Don’t look at her, don’t look at her, don’t look at her. I haven’t seen her since she got arrested. I try not to look and I don’t want anyone in the courtroom to know I’m looking. Instead I look down at the silk tie I got for the homecoming dance but let my eyes dart back up and hope that my hair hides where I’m looking.

She looks a lot older than I remember. Harsher. Thinner. Her mouth--God the things she did with that mouth--is set in a frown and lines have formed around it. She’s only twenty-eight but now she looks forty.

She’s staring at me. Like she’s trying to tell me something. What am I supposed to do? Lie? We got caught doing it. There’s no way I can lie my way out of that. Her douchebag of a husband sits behind her. Asshole. If he hadn’t been such a jerk, hitting her and always telling her what a loser she is, then she wouldn’t have needed me.

No matter how many ways they spin it, I was not the victim. I knew exactly what I was doing. I take a deep breath and remember the first time I met Mrs. Anderson… Monica. It’s time for me to tell my side of the story.