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Nothing. I feel nothing.
The fluorescent lights buzz above me, bright enough to make my head ache but still too dim to cut through the haze inside my mind. I sit here like a zombie, like I'm already halfway gone. I keep telling myself I've got nothing to lose anymore, and I guess it's true. They took everything that mattered to me five years ago when they slammed the cell door shut. My name. My life. They even took the truth.
And now, they're sitting here, discussing my own freedom like it's some kind of prize they'll toss my way if I play along. Like they're doing me a favor, finally deciding I might not be guilty after all. I want to laugh, but the bitterness catches in my throat, burning like acid. Five years in here for a crime I didn't commit, and they're only now thinking maybe they got it wrong.
I can barely focus on their words. They blend together, like muffled echoes in the fog of my mind. I've had to numb myself to survive this place—to forget. To not care about anything. The chemicals I've been taking do their job, making everything blur together until I don't even feel like me anymore. Maybe that's a good thing.
All I know is that if they let me out, my life will never be the same again. The kid who walked in here is gone. There's no one left to save.
But then, out of nowhere, a voice cuts through the numbness.
"Corey," the woman says, her voice sharp and clear, like she's drawing a line in the sand. "Corey, look at me."
Slowly, I raise my eyes and meet her gaze. She's different from anyone I've seen in a long time. Polished, put-together. Too perfect for a place like this, too polished for someone like me. Her suit is immaculate, her blond hair sleek, her hazel eyes sharper than glass. I should look away, ignore her like I do everyone else, but something in her stare holds me there. She doesn't flinch, doesn't look away.
I don't know what her angle is, but I know one thing: she's here for me.
<g i s e l l e>
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My reflection stares back at me, expression carefully controlled. Makeup, designer clothes, a sleek, tailored suit. Every detail is perfect, each choice deliberate. In the courtroom, appearance is everything. My mother always said that what's in a woman's head doesn't matter—people see only the surface.
As a kid, I grew up in beauty pageants, forced to smile and look pretty, to charm and impress. My mother's words echo in my mind even now, and I keep my shield of perfection firmly in place.
But today, as I look in the mirror, I feel like I'm preparing for battle. Because today, I'm not just another lawyer. Today, I'm the only thing standing between Corey Carter and a lifetime behind bars.
I tug on the cuff of my suit, reminding myself why I'm here. Corey deserves a second chance, and I'll be damned if I let anyone take that away. From everything I've read, he was just a kid trying to protect his mother. The system failed him once, and I refuse to let it happen again.
The judge's voice echoes through the courtroom, and I barely hear the words over the pounding of my heart. But when he calls my client "guilty," it feels like a punch to the gut.
And yet, I don't falter. Not yet. I glance across the room, my gaze landing on Corey. There's a coldness in his eyes, a numbness that I know all too well. It's the look of someone who's been stripped of hope, someone who thinks he's got nothing left.
But he's wrong. As long as I'm here, he's got someone fighting for him.
