2. - – Amari
CHAPTER TWO
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AMARI
Eight Years Prior
Tomorrow is the day that I'm sentenced for what I did to Liam in the pub. He made a comment about how much I suck at pool, and something in me just snapped. I pulled him from his barstool, threw him to the ground, and continuously slammed his head on the ground. People tried to pull me off of him, but all I saw was red. Regardless of the attempts of others, I just couldn’t be stopped.
When the police came and finally pulled me off of him, I realized how much damage I had done to him. His face was almost unrecognizable. I didn’t mean to kill him, but it kinda just happened.
Today, my lawyer wants to meet with me to discuss a plea agreement or whether I want to continue with the trial.
This is hard because if I go to trial, I know my sentencing could be a lot worse, but if I take a plea deal, it will feel like I didn't even try to save myself. I guess I just need to hear him out.
After an hour of just sitting in my cell, bored out of my mind, I hear a guard say, “Jones, your lawyer is here to speak with you.”
I hop up quickly, throw my shoes on, and head to the front of my cell.
I go through the usual routine with sticking my hands through the cubby to be cuffed and wait until the cell fully opens, so I can walk to the meeting area.
Once I get out there, I see Lincoln at the table with a smile on his face. This better be good news.
“Hey Amari, how are you doing today?” He greets me.
“Same old. Same old. Just locked away waiting to see what’s next for me.”
“Well, I'm here to actually tell you what’s next. I met with the prosecuting attorney and discussed a plea deal. You will serve eight years and be on probation after your sentence. This is a generous offer because the alternative is potentially 40 years. What do you say about taking this deal?”
I contemplate for a moment and weigh my odds. If I go forward with the trial, I could serve forty years and not get out of here until I'm sixty-five, but if I only serve the eight, then I'll be out by thirty-three. Hmm, eight years is sounding good right about now.
“Okay, I want to enter into the plea agreement. I feel like I have better odds that way.”
He hands over a sheet of paper, “Here is the typed-up plea agreement. If you can sign on the bottom, we will enter this into the court so you can serve that sentence, then be released.”
I read over the paper in front of me to ensure I’m not signing something I don’t agree with. Once I understand all of the components of the agreement, I go ahead and sign it.
The next day, we head into the courtroom so the plea agreement can be entered before the judge. I look over to where the prosecuting attorney is, and she's so beautiful. Her brown skin, wavy hair, and green suit have me loving every part of her.
I shouldn’t be thinking this, she’s the one putting me away.
“Your honor, my client has agreed to enter into a plea agreement of serving eight years with probation upon release,” my attorney says to the judge.
“Any objections, Ms. Knight?” The judge questions.
“No objections,” she responds in a sweet tone.
“Okay, if there are no objections, then Amari Jones, you will be serving the next eight years in prison for second-degree murder,” the judge says, while hitting his gavel.
Within seconds, the guards are taking me back to the holding cell, for me to be transferred to the state prison.
“Well, here’s to the longest eight years of my life,” I mutter under my breath.