Justice Served

21 | You Deserve Justice

Chapter Twenty-One
Jayce Mirella

A good hour has passed by with not a single word spoken. The clock on the wall behind the desk where Rhys Chandler sits and has yet to look up from, ticks profusely in rhythm with my heartbeat. Inside my head, I have created a tune with the ticking of the clock, my boredom reaching its peak.

At this point, I'm sure that I've analyzed every crevice, and space within this office down from the platinum hardwood floors, and up to the ceiling where an expensive-looking light fixture hangs. I've gone through the magazines on the coffee table, inside all of them is an article with stupid Rhys Chandler gracing his presents even when I'm attempting to keep the bastard off my mind. Just knowing that all of the magazines he has either has him on the cover or inside for a feature article or interview leads me to believe that the man is a narcissist. I wouldn't be surprised if he hanged portraits of himself around his house.

Shuddering at the thought of being in a room filled with pictures of Rhys Chandler, I swing my legs up onto the coffee table. My black flats are inexplicably dirty, the dirt on them reminding me of my black converse that I always wore to pick-pocket. The people that passed by me when I did pick-pocket were typically inconsiderate assholes who didn't hesitate to knock into you if you didn't look like you cried tears of gold and shat diamonds; meaning if you don't look wealthy people didn't give a damn about you, and probably never will.

The hectic buzz of Fifth Avenue had never failed to give me the feeling of being full, not in the sense of taming a ravishing hunger, but the antonymous cousin empty. Even in an apartment with Blue, another presence beside me, it's hard to feel like I wasn't alone. I can't describe what's it's like, I don't understand to the fullest myself. I just know that it feels like I'm the only one in the world sometimes, it's that loneliness that fills my heart and makes me feel like I'm just alive in a world where I'm forced to continue living as that's what's expected. When I'm in crowded spaces like Fifth Avenue the rush of the people around me, continuously brushing past me, feels like I'm being awoken from a constant nightmare that seems never-ending. Even now I'm drifting, and it feels like I'm falling down an inescapable hole.

Long legs carelessly inch my own legs off of the coffee table, I begin to blink as if I've snapped out of some dream. I look up at Rhys as he reads through a white stack of paper that's been stapled together in the upper left corner, poking his tongue out to swab a string of saliva across his bottom lip to moisten the plump flesh of skin. My eyes narrow into a glare but wordlessly, I look back at the magazines on the coffee table which doesn't help because he's right there on the cover of, 'Youngest Eligible Bachelors,' magazine. I can't escape him, and it drives me crazy.

Surprisingly enough, Rhys Chandler is the only one who gives me the same feeling Fifth Avenue gives me; that feeling of being full. However I'm sure that it's because my anger ignites, and flames up to monumental proportions when I look at the stereotypical all American boy.

"The first thing I have to do is take care of the bail on your shoulders," Rhys said.

The word, 'bail,' makes me furrow my eyebrows in confusion, I look back up at him. The word was familiar to me, I briefly heard it being said by the lawyers who passed by me when I entered this building, I also vaguely heard it come out of the mouths of officers and I heard it in the past when I was arrested for other misdemeanors and felonies, in those cases, I had always pleaded guilty for the crime as there was no point in going to trial when I would lose; I was also guilty of the crime anyway. I just had no comprehension of what it meant so I remained silent, what did it matter anyway if I knew the word? This isn't my profession, I'd be damned to hell if it ever were.