tricks of time ― grayson hawthorne [the inheritance games]

024. I AM A MONSTER

"It's fine," she reassures me. "He's not required to be there. I just thought that maybe you wanted him there...I-I don't know."

I furrow my brows. "What makes you think I'd need him to be there?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. I-Nevermind. Let's just, uh, let's get going?"

I nod and sit up with some difficulty. My legs have fallen asleep. She reaches out a hand to help me and I gratefully take it.

___

We arrive at the courtroom near an hour before expected time, but the paparazzi is already there. My breath coming quickly now, I opened the car door and braced myself. Head high.

Chin held high, I stepped out of the car. Look at me. I'm the story here. I walked down the drive, back toward the street. I was wearing boots with heels and a short mini-skirt. My leather jacket pulled against my body as I walked. The new hair. The makeup. The attitude. I'm the story here.

The chatter tonight wasn't going to be about James. The eyes of the world weren't going to be on him. I'd keep them on me.

I tossed my wave-perfect hair and squared my shoulders. The roar of reporters yelling my name was louder the closer we got.

"Leah!"

"Leah, look over here!"

"Leah, what do you have to say about rumors that-"

"Smile, Leah!"

"Over here!"

I was standing right in front of them now. I had their attention. Beside me, Oren raised a hand, and just like that, the crowd went silent.

Say something. I'm supposed to say something.

"I... ummm..." I cleared my throat. "This has been a big change."

There were a few small laughs. I can do this. The instant I thought those words, the universe made me pay for them. A fight broke out behind me, between what I believed to be James' bodyguards and the cops. I saw cameras starting to angle away from me, saw the long-distance lenses zooming in on the gates. Don't just talk. Tell the story. Make them listen.

"I hope that today James Cornell is found guilty. He is a monster and he doesn't deserve to walk out today a free man."

I hear a voice shout out. "What did he do?"

I don't feel like retelling the story to reporters. I'm going to have to do it in an hour on National TV anyways.

"You'll just have to wait and see," I say loudly. And then I pat Oren's bicep, signaling it's time to leave. The crowd is silent for a few moments but when they see we're not coming back they start to cause chaos again. The drive in front of the court explodes in screams and cameras and questions.

"There's no point in that," I hear Alisa say, "they're not going to get answers from us even if they begged."

We take a seat near the Attorney tables, and Xander, Rebecca take a seat in the spectator seats where their names have been tagged. They're only about two feet behind us.

My eyes flicker around the (now) empty courtroom. My heard pangs when I see a label that reads "Grayson Hawthorne." It makes me yearn for the few moments I just had where my mind wasn't blowing me up and filling me with guilt about what happened last night.

"Any word from Grayson?" I ask Alisa.

She shakes her head and frowns. "Nope." She opens up her phone, and sighs. "Oh, well, great, the news is already on the case.