✓ Wrong Moves and Knife Wounds /h.s./

[01] court rooms and injustice

court

"The stab wound suggests that the person on the other end of the knife-"

"Me," Harry interrupts quietly, shame burning his chest as he raises a hand. His lawyer swats his arms and Harry remains silent, only giving the forensic scientist half of his attention as he explains his side of the story even though he wasn't there.

The only people who know what happened that night are the people his lawyer is fighting against because, "someone died that night and the person behind the knife got out alive."

It was murder and no matter how many times he admits that out loud, no one takes him seriously.

"Excuse me," the scientist croaks awkwardly, turning back to the jury. "The stab wound suggests that the person on the other end of the knife didn't so much as push the blade a centimeter. If Mister Harry Styles was holding onto the knife, it would be factual to say that he did not thrust it forward. However, also through the stab wound, we can suggest that the victim, Miss Penelope Steer, used the defendant's hand to kill herself, and after being stabbed, pushed the knife further into her own skin, penetrating-"

"Objection." It's Harry. He doesn't know if it's legal to object to something that serves on the side of his innocence, but he's not innocent and Pen didn't kill herself. He killed her and he doesn't want to take that credit, but he needs to. He won't let her die another suicide victim.

"Under what grounds?" The judge's eyes are piercing into his. Judging the way he's standing instead of sitting and the way he looks bothered at the mention of his deceased girlfriend's name.

"No grounds," Harry's lawyer assures, pushing him onto the seat.

Harry buries his head in his hands and tries to even his breathing. He just wants this to be done with. He wants her to have justice and he wants to be sent away in whatever prison they think he's worthy of being in.

"Lift your head," his lawyer whispers when everything resumes. Harry shrugs his hand from his shoulder before finally sitting up. The rest of the session goes on and he ignores everything being said, answering questions when asked them and touching the prop knife when they ask him to refresh their memory of how he was holding the kitchen knife.

By the end, when the jury leaves and comes back to provide their ruling, the anxious pit in his stomach that should be there really isn't and Harry really just wants Pen to get justice because he loved her. Still loves her, but now he's thinking it was never love he felt because murderers and psychopaths don't love. And for him to love is like a psychopath going to the funeral of the people they kill and actually, genuinely crying.

He wasn't allowed to go to her funeral. It was blocked off by officers, but her parents wanted him to go. He still doesn't know why, but they wanted him to go and he spent that night crying in a jail cell. That night he felt her blood on his hands even though it was washed off. He's always covered in her blood no matter how much he tries to scrub it away. Sometimes he bleeds and the scarlet gets trapped under his nails, mixing with her blood that isn't there anymore physically.

"Misses Weldom?" The judge's thick voice pulls him from his thoughts. Harry eyes the jury of the court, noticing that they all have neutral faces. There's a girl in the front row and she locks eyes with him for a moment. Doesn't pull away. "Have you agreed upon a verdict?"

"Yes, your honor, we have." And he knows that's a sign she isn't afraid of him. He knows she isn't afraid of him because she thinks the evidence presented proves his innocence rather than malicious intent and murder. And no, no, no. He won't have that.

"No," he mumbles. His eyes are burning and his head is shaking back and forth. "No," he turns to his lawyer, for the first time thinking he can actually help him. "Let them go back. Make them change their minds. Please don't-"

"You don't know their ruling," his lawyer rolls his eyes, hooking an arm around his waist. Harry is still shaking his head, but then he drops it in the crook of his lawyer's neck, fingers tightly wounding themselves on his suit because they're so wrong. He's crying now. Crying for Pen. Crying for the apartment someone is thinking of moving into, crying for her family for the justice they deserve, and crying for the universe because of the miscarriage of justice that's happening at the moment.

The last woman in the second row of the jury stands and clears her throat before licking her lips and eyeing the paper in her hand. "We, the jury of the court, find the defendant, Harry Edward Styles...not guilty."

"No, no, no."

The court reporter is looking at the jury with her hands stilled over the keys of the typewriter she hasn't torn her attention from since taking her seat. "Members of the jury," the judge says, looking at Harry for just a moment before nodding curtly. "Listen to your verdict as it stands recorded. You say you find the defendant, Harry Edward Styles, not guilty."

All of the jurors answer with an intelligible, "yes."

"Harry, show your gratitude," his lawyer seethes, though he hasn't let him go. The judge is standing up and shaking hands with his guard. Harry slowly releases the man who got him here and tries not to start a scene. All he keeps thinking about is her and how wrong he went by her. How he should have held onto her tighter and made it so that she didn't have a suicide hotline on speed dial. Because that was evidence that what happened the night she died was by her will and not his.

She'd been looking to die, his lawyer said in the beginning of the ruling. And she found a way to take advantage of my client here so that she didn't have to feel like it was her that was killing herself. No, it was her unstable boyfriend who loved-

Loves, Harry had interrupted.

Ah. It was her unstable boyfriend who loves her. She took advantage of the love he feels for her and she used him as her ticket out of here.

Stop talking about her like-

Objection. Either one of you speak or you forfeit your time altogether.

My client was just refreshing something for the jury. What was that, Mister Styles? Don't talk about her like what?

Like she didn't love me enough to tell me how she felt.

But did she, Harry? Did she really confide in you? His lawyer was smiling. I rest my case, he licked his lips. Harry pretended the jury wasn't already deciding his fate of freedom. He didn't deserve it.

But now he was being lifted by two security guards as they dragged him toward the back exit. No one was mad at him. There were no claims or declarations against him by the public. It seemed like they all thought he was innocent. It was a nightmare he was living, having cameras and microphones shoved in his face as he walked silently to the car outside. The tie of his suit was tugged on and he gently pushed away, afraid of hurting the person whose hand was locked on the fabric.

The security guard pushed the crowd away and he looked down at his feet, ashamed. "Try not to hurt them," he leaned closer to the larger man before straightening his back and continuing his walk forward.

Now he was supposed to live a, "better life," and act like he didn't just get away with murder. He was suppose to act like everything was fine. He was supposed to do normal things that he planned on doing with Pen, and now had to do alone.

He was supposed to live for the both of them, his lawyer told him. Even though he practically spit on Penelope's name and honor. She'd been suicidal, but she promised him that him loving her made things better. That knowing she could be loved was enough to make her live.

The suicide hotline never left her phone's speed dial, though. He never thought anything of it.

Not even now.