know if you'd continue to believe in my innocence if you found out it had to do with your mother. You'd see me as a monster, and I don't think I could handle that." He moves his hands and slightly grazes my thumb, taking my hand in his. My breath hitches at this sudden interaction, his soft touch, causing him to pull his hands back immediately. A dark emotion falls upon his usually soft features.

"This is exactly what I've been so afraid of."

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fyi; an overkill is a term in criminology & law. whenever a murderer doesn't just kill but really plans and severely harms a person more than is needed for a "kill", they call it an "overkill". for example; one shot to the head can instantly kill a person. some killers shoot a few more times after that. in cases with overkills, the district attorney can try to get a death sentence for the convicted person.

A/N; I WANT TO THANK EVERY SINGLE ONE OF YOU GUYS; for being so patient, for being so kind. while i was alive but gone, many of you have reached out to me to ask me if i was okay. many new readers have joined as well. i'm so grateful for being able to come back here. i involuntarily disappear every once in a while because of life but somehow i always find my way back to this place.

thanks for reading, i hope you enjoyed.

please don't forget to vote & comment, i really enjoy reading every single one of them.

— lyra b.