until proven innocent [novahd]

viii.

epilogue.

He has dreams of days he wasn't there, or of the idea that life was still normal. Days of happiness, rather than fear and anxiety, days where he could leave his small cell, or if he's really feeling ambitious he'd dream of days with Aleks, holding him, kissing him, talking to him. A part of him accepted this as his new normal.

These were all daydreams of course, delusions you could call them. He never actually slept, other than small naps here and there throughout the weeks. It wasn't because he didn't want to, it was more due to the terrifying fear of the silence he had accumulated. Even in his confined room, the sounds of life outside spoke quietly into his ears in a soft hum. At night, the silence of his peers' slumber haunted him. He had no other excuse other than it left him to his own thoughts and imagination. His nails clawed into his skin as he would scream at the voices pestering him in his head. You're fat. This is your fault. You're a monster. You deserve this. You-

They would scream back, blaring loudly in his mind until finally he would give up fighting. The voices would take over him, until he was left in a cold sweat and shivers of fear on the floor, leading him to assigned solitary confinement.

To say the least, his health was on a downfall. He had two more seizures in the first 3 months. He would visit the prison psychologist weekly to go over that week's troubles, but James barely spoke. So instead, he was left on the same prescription, except he was revoked the choice of when to take his Ativan. And to top it off, he had no appetite or need for sleep anymore. He'd thinned out, his cheeks were hollowed compared to the happy plump they used to be, and the circles under his eyes were a deep purple with exhaustion. He looked like a ghost of himself.

At this point, all James knew was his cell's layout and how much he wanted peace. He wanted relief. He wanted to see his mom, hug her, talk to her. He wanted his old life back, but he knew these were empty wishes. From the moment he was ruled guilty, he seemed to have a new face that was only conveyed as monstrous. He was a murderer, cold blooded and cruel.

But James still wondered if that's all he'll be seen as when he dies. When the ruthless killer finally gets what's coming to him. Who would show up to his funeral? Would anyone even bother arranging one for him? Or would he just die alone in a cell and ultimately buried in a cemetery next to some old man without any question?

He didn't know.