This time is different.
This time, it’s personal.
2
Godric
One week later
Sitting in a freezing room with a Styrofoam cup of the worst coffee I’ve ever had in front of me, I wait for my lawyer. It’s been a week since everything went down, and I have no idea what evidence the cops have against me. The club’s lawyer, Izah, is older and knows his way around a court room. He’s always been able to get me off clean when I’ve gotten caught in the past, anything from stealing, assault with a deadly weapon, possession, and brutal beatings. Him being late, though, confirms my suspicion that I’m fucked this time.
I try to think back to what happened. That’s the worst part. Not fucking remembering. Not knowing what the fuck happened.
I know I would never put my hands on a woman. But everything fucking says I did. I was the only one there, and her blood is on my hands. Maybe things got out of hand this time. Maybe I blacked out in anger. Maybe I shoved her or got too rough. I am the jealous type. Maybe she pushed my buttons too far and I snapped. If I can’t have her, nobody can. I close my eyes, breathing deep.
Jesus, I feel that last part is true. I really am sick.
The door to the room finally opens, and Izah enters wearing a tailored suit. Taking a seat across from me, he sets down papers and shots of the crime scene. Reaching for one of the photos, I stare at Bella, an untold story gleaming in her cloudy eyes. Her face so badly disfigured turns something vile and foreign inside me.
I set the photo back down. I don’t even know who I am anymore. Running both my hands along the sides of my head, I try to calm my racing thoughts.
“What did you find?” I finally ask, ready to get the worst of this on the table so I can wade through it all and try to piece together that night. Izah looks up at me, his face expressionless.
“I think…” he lifts his head, his eyes meeting mine through his thick glasses, “you need to plea insanity, Godric.”
I scoff followed by a silent laugh. He can’t be serious. “Your other choice is manslaughter. Based on your history and the depth of this crime, I know I can get this to skip trial and go straight to evaluation,” he continues.
Sitting back in my chair, I tap on the table. The evidence is stacked up against me. I’m fucked. Prison or claim I’m fucking nuts. If I killed Bella, I deserve both. Every time I close my eyes, her bludgeoned head flashes through my mind. A crime of passion, or personal, at the least.
“What does pleading insanity mean?” I ask.
“In this case, it means you’re currently unstable and need help from a doctor. It means you were out of your mind when you committed the crime and are unfit to stand trial.”
“I’ll take prison over the fucking looney bin. I don’t need to get pumped with fucking pills and talk about my feelings.”
“That’s an option.” He sighs, resting his arms on the table. “But you don’t know what happened. That’s a big part of seeing a doctor—trying to figure out what snapped. I’ve been around you and the club forever, I personally feel you need to work through this and find out for yourself what happened.” His sentimental advice hits me in the chest like a stake to the heart. I would never hurt Bella, not like that, and definitely not someone I cared about. But I did. What the fuck made me do it? The thought that I’m unbalanced crosses my mind, and the chance that I might hurt someone else I care about has me leaning toward the help of a doctor.
“The club can have a shrink paid off and have you out in a few months, but I can’t promise my reach, or the club’s, goes as far as a judge. You could go to prison for a long time, Godric.”
So, the club has my back and wants me to go to the hospital. Rubbing my forehead with my thumb and index finger, I wish I knew what the fuck to say or do to make this all go away. Anger, regret, and confusion swirl through my veins like a recipe for destruction. “You’re being tried for murder, Godric. There are no witnesses to justify your prints all over the body are innocent,” Izah reminds me. Images of blood and the hallow coldness in my chest when I woke up makes my stomach turn.
“Bella,” I correct him sharply.
“I’m sorry?” His lips pull down in a frown.
“She’s not a body, she was my fucking girlfriend. Her name is Bella.”
Bella and I might not have been the perfect couple, but we had memories, and I was responsible for her wellbeing. I failed.