They said I was crazy.

Crazy? Me?

I can’t really tell you what happened that day; couldn’t tell you why I’m sitting here, confessing to the clean white pages of this journal. I guess they want to find out what really happened, pin me down like the butterflies I used to have on my wall; the ones in the pretty glass cases.  I feel like one here.

I know they’re going to read this, even though they say they don’t.

 All the time, they’re watching me. They think I don’t see, but really I do. I hear them at night, when they stand outside the door, and I know that they count the pills I take and how much water I drink; there are cameras in the rec room, behind the plants. They were always there, always watching. I was standing in the shower one day and I noticed the mirrors had this weird light behind them- and occurred to me as I was drying myself that they could see me. They were watching me as I washed, like he used to. At least they didn’t offer to help.

They tried to get me to “confess” today. They don’t believe me, they don’t understand that I didn’t do it. They never believe me; Gramma didn’t when I told her, Mommy didn’t, and they never seem to get that I’m not lying. This time, they showed me pictures, asked me questions.

“Why did you do it?”

I answered them, but they don’t believe me. Dad didn’t either; when I showed him the bruises and the scratches when I was home, he’d said I did it to myself.  Lina won’t defend me, forever playing the evil stepsister. Sharing the same demons doesn’t mean anything to her. Her daddy was precious to her.

The men in the black suits won’t take my answer for truth.

“Are you sorry?”

Only if he is.

We went to court today.

“My” lawyer pled insanity.

Christmas. Apparently they won’t even give me today to myself; another session of questions. We went to the clinic down the hall, and they took some blood. When they were putting the tubes away, I watched the tiny puncture leak droplets down my arm. Before the nurse could clean it up, I remembered…

You would think someone as evil as he was would have black blood. I remembered, just barely, how his looked, next to mine. I remember dropping the piece  of glass, staring at the ground. The butterfly, the beautiful Swallowtail I found in the swamp, was swimming in the puddle forming at my feet. I remember thinking how beautiful it looked, the yellow and blue against the bright, bright red.

There was colour, and then there was black.

When I woke up, I was in the room with Detective Brannings. He had big hands and a soft voice. He leaned over the railing of the bed and asked me what I saw.

When I told him, he went pale.
Today, the nurse who took my blood came in and sat down. She took my hand, and opened her mouth. Two words that in any other circumstance wouldn’t have made me cry like I did.

That  thing, that parasite, took all he wanted and left me with a permanent reminder.

I’m pregnant.

I’ve been here a month.

Every moment of the past 30 days has been a nightmare.

Court today.  Lina was there. She called me a murderer.

An eye for an eye.

Finally, the judge called an end to the hearing.

 The jury barely left the room before coming back.

Guilty as charged.

The End

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