11 Months and 17 Days

The counting has ended

„That'll be a lifetime in prison for the kidnapping of Eijirou Kirishima and the murder of Nasao Bakugou." The judge smashes his hammer on the table to set the final judgement, following the uprising of all the different lawyers, police men, media reporters and gathered people in the courtroom.

I sit at the front desk, my lawyer next to me. He who stood up already looks down to my face, not a sprinkle of hope, pity or politeness. It's like all he does is his job without further emotions towards his clients.

I move my head over to the desk on the other side of the courtroom, where Bakugou sits with his head hanging down, his eyes lost. I wonder what he may think of his sentence.

„He won't make it for long." My lawyer suddenly says. A surprised look of mine makes its way to meet the eyes of the not shaved, tired looking man, who doesn't even look in Bakugou's direction. He directly takes out a cigarette and puts it in his mouth.

„Sorry?" I ask wondering about his statement.

„Your boyfriend. I of course mean- your kidnapper." He answers again, still looking up to the seat of the judge. Sighing, I let my head fall again. There's nothing I can do.

„A man with those looks." He continues. „Won't make it for a week in a prison like that. He should be brought to an asylum, locked away from anyone else."

„You think he's a lunatic." My voice is low, hair falls down my face.

„Kid. I'm not tryna be rude, but damn that man held you captive for almost a year, not lettin you out n shit. You think he sane?" My lawyer gets this accent back my parents told me about two years ago, when they had a fight with some of our neighbors about territory stuff I didn't try to understand.

„He's good."

„Tryna tell me he's good won't change a thing. It's your fault you didn't say nothin during the process.. maybe that's when he was countin on you." He stands up, adjusts his suit and begins to walk away, leaving me behind.

He's right though. I didn't say anything while Bakugou was watching me with those eyes, filled in agony. He doesn't want to go to prison. I don't want to put him in there. I still love him, but how will that affect my deep temptation to see him being locked up for once? I talk about myself loving him. For shit I do, if I want to see him suffer.

But he never apologized. He never did.

„Ei?" My sister walks up to me. „Mom wants to leave."

„I don't." The answer comes off way too disrespectful, angry and impulsive. My sister gets it directly and puts her hand away from my shoulder. Ever since I saw her again, she thinks of me as another person. As maybe less sociable.

„Why do they let him sit around?" She then asks and looks over to the other seat, where Bakugou sits, now leaning against the back rest, hands on his thighs, cuffed. I tilt my head over to him.

„He doesn't have anywhere to go anyway."

„Sir, do you plan on talking to him for the last time?" A police officer comes up to me, asking politely. I hesitate, when suddenly the toughness I played out fades away.

„Does- does he really have to go..?" My voice gets higher, it stutters and cracks, while holding up a cry. My throat hurts from the pressure while my arms lay calmly on my thighs, but hands tensed to fists as hard as I can, pressing my nails inside my flesh.

„Sir?" The man asks, stepping away from me.

„He didn't- I'm fine, don't you see? He didn't hurt me. He didn't do anything wrong, please let him stay here...." The whining begins. No toughness, just whining. And I feel Bakugou not turning around to me, but looking straight at the exit of the courtroom, where he's going to be taken to prison.