Superficial (DE)

Thirty-eight.

Cerise pulled the hem of her fitted pencil skirt down some as she shifted in her seat, the hard court benches threatening pressure ulcers on her bottom. She sat in the back of the courtroom, sitting in on one of her fathers cases besides a few of his interns. Cerise glanced over at them, taking notes, and so engrossed in the case, bright eyed and bushy tailed. She used to be like them, and then law slowly started to suck the life out of her. All because she took the case her father told her not to.

But she was still glad she had.

She hadn't even been paying attention to what was going on in the case and had missed her fathers whole defense. All she could think about was the week she'd just had and how dreadful it was to come back to reality— to come back to dull, grey New York. Back to pretending to be someone she's not.

The defense and the prosecution both gave their closing statements before the jury was escorted out to deliberate. Cerise couldn't imagine it taking any long than an hour or two considering the defendant was on camera committing the crime. Going to trial with hard evidence against you is like a death sentence. Sometimes she wondered what went through peoples heads when they continue to deny something they've been caught red handed doing. If they possibly think they could persuade their way to freedom after being caught on camera.

It's usually in peoples best interest to plead guilty in exchange for a deal— a plea deal. But for some reason in the black community, taking a plea is frowned upon because you're admitting guilt. It's the equivalent to snitching and considered dishonorable. They'd rather gamble with their lives going to trial, lose and get hit with the book, probably to never see the light of day again. She'd seen it happen too many times.

Cerise had finished all her work for the day so she decided to hang around with the interns to keep herself busy. She wanted to give Brandon time to miss her but the past six hours since she'd left his home that morning had been long enough. She missed her man and she was ready to be babied and pampered.

The interns were a group of four aspiring lawyers in their early years of law school. They were only a year or two younger than her but they called her Ms. Harvey and treated her like Annalise Keating. Perhaps because she had an exceptionally high IQ score and was one of the youngest in the state to pass the baby bar.

The judge released the court room and everyone filed into the halls. Cerise wandered around with the interns until they found her father and Derrick speaking in the hall. Derrick was dressed in a tailored navy suit with a white button up and red tie, a brief case in his hand and not a wedding ring in sight— typical.

Before she could turn around and go the other way, Michael called the group over, her included.
Cerise exhaled dramatically before reluctantly walking over to the two men, her Louboutins making a rhythmic clicking sound as she walked.

"Derrick these are my firms new interns for the year, interns this is U.S. federal district attorney Derrick Jordan," Michael said fondly making Cerise's soul revolt.

While Michael didn't know of Derrick and Cerise's long winded affair, this was the type of man he wanted his daughter to be with. Because he looked successful and stoic on the outside, but only if he knew the type of man Derrick really was. He was misogynistic and controlling, manipulative and a liar.

A knowingly married man preyed on her vulnerability and took the most precious thing from Cerise— her virginity. And the longer that time passed, the more disgusted and regretful of him she grew. Cerise was lucky arranged marriage wasn't legal in the United States because Michael surely would've handed Cerise right over to Derrick, right in the hands of a monster. And Derrick never wore his wedding ring so Michael would never have a clue.