Page 193 of Broken Pieces
I feel Cassie’s hands grip my arms, pulling me to my feet. My legs don’t want to move, but somehow, now I’m standing.
Then we are sitting again.
The bailiff reads something official, and the charges hit.
Assault.
Battery.
Intent to cause harm.
Each word lands hard. One blow after another.
They read them out like a grocery list. Stripped of the truth.
Each charge is another chain they wrap around Zane’s neck. Another stone added to the pile they’re building on his chest.
They say intent to cause harm.
But no one mentions the hands that grabbed me. No one mentions the fear that froze me in place.
They say assault, but they’re only talking about the bruises on them. Not the ones that landed on me.
Bryce’s father stands.
And now the real show begins.
He steps into the space in front of the table with the calm swagger of a man who’s never lost a fight he couldn’t buy his way out of.
His voice is smooth, slick with charm. Every word is rehearsed. Every sentence lands with precision. He doesn’t give anyone the chance to question his version of the truth.
He starts by naming Zane.
He calls him aggressive.
Lets it hang in the air long enough to stain.
He calls him unstable.
Says the kid has issues, a history, a reputation that speaks for itself. That he’s dangerous to those around him, that he cannot be trusted to walk free.
Then come the buzzwords.
Violent tendencies.
Criminal past.
Uncontrolled rage.
He tells them that Zane fights underground, part of an illegal circuit, using his fists for money.
He paints a picture of a boy born broken. Says he lashes out. Says he doesn’t know how to control himself.
He says it proves everything they need to know.
He never mentions me or what Bryce and the others were doing. He strips me out of the story entirely because my existence ruins his version of events.
And I sit here, teeth clenched, fists white-knuckled in my lap, watching the court nod along.
