I'm actually proud of this chapter! *dances*
This was inspired after watching Dr. Drew's Celebrity Addiction Special on VH1... really a direction I want to take, showing the celebrity mindset while in the realm of addiction. And Benjamin is a jerk and I love him for it. ^^
Some seemingly random details are actually relevant later on... so don't tell me I'm being superfluous.
I'm also debating about whether or not I want to put that quote there or right at the beginning... meh. It inspired this chapter's title, nonetheless.
3: What The Law Is
“It is emphatically the province and duty of the judicial department to say what the law is.” –Chief Justice John Marshall, 1803
Benjamin sat in the hard wooden chair, twiddling his thumbs and staring at his knees. His heart was racing, a bead of sweat tracing its way down his spine. It wasn’t because he was nervous; rather, because he hadn’t had a hit in days. The worst of the withdrawal had passed, but he still found himself frequently short of breath. His nose itched terribly, but he held back from scratching it.
“All rise,” the court bailiff called. Benjamin obeyed, everyone else in the small courtroom following suit. The judge, a short but lithe Black woman, filed in and took her seat at the bench. There was a soft rustling noise as those in the room sat back down. Benjamin turned around to see who was in the galley behind him. His sister, Karina, had managed to squeeze herself into the front row behind him and to his right. He wasn’t surprised to see a crowd of reporters and spectators crammed along with her. There were undoubtedly more outside, and he knew he’d be met with a million camera flashes and a thousand questions when he left the courthouse.
If I leave the courthouse.
He pushed the thought aside and turned back to the judge. The judge was a fan of Benjamin’s and she had seen all of his movies, but she wasn’t stupid. She knew to separate her personal life from her professional life. The man before her was no longer a celebrity to her; he was just another lowlife it was her duty to take off the streets.
But her fanatical love for the actor found its way in somehow. Accompanied by a handsome sum of money.
“Benjamin Reid, I’m not going to mince words with you,” she said. “You’ve been caught with all manner of drugs in the past. You’ve been to rehab twice, and yet you’re still here on yet another drug possession charge. The first time you got off easy; you walked away with a fine and some community service. The second time you refused treatment and spent 30 days in jail. Now it’s your third time in that chair. Normally I’d give you more jail time, but I’m feeling generous. I’m going to offer you a choice. Either participate in a drug treatment program or spend more time in prison. I’m calling a 15-minute recess for you to think it over.”
She banged her gavel, still feeling the childlike glee that accompanied every sentence. Banging a gavel was still fun, even after nearly ten years.
The media personnel in the gallery burst into an uproar, all clamoring for Benjamin’s attention. A few fans stuck out posters and photographs with Sharpies attached, screaming for his autograph. Benjamin was tempted to lunge for them, but he felt Karina’s hand fly out and grab his upper arm.
“You’re going to take the treatment program, right?” she said, pulling him close and speaking directly into his ear.
“Of course,” he replied, not really thinking.
“Don’t brush me off, Benny.”
“I’m not brushing you off!”
“Yes you are. Look at me. Look me in the eyes, Benny.”
He reluctantly turned his head and met his sister’s eyes. She glared at him over the top of her glasses.
“You will take the treatment. Read my lips. You will take the treatment or I will destroy your career from the inside out.”
“Alright, alright, I’ll take the damn treatment. Will you just let me go?”
She held him for a minute, still glaring. Just as he was about to forcefully pull away, she let go. Benjamin lunged for his fans, but was intercepted again by his lawyer, a stringy, conniving man named Dave Cuttar who was a self-professed “celebrity lawyer,” meaning he bribed judges into getting his clients off lightly. He prided himself on his “ability” to get his clients off the hook, even though his career would end in a flaming disaster when the police received an anonymous tip about his illegitimate practice.
“You had better listen to your sister, bub,” he said brusquely. “That treatment program was the lightest sentence I could get you. You’ll just spend some time in a residential place. They’ll put you on probation and make you get drug tested when you get out of the treatment centre. You’ll blow through it in six months, easy.”
“What use you are,” Benjamin said gruffly, pushing past Dave. Benjamin flashed a perky, pride-of-cosmetic-dentistry smile at the reporters and their cameras, and signed all of his fan’s memorabilia, feigning interest in them for the remaining time of the recess.
After the fifteen minutes were up, the courtroom quieted down and Benjamin sat down next to his lawyer. He rose along with Dave when ordered.
“Have you made a decision, Mr. Reid?” the judge said.
“Yes ma’am. I, Benjamin Scott Reid, elect to the drug treatment program and all activities accompanied by it.”
“Very well. I sentence you to six months in a court-approved drug treatment facility, followed by three months probation.”
The judge banged her gavel again, and whatever she said next was lost in the uproar from the media. The bailiff, who had been glaring at Benjamin during the entire proceeding, took Benjamin’s forearm and led him away.
“Hey, what are you – hey, get your filthy hands off me. Dave! Dave, where are you?”
“You wanted the treatment, you’re getting the treatment,” the bailiff said gruffly. “I’ve had enough of this nonsense. You’ll see them again later, but you’re going straight to your treatment.”
“I don’t even get to go home and collect some things?”
“You can have your pudgy girlfriend do that for you.”
“Who, Karina? She’s my sister, not my girlfriend, and dammit, get your hands off me!”
Benjamin swatted at the bailiff, who only took him in a harder grip.
“Don’t you try and hit me,” he hissed. “I’m still a police officer, and I’d be more than happy to arrest you on charges of assault.
“Camp’s over, celebrity boy. You’re in the real world now.”
I'm helpful, aren't I?
