Omission （n.） – Olivia #2
Before I could ask if that was really necessary, she rushed across the room.
“Stop eating your goddamn fingernails, Becky!” she shouted at a woman in all-purple. “You keep it up, and I’m putting you in a suicide vest.”
I’m not going to ask any more questions today…
“Right here, Miss Spencer.” A brunette officer motioned for me to move forward. “Please spell out your full name and confirm your date of birth.”
I rattled off the letters and numbers, glancing over at the large list of rules that was painted on the wall.
No talking to fellow inmates
No extra phone requests
No fighting
No contraband
My fingers trembled as the officer pressed each one against an ink pad and a scanner. Then she instructed me to look straight ahead into a black lens.
“Keep your expression just like that and hold still, please…”
A blinding bright flash followed, and I blinked several times to recover.
“Okay, Miss Spencer.” She handed me a ticket. “You can now take a seat in blue seat seventy-two and wait until you’re called to the courtroom.”
“Thank you.” I moved toward the group and realized my seat was next to the fingernail biter.
The woman glared at me as if I’d done something to her. Then she whispered, “First time?”
I nodded.
“It’s my tenth,” she said. “Just play like you’re insane and they’ll let you go, okay?”
Too scared to break a rule, I nodded again.
“Take my advice…” She brought her sandaled foot up to her mouth. One by one, she sucked her toes into her mouth.
I swallowed the surge of bile rising up my throat and looked straight ahead.
It was only ten-thirty, so I hoped to be out of here and in front of a judge by noon.
The digital clock flashed twice to announce the four o’clock hour, treating me to my three hundredth minute of confusion.
I’d watched dozens of women get called out of the room, witnessed one fight, and wondered why they chose to make the suicide smock an ugly vomit green.
Bright yellow would be so much better…
“Okay, next call for defendants!” a man shouted from the far left side of the room. “Line up exactly as you’re called.”
I refused to get my hopes up.
“Lisa Stern,” he said. “Harriet Jones. Dahlia Hunter. Freya Montana. Olivia Spencer.”
I immediately jumped up and took my place in line.
My heart thudded against my chest as he led us through a winding hallway, and I was certain that everyone could hear it.
He stopped when we approached two large oak doors.
“Alright, ladies,” he said, opening it. “Sit in the back row and wait until the judge summons you. If you have a lawyer or public defender, they will join you when it’s time.”
As I was settling into my seat, the bailiff cleared his throat from the front of the courtroom.
“All arise for the honorable Judge Ashton!” he bellowed.
I stood up, waiting to see the usual gray-haired man or woman.
“I’m sorry, Your Honor.” I vowed to go with a sympathy defense. “It’ll never happen again…”
The judge stepped into the room and settled behind the bench.
He looked up, and my jaw dropped to the floor.
His deep ocean-blue eyes held mine for a fleeting second, and I found myself wondering whether judges could sentence people for thinking wildly inappropriate thoughts about them.
If they could, I'd probably be held in contempt for imagining what it would feel like to run my fingers through his short, ink-black hair.
His chiseled jawline and full, defined lips were downright lethal, and with every passing second, it became harder to believe this was the man who was about to decide my fate.
This man was sexy as fuck...
“Let’s do a bit of reshuffling, Mara,” he said to the woman to his right. “Start with the last case in this set.”
“Yes, sir.” She stood up. “Case 50768. The State of New York versus Miss Olivia Spencer.”
“Is Miss Spencer here today?” Judge Ashton flipped open a folder. “Or, do I need to send out another warrant?”
“I’m here.” I spoke out and moved toward the front. “Right here.”
His eyes met mine again as I took my place, and he set down his pen.
“Where’s your lawyer, Miss Spencer?” he asked.
“Do I really need one of those for traffic tickets?”
“You should always have a lawyer.” He arched a brow. “Would you like me to appoint you one?”
“I…” I stuttered. “I would like everyone to stop acting like I’m a murderer.”
“Answer my question.” His voice was terse. “Would you like me to appoint a lawyer for you?”
“Only if it’s free…”
He stared at me, looking slightly amused.
“Actually, no.” I didn’t give him a chance to ask me again. “I don’t want a lawyer.”
“The state is fine if she wants to represent herself.” A blonde in a custom olive suit stood up at the table to my right.
“Very well,” Judge Ashton said, finally looking away from me and down at his folder. “Miss Kline, now that Miss Spencer has decided to make an appearance in my courtroom, how would the state like to address the penalty?”
“Your Honor, Miss Spencer has demonstrated an utter carelessness for our state’s traffic laws—with her speeds exceeding twenty miles an hour on multiple occasions,” she said.
“Her vehicle’s registration is currently delinquent and she’s obviously learned nothing from the driving class she was forced to take five years ago. ”
“I can see her charges just fine,” he said. “What penalties are you suggesting?”
“The state is asking for court costs, all ticket fees, and for her license to be suspended for at least twelve months.”
“Are you out of your mind?” I looked at her. “Twelve months?”
Her eyes widened.
“I got forced to take that driving class because my turn signal was broken,” I said, “and I was going with the flow of traffic for those other ones. The cops just happened to stop me first.”
“Miss Spencer…” Judge Ashton lightly tapped his gavel. “There’s no cross-talking in my courtroom.”
“But that woman is lying on me.”
“There’s no talking back to me in this courtroom either.”
“Then tell her to stop lying on me.”
A collective gasp filled the room, but the judge’s lips curved into a slow smile.
“You were saying, Miss Kline?” He looked over at her.
“I think Miss Spencer’s license should be suspended for at least a year, Your Honor.” Her voice was softer than before. “In addition to the fees and costs, I would like to recommend a safety driving class that’s at least sixty hours.”
I considered speaking up again, but the bailiff shook his head at me—silently warning me not to.
“Is there any reason why I should reconsider what the state is asking for, Miss Spencer?” Judge Ashton asked.
“Yes.”
“Now would be the time to give me the reasons…”
“I’m broke as shit, sir—I mean, Your Honor,” I said. “I’m working two jobs just to cover my rent and bills as is, and I can’t afford another penalty. I just—I can’t…”
“I also need my car to get around because I’m renting in New Jersey because I got evicted from my Harlem place and…”
I pressed a hand against my heart, attempting to soothe the ache in my chest.
“I could really use a break and some sympathy, Your Honor,” I said. “And I can promise that I’ll never go a single mile over the speed limit again.”
“Is that all, Miss Spencer?” he asked.
“Yes.” I nodded.
“Okay, good.” He shut his folder. “You’re officially ordered to pay all court costs and all ticket fees via an eight-month payment plan that the court clerk will set up for you.”
“You may keep your license, but the court will install a speeding alert and breathalyzer on your ignition that you will be forced to use for the next twelve months.”
What the fuck?
“And since you’ve made a mockery of me and my previous warrants…” He leaned forward. “If you get a single ticket this year—no matter how small the infraction, I’ll sentence you to a minimum of ten nights in the county jail.”
“Be grateful for my leniency, Miss Spencer.” He banged his gavel. “Next case.”
“Case number 51436, Freya Montana…”
I glared at the asshole judge, ready to rip into him for callously dismissing me, but an officer gently grabbed my hand and led me away from the podium.
“You need to meet with the court clerk, Miss Spencer,” he said. “Let’s go.”
I took one last look at the judge.
This isn’t the end of this…