𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫, 𝐋𝐢𝐚𝐫 | 𝐉𝐉 𝐌𝐚𝐲𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤

36. drowning in pussy. (pt.1.)

T H I R T Y - S I X
drowning in pussy.

"John Booker Routledge, pursuant to the North Carolina statute section fourteen, you are charged with murder in the first degree with aggravated circumstances." The judge sitting in the oversized chair says, her voice sending a chill down my spine as I sit beside Kie and JJ. "If convicted, the maximum sentence would be the death penalty." And with that being said her gavel strikes and the courtroom breaks out into chatter.

I don't move fast enough to stop JJ from standing up, "Your honour he's seventeen!" He shouts, his voice thick with emotion. Standing up myself I try to calm him down but my efforts are in vain.

He's been tetchy ever since John B was arrested, his temper exploding like a hair trigger. It's partly due to that that he slept on the sofa last night, after he got annoyed that I dared to put away his toothbrush! How ridiculous of me. Personally, I think he deserved to sleep on the sofa, it's comfortable enough, but not so much he won't have a stiff back.

"Quiet!" The judge tries her best to get the courtroom back under control, but JJ doesn't stop.

"JJ, you need to sit down," I urge through gritted teeth, tugging on his hand.

"He's seventeen! Are you kidding me?!" He yells, beyond annoyed at the situation we've found ourselves in. Sarah pushes past us and walks out from the aisle toward John B.

This morning the group of us—sans John B, obviously—sat down with Robbie as he explained the charges, answering a thousand and one questions we all threw at him. He had to get a big, fat book out to answer some of the more rogue ones. The answers he provided boiled down to one sentiment: if John B is found guilty, he's fucked.

JJ asked Robbie to represent John B, but Robbie declined. He hasn't done a murder trial for years and he can't afford to fuck it up.

I grab JJ's arm but he shakes me off roughly. "Bailiff!" The judge orders.

"Hey, John B, we're gonna figure it out," JJ promises his friend who is getting dragged away from the clamour of the courtroom.

Sarah runs toward the retreating form of John B but one of the officers holds her back with a stern expression. Kie walks over and grabs her arm, glaring at the officer momentarily, "Come on Sarah. Let's get out of here," Kie asserts, a foul look on her face.

We weave our way through the crowd crowding the courtroom, receiving more than one dirty look and mutters of disapproval. Comments that we should've been arrested alongside John B; that we're guilty by mere association; murmurs that this was bound to happen with JJ and Pope but how Kie, Sarah and I got tangled in the mess is tragic. Those somehow grate on me the most, people link wealth with morality and it's stupid.

There's also no shortage of comments about John B: justice is being served, he's getting what he deserves—once again, this grates only further in my nerves. He's a kid, a kid that's been framed.

Innocent until proven guilty is a load of bullshit. Assumed innocence only happens if you're the ideal person: heterosexual, cis-gendered, rich, white man. John B is almost there, but he's perhaps missing the most important aspect. Money. Poverty is linked to crime—desperation and a desire for an escape. Being a criminal doesn't make you a bad person, just like being poor doesn't make you a criminal. I mean, let's be real, we're all criminals. Have you not—even accidentally—gone over the speed limit? Or drunk under the legal age? Smoked a little pot or stolen a chocolate bar or two?

John B may be a criminal in the very basic sense of the word, but he's not a murderer.

No, that title goes to my wonderful ex-boyfriend. Emphasis on ex- as JJ likes to remind me.