I can still hear him screaming.
Still see the blood.
I still feel his hand slipping from mine while I tried to pull him free.
I didn’t leave him.
That’s what kills me most.
I stayed because he was my best friend.
A brother to me. We’ve known each other since we were ten and covered in mud from racing bikes through the trails.
I stayed because I couldn’t let him die alone.
And somehow that made me the villain.
Judge Fitzgerald folds his hands together, staring right into my soul. “Mr. Marks,” he says smoothly. “You are fifteen years old. I hope you understand that your actions carry consequences.” His voice drips with fake sympathy.
Makes me fucking sick.
“You are hereby sentenced to life in Whitestone Penitentiary for Manslaughter in the First Degree,” he states casually, like he didn’t just steal my entire life from me.
My heart drops as my fists tighten at my sides.
No! No! NO!
“You are being sentenced as an adult and will not be eligible for parole until the age of fifty-five,” he says as the room tilts sideways.
I can barely hear the gasps around me over the roaring in my ears.Fifty-five? I’ll die in prison. My entire life was stolen before it even started.
And then the bastard grins. “Use this time to reflect on your actions, son.” His words snap something inside me.
Son?Like he gives a damn about me. Like this wasn’t personal. Rage detonates through my body so violently I stop thinking completely.He did this. This motherfucker set me up to keep me away from Ophelia.
“You fucking piece of shit!” I roar as I vault over the railing before anyone can stop me.
Chains whip against my skin as I launch toward the bench.I’m going to kill him.
I swear to God, I’m going to wrap these cuffs around his throat and make him choke on every lie he told.
But strong arms slam into me midair as the bailiff tackles me hard enough to crack my face against the floor.
Pain explodes through my jaw while hands grab at me from every direction. “Get the fuck off me!” I scream, thrashing violently. “HE SET ME UP!”
Nobody listens, nobody ever listens to boys like me.
They drag me from the courtroom while Fitzgerald watches in silence. That smug expression burns itself into my brain forever.
The holding cell door clangs shut behind me like the gates of hell. I pace like a caged animal while blood drips from my split lip.
My public defender barely looked at me during the trial.
Didn’t fight.
Didn’t push back.
He just simply didn’t care.
