Danganronpa: Until Proven Guilty

Chapter Two - 2: The Cellist's Courtship

I want to knock on her door, and I know I probably should, but something holds me back. Like some invisible barrier, I can't seem to put my hand to the door, keeping my fist clenched by my sides.
Looking up at Yashira, I notice her confused glance towards me, an eyebrow raised to radiate that same 'Jesus fucking Christ' energy she emits so well.
Eventually, after staring at me for a painfully long time, she tuts, rolling her eyes, "You not gonna do anything?"
I frown to myself, "Uh, maybe this isn't the best idea, she really did freak out after the-"
But before I can stop her, Yashira charges towards Tory's door, hammering against it with her slender hands, "Open up! We want to talk to you."
"Th-that's not the best idea," I giggle nervously, my wavering voice masked by the violent banging in front of me.
"No," Tory's muffled voice says from inside the room, "Go away! I won't let you kill me."
I rush to the door, trying to push past Yashira without provoking her, "Hey, Tory? It's okay, we're not going to hurt you. We just want to talk."
"Prove it," She chokes through her tears, "I know what you want, just go away."
"Open the door and we'll prove it," I say with a soft voice, stepping away from the door as to avoid trapping my feet.
Eventually, the sound of shuffling comes from inside the room, before it becomes the sound of a clock and beep. Tory pulls the door open just shy of an inch, revealing only her tired, hollow eyes.
I put my hands up, spreading out my fingers and my legs, "See? I don't have anything. And neither does Yashira."
Tory glances at Yashira, before turning back to me, "You could strangle me, or poison me. How do I know you're not both-"
"Stop being a pathetic lil' bitch!" Yashira sighs, kicking the door slightly more open. Tory jumps, recoiling behind the door, and I can't help but sigh.
"Tory, you can trust me. I'll leave the door open if you don't trust me on our own," I say, watching her slowly re-emerge from the darkness.
She takes a long look at me as if she's scanning my face, before gradually opening the door and flicking on the lights.
The room is surprisingly messy for someone as well kept as her, though it hasn't had much time to descend into a cluttered hell. Her white bedsheets are unmade, the black and beige cushions strewn across the floor and her clothes along with them. Her curtains are closed, and the blackout blinds pulled all the way down; her walls would likely be a pitch-black if it weren't for the dim, yellow lighting above us.
She stares at us, her eyes red from crying. I notice her lack of glasses, and how small and dainty her eyes look without them. Like her glasses were a part of her skin or built on at birth, it just doesn't seem right.
"Okay," She steps back slightly, wiping her hands on the pyjamas provided, "What do you want?"
"We want to talk," I turn to Yashira, who steps into the room, lingering close by the door.
Tory blinks, setting herself down on the wheeled leather chair. Empty coffee mugs litter the surface of her white desk, along with dirty tissues and open books.
"Those things you said after the trial," I say with a sigh, "What did you mean? Why did you say those things?"
The words repeat in my mind again.
'This wasn't supposed to happen!'
'This isn't what justice looks like!'

Tory tucks her knees under her chin, a thoughtful look on her face, "I meant exactly what I said. That isn't justice, another man died for the sake of it."
Any kind of response is cut off by my own hesitation, the kind, comforting words I could offer her trapped in my throat. I know she's right, she couldn't have put it better, but there's no consolidation I can give her. No caring advice.
Yashira slouches against the wall, "You do know this ain't about justice, right? Whoever set this up probably ain't bothered about that. They just want us to die."
"But these innocent people," Tory whimpers, her eyes suddenly filled with tears, "They deserve justice. They need it."
Her cries fill the room, and I feel myself standing awkwardly, merely patting her shoulder. But it doesn't do anything, like I'm only doing this to prove I have empathy.

Tory takes a deep breath, "It's my fault."
"What?" I say, my grip tightening on her shoulder, "No, no way. Why do you think that?"
"I tried so hard," She sniffs, shaking her legs at a rapid pace, "I wanted to bring justice for Minato, and now Jin is dead. I tried so hard, and someone died because of me."
"Now hold on," I fold my arms, my tone growing firmer, "Jin's death wasn't your fault."
"Yeah," Yashira nods, straightening her posture, "I mean, if we hadn't done it, we'd all be dead right now."
Tory stays quiet. She picks up her thin glasses from her desk, sliding them onto her watery eyes with her trembling fingers.
"I-I'm sorry," She gulps, trying to compose herself, "I just want the world to have justice, that's why I'm a lawyer."
"Oh, really?" I smile, settling myself on her bed, "Well, what brought that on?"
Her gaze shifts uncomfortably, "I, uh. It's a long story, you don't mind, do you?"
"Not at all," I say, leaning forward to listen to her.