Chapter Text
~Turnabout Revolutionary~
~Chapter 2~
(Phoenix)
It had been about a week since the group had come to visit, but with that still in mind, nothing about my condition had changed in the slightest. The pills they had prescribed me didn’t work, therapy just made me feel awkward. Feeling paranoid and stressed can sometimes be indulgent when you have a good reason to justify it, But to me, being assaulted when people like Maya have had it much worse, is so far from being justified. Maya had her mother killed before her eyes, I just was kidnapped. To add to that Maya had also been kidnapped, by a famous assassin no less. She stays strong all the time, I broke down after just trying to remember what happened.
To add insult to injury, I can’t get a wink of sleep, no matter how much I try. Silhouettes of people I don’t remember or don’t want to remember cast upon the walls of the small room. Agony induced screams echo around, sometimes I can’t decipher whether they’re mine or not. If there was any good that comes out my paranoia it would be the extra time I have to waste. Going through old cases Mia has done, Marvin Grossberg has done, even cases I’ve done.
In even single case the winning side is praised beyond belief, it’s one-sided in every degree. If someone like Edgeworth wins, then he’s the lord and saviour of that case and vice versa. In some sort of morbid spike of curiosity I looked through some of Manfred von Karma’s cases. He was no exception. But he now had a police file filled with his misdeeds and wrong doing.
The most recent was setting up an “accident” for prosecutor who applied first for Edgeworth’s trial. Rosauro Russell, a filipino man, was a budding prosecutor whom according to the file “was steps away from his big break”, whatever that means. Rummaging through pieces of the past was the only solace I could find during my stay at the hospital. But as intense, crippling boredom set in, I remembered my goal. Revenge.
The file of the “kidnapping and assault of Phoenix Wright” had been started, dates, hospital data, and the summary were done. So far there were no suspects and before the investigation could start they would need my testimony. Which the hospital staff said that attempts could cause severe mental trauma. That in turn prompted Detective Gumshoe (who was in charge of the case) to schedule therapy. Speaking of which, my second session will be starting very soon.
My therapist, Freida Coffy, seems nice enough, like she actually cares. Except deep down, I can tell it’s a facade. Being the therapist of the
“emotionally wrecked and scarred famous attorney Phoenix wright” has caused a lot of press from the tabloids. Stupid gossips about her taking advantage of patients and she’s there basking in it like a lizard does in sunlight.
At first seeing a therapist sound like a good idea, then I realized that talking about it felt weird and brings up memories too painful to want to remember. But since I haven’t had another breakdown, they’ve decided to let me see one visitor per day. It’s almost ironic but the first person in cue was Edgeworth. The cynical, british fan favorite.
When he walks through the door into the sterile room, my first reaction is to cover my face with a blanket and hide until he leaves. It’s been awhile, but even after coming to terms with his on and off role in my life, I still hate it. Still feel selfishly betrayed when in reality it’s not the case.
“Good morning, Wright,” he says, a get-well-soon card in his hand. He places the card on my bedside table before taking a seat. “This might be a stupid question, but how are you?”
I remove the smothering blanket, stare blankly at him, and say nothing. Most likely just to spite him for some reason.
“I can’t tell if you don’t want to talk about it or just really don’t like me being here.”
“Why can’t it be both?” I retort, feeling some sort of accomplishment in being a prick to someone I cared deeply for.
“Good point. So… I get a call from your daughter telling me you put on a theatrical performance at the courtroom. I chartered a private jet over here, just like before, and when I get here. You have no interest in talking to me whatsoever, correct?”
I nod. “Unless you are going to prosecute my case, there is no reason for you being here. Especially when I cause you unnecessary feelings.”
He chuckled. “You seem more bitter than usual.”
“No shit Miles. I was kidnapped and assaulted. Now people are asking for my testimony and gossip has spread.”
“If you want I can take your testimony, so it doesn’t have to be a stranger.”
“I don’t remember that much, so it’s pointless.”
“Really now? Because according to Godot, you had a nervous breakdown remembering everything,” Edgeworth looks so smug as he says that. I wish I could slap that arrogant smile off of his dumb face.
Disregarding his comment I changed the subject: “How is Godot’s parole going anyway?”
“Fine, I guess. So what about?”
“No, Edgeworth. Stop asking,” I reaffirm because he can’t get it through his thick skull.
“Phoenix, I know you’re hurting a lot, but it’s no reason to be cold and distant.”
(Edgeworth)
What am I supposed to do, one of my best friends sitting in a hospital room denying me anyway to solve the problem.
“Phoenix, I know you’re hurting a lot, but it’s no reason to be cold and distant,” I say, trying to sound as concerned as humanly possible.
“Do you now?”
“Phoenix please stop! It’s not fair to people like Maya who deeply care for you.”
He gives a long exasperated sigh. “If I give my testimony will you stop bothering me?”
“When you put it like that.” I chuckle.
“Yes or no?” he persists.
“Yes, you shall make a office visit tomorrow.”
“I’m not sure my therapist will approve.”
“Justice is more important!” I did my best superhero pose.
“Don’t push it, Miles.”