Page 86 of Courtroom Drama
He moves his hand to my stomach, his fingertips fluttering across my bare belly. “I fantasized about you, about what it would be like to kiss you.” He leans down and kisses me, as if to prove to himself that he now can, in fact, do it outside of his fantasy.
“Is that it?” I ask.
“No. No, it’s not. I imagined you naked. I imagined the feel of your skin.” He runs his palm up my thigh. “You’re even softer in real life.”
“What else?” I whisper, needing to hear it all. It’s a unique form of power I’m not used to, knowing Damon has lusted over me, thought of me as he pleasured himself.
“I’ve imagined several times what it would feel like to fuck you.”
My lips part and I huff. He takes it as a sign to continue.
“I thought about bending you over the side of my bed and fucking you from behind.” He lets his fingers meander down, lightly fluttering against my inner thigh. “I thought about you moaning my name.”
“Damon?” I barely get his name out.
“Yes?” he says, the movement of his hand stopping as he grips my thigh.
“Go ask Cam for another condom.”
40.
Judge’s Chambers (n.)
the office of a judge where the judge conducts various activities apart from the public courtroom proceedings
the reckoning room
Judge Gillespy’s chambers look a lot like my grandpa’s old home office, with rich floor-to-ceiling mahogany shelves lined with books and paperweights, plaques and frames. Judge Gillespy’s robe hangs on a hook on the back of the door. She wears a simple fitted black dress, hair collected at the nape of her neck and lips swiped with her signature burgundy lipstick. She looks up from the file in her hand at the table in the corner as we enter.
“Have a seat,” she says, dropping the legal file onto the table and circling to her side of the desk. We take the two chairs opposite her.
Damon and I don’t make eye contact. My heart wallops against my navy-and-white-striped blouse as Judge Gillespy evaluates us. It’s like my first outing into the world after losing my virginity. The feeling that everyone I encounter instinctively knows I had sex last night. Twice. Like the sex is oozing out of my pores in a scent they don’t know they can smell.
As soon as we arrived at the courthouse this morning, Bailiff Maurice pulled Damon and me aside and escorted us here. My heartbeat chimes in my ears at the thought that perhaps this is Damon’s doing. Did he feel guilty about what happened last night and tell Judge Gillespy? He did, after all, tell George about the Outback Steakhouse guy.
I steal a glance at him and immediately shame myself for questioning him. He wouldn’t. This has to be about something else entirely.
Judge Gillespy clasps her hands atop the desk tightly and continues to stare at us. Her eyes move slowly from Damon, to me, back to Damon, before she clears her throat and leans in. “I don’t have to tell you what goes into a trial like this. Hundreds of thousands of taxpayer dollars”—she pauses to audibly exhale—“not to mention the three-ring circus of media and ‘fans’ outside the courtroom daily.” She makes air quotes when she saysfans, then pushes her rolling chair backward and walks to the window, which overlooks said group of fans, who I know without looking are already parked outside with their signs and chants. “A mistrial would be incredibly damaging for everyone involved,especiallywhen the case has already been fully presented and we are just about to start deliberations. And it would be an embarrassment to me, personally.” She turns to look squarely at me. Not Damon, just me. I swallow with great focus, the saliva in my mouth having grown thick. “Have I not made the ramifications of derailing this case abundantly clear?”
I speak first. “You have. You very much have.”
She returns to her seat, leans forward. “People have noticed how...closethe two of you are. Perhaps closer than you let on in voir dire. So,” she says, crossing her arms, finally turning her attention to Damon, “I will ask you both directly. Is there anything I should be aware of that would cause me to be compelled to call a mistrial in this case?”
I look to Damon, whose eyes remain forward. Neither of us immediately speaks.
Judge Gillespy huffs at our silence. “Let me be more direct. Is there anything involving the two of you that would violate court rules regarding juror relationships?” She peers between us again.
I swallow hard and feel with certainty that Judge Gillespy knows everything about the presidential suite, about the rooftop, about my two very vocal orgasms last night. I have a choice to make: tell the truth that Damon and I had the most insanely hot sex of my life just hours ago in my tax-payer-paid hotel room, or lie.
We’re all just one decision away from a completely different life.Hiswords from our conversation in the presidential suite echo in my ears between the beats of my thumping pulse. If I admit to a relationship of some kind with Damon, Judge Gillespy will call a mistrial, resulting in a slew of dominoes falling. Wasted time for everyone involved, including Margot and the other jurors. It would humiliate Judge Gillespy. It would cause emotional turmoil for Joe’s family, his kids. His poor kids. And, of course, there’s the prospect of jail time.
If I lie, I am no better than the worst parts of this trial, prioritizing my self-preservation above anyone else’s needs or best interests. It would make me like my father.
My views and priorities coming into this trial have completely shifted. My attention has fallen more on Damon than the case. My steadfast belief that Margot couldn’t have killed Joe is waning. I’ve made minimal effort in my goal to secure the role of foreperson. I don’t even know my purpose here anymore.
I think of Damon in bed last night. How his hands felt against my skin. How he felt inside me. Of his tongue and fingers invading me together. Of his soft forehead kisses after. How he could be so forceful at all the right times, so gentle in all the others. Of how he’s taken me back to being sixteen again, but also shown me how far we’ve both come.
Despite it all, I cannot deem myself more important than the overall judicial process. Everyone involved deserves a clean trial. I glance at Damon, who is pleading with his eyes.I’m sorry,I tell him silently as I feel him slipping away as a result of what I’m about to do.
