Innocent Until Proven Guilty Unless You Are The Victim

                                    

                                          
A/N - Happy Halloween to all of those who celebrate! I hope all of you stay safe and have fun! Here is an update until I can back to writing again this week. 


The computer screen seemed too bright in the dimly lit library, and I knew I needed to start my essay soon. Professor Evans hasn't introduced it, but it was on the class website, and if I can get a head start, I will. Somewhere in between sitting down and pulling out my laptop, Kinnick opened up his new book. Ever since then, it has been challenging to do anything except for watching him. 
Both of his legs were propped on a chair beside him as the novel rested on top of his thighs. He was bent over the spread pages with a strand of his hair hanging in front of his face, but he read with such focus that nothing outside of the story seemed to be important. His teeth bit into the ends of his already short nails as the concern on his face deepened. 
As I tried to peer further over the laptop screen in front of me, I couldn't help but lose the fear of being caught. His brows pinched together; a deep glare fixed on his face as he looked down at the words on the pages. My teeth sunk into my lip as I tried to stifle my laughter, but I couldn't help the snort that came out. 
When those striking blue eyes turned toward me, I felt their gaze catch ahold of my neck, never allowing the air access to my lungs. His tongue swiped over his lips as they pulled into a smile that was sure to put me six feet under. 
Then he spoke, and I knew I would be needing a tombstone soon as his deep voice rumbled through the small space between us. "Didn't I tell you it was rude to stare, Miss Bennett?" 
My teeth let the lip I held hostage loose. "I couldn't help myself. I just never saw someone as interested in reading as me." 
He closed the book over his finger. "I wouldn't say I like it, but I need to read as much as I need air to breathe." 
"What's your reason?" 
"I told you the only reason people read is to escape." 
"What are you trying to get away from?" 
A flash of question passed his eyes as if he were asking himself the same thing, but he brushed it off quickly. I'm sure he didn't expect me to ask him that, and I felt rude doing it. Apologies slipped past my lips in a mumbled manner. 
"Bo," he said my name softly. "Stop overthinking it." 
"I shouldn't have asked," I stared at my fidgeting fingers. 
He leaned back into his chair. "I want to get away from reality. Ya know?" 
I tossed the curls gathering in front of my face over my shoulder. "I do." 
"What are you working on over there?" 
My eyes shifted back to the blank document on my laptop. I wasn't sure why I felt the lack of motivation when I feared the idea of failure. My old therapist said that is a sign of depression which I know I do not have. All she wanted to do was put me away because of everything that I couldn't do right. Well, according to her standards anyway. 
If dad didn't seem to care about the time he found me in the bathtub after I overdosed, then why should I be trying to get help at all? It obviously wasn't serious enough too. The moment I started remembering that night, I sucked in a deep breath and looked up at Kinnick as he came around the table to sit beside me. 
He encased me in his arms, creating a wall of warmth as he sat beside me. I watched one arm sneak behind me, resting on the backside of the chair as he pushed the other one in front, wrapping it around my computer as he looked at my screen. I could feel his warmth radiating toward me and his soft musky scent filling my nose. Something about it all made me sleepy. 
"You mean to tell me you haven't done a single thing?" He chuckled. "Have you been watching me this whole time?" 
My cheeks flushed with embarrassment. "I'm sorry." 
"You say that too often," he mumbled. "What's the topic?" 
"I have to tell my professor what I think sets me apart from any other prosecutor or in other words, what makes me different." 
"Why is that hard?" 
"Why?" I choke. "I have no idea what makes me different. I've always struggled to figure that out. I'm ordinary, normal, bland, bleak, and any other word you could use to describe someone who isn't different. I struggle to set myself apart from everyone else. What makes me different?" 
"You are the only you," he shrugged as if what he said made sense. 
I narrowed my eyes. "Thanks." 
"No, seriously," laughter ripped through his throat. "No one is you and that is your power." 
"I am going to fail if I put that as my reason." 
"What I mean is," he turned his face to look at me. "No one has faced the same struggles. Everyone reacts differently. Everyone is motivated by something different. I suffered from some things in my childhood that turned me into one of the best defensive boxers, but someone else could have gone through the same thing and turned into a boxer with the best uppercuts -" 
"The way I see it is, there are around twenty-thousand active professional boxers in the world, but we all have our signature thing. Some of us just make it farther than others because of what motivates us. Because of what makes us different. Just like there are a plethora of prosecutors, but they all have a different presence in the courtroom. What motivates you to be a prosecutor is what makes you different. You are what makes you different. No one is you, so that is your great divide." 
My lips parted to say something, but I wasn't sure what to say, so he spoke instead. "Why do you want to be a prosecutor, Bo?"
"People are getting sent to prison for the rest of their lives on drug charges, and people who are committing horrific crimes can walk free with nothing more than probation," I sighed. "Some people don't get as much as probation. Our criminal justice system forgot their innocent until proven guilty verdict doesn't just rely on the accused but on the accuser also -" 
"I've watched so many women face their abusers in court to only be told they are the liar. It is innocent until proven guilty unless you are the victim. You are the liar until they say you are not, and you can have all of the evidence in the world, and you can still be shaped into nothing more than a girl who drank too much or enjoyed her night a little more than others -" 
"I want to be a prosecutor because the bad people deserve to lose for once. People said I should be a defense attorney to defend the victim, but why should I have to do that? Why is it the victim is made to feel more guilty than the person who is being charged? I know there are two sides to every story, but just because someone drank a lot of alcohol or wore something a little too revealing doesn't mean they should be made into a pile of nothing more than skin and bones -" 
"I want to be a prosecutor because something in our system needs to change, and I am going to do everything to make sure it happens." 
After I got done talking, I sucked in a deep breath because I finally said what I had been telling myself out loud. I heard what I needed too, and I looked at Kinnick, who had a twist of amusement on his face, but it wasn't humor. He looked genuinely surprised by what I said. 
"I know you are worried that someone is going to be better than you," he said gently. "And that you are going to do nothing for the system. But I can assure you that the people who think they aren't capable are the same people who have the most significant impact -" 
"John told me this quote and it stuck with me," his eyes met mine. "You think you are too small to make a big change, but the smallest matches caused the most prolific wildfires. So, strike your match and watch everything catch fire because soon you will be dancing on the ashes of yesterdays goals, and you won't even realize how much of an impact you've made until you stop to see the embers."