Int: Max - Blog Posts

She was a young lawyer trying to make her name. She didn't have time for feelings. Didn't have time for her anxiousness or guilt. But the things she saw still struck her, even if she tried to ignore them. She couldn't. The people she saw in work, even those she was prosecuting, some were so young and well, innocent until proven guilty she always believed in. She never spoke to the young boy, never tried to stop what was happening. But she remembered.

As Cynthia walked into the meeting room her steps faltered, he was older now but those eyes god she recognised them. Still she didn't want to show that and instead shook his hand before sitting down. "Cynthia Bell-Vasquez but Cynthia is just fine. Thank you for coming in, this won't take long it's just to talk about what to expect in court. Have you been a witness before?"

@ofprosecution | Setting: Court | Local Time: 14:32 | TW: abuse, minor self-harm

"How could you fuck up this badly again." The grip of his father's hand is rough on Max upper arm. He's young, way too young for this, way too young to complain as his father pulls him to the counter of the department, fingers digging int his skin so harshly that he's starting to feel nauseous. "I'm sorry, I-" "You shut the fuck up." Max quietens down as his father pays, his eyes only darting to the side when he notices the woman standing close, but he doesn't dare to say a word as tears gather in the corners of his eyes and start to spill down his cheeks. He also doesn't speak up when his father starts dragging him out. He never does.

Years later, Max is in court for an entirely different reason, but he can't help and be reminded of that specific night. The flashbacks catch him before he can skill them away, memories of a fist hitting his cheek and his stomach and and and clear and visible in his head as his fingernails dig into his skin so hard that they draw blood. He recognizes her face immediately as she enters the room, and through all the mails, all the phone conversations, he had never known that it was her.

"Hi.", Max croaks out, vision blurred by derealization, as he wipes his hands on his black trousers and then offers them to the woman for a shake, "Nice to finally meet you. I'm Max Miller. The witness."