I was so glad to get down from the stand, and my legs felt shaky as I wobbled back to the defense table.
When I sat down, Chyanne stood up. “The defense rests,” she said.
“We’ll recess for today,” the judge said. “Closing arguments tomorrow.” She banged her gavel, the courtroom stood, and the six-month ordeal that could send me away for the rest of my life was nearing the end.
Chapter 44
The guilty verdict wasn’t something that anyone was prepared for. We all thought that Chyanne had done a wonderful job in establishing reasonable doubt, but it wasn’t good enough. Honestly, I wasn’t extremely shocked about the verdict. I kind of knew this was coming. The dreams I’d been having were my warning, and I should have stayed away from King in the first place.
Out of life, twenty years had gone by, and the moment I met King still played in my head. I tried to imagine scenarios in which I got out of that room at Black Media Elite before he ever walked in. I probably would still be working at BME if I hadn’t met King. I probably would be editor in chief by now, running things. One of the correctional officers who sympathized with my story slipped me a newspaper article about myself.
She was a sweet girl with a bright future, until she let love walk through the door. That line in the article stuck with me for years. It was so true. Before I met King, I had had my life set up for greatness. I’d been heading in the direction I had always seen myself going in. When the women in here asked me if I would take it all back, do things differently if I could, I never gave them an answer. I didn’t have one.
I kept in touch with Leslie and Donovan for a little while, until they slowly started to fade. In one of the many letters my mother sent, she told me Donovan’s company had expanded tremendously and he’d sold it for millions. He’d married a pediatrician, and they had two children. I often thought about what my life would be like if I were with Donovan. I knew it wouldn’t consist of jumpsuits and bars.
Leslie decided she wanted to go around the country and help battered women before their situation ended up like mine.
“I think I feel guilty about not helping you more,” she told me during her last visit, before she left.
“Don’t feel bad about me, Leslie. You did all you could do.”
“How are you doing in here?”
“I’ve seen better days, but I’m making it.” We sat in an uncomfortable silence for a moment, trying to figure out what to say next.
“How are you spending your time?”
I didn’t answer. Just looked down at the table in sadness.
“Listen, I brought you something. Maybe you can make some good use of it.” She slid me the little purple flower book that had become so familiar to me. With that, she got up and walked away.
The guard took me back to my cell, and I thumbed through my journal. I didn’t know how Leslie was able to get it to me, but I was kind of thankful she had. I started with page one and began to read the thoughts I’d written down. Devouring page after page, I relived the events of the past in my mind. The sad life that I had lived was right in front of me all over again.
There was something about seeing my words again that made me want to write. I needed to get back to the thing that had started it all. I worked out a deal with the prison librarian whereby she allowed me to use the old typewriter they had. Every day I went into the library and typed. It was surprisingly therapeutic. I was releasing all the hurt, pain, and regret I felt about this whole situation with each stroke of a key. I began to forgive myself as I turned my journal into my memoirs. It took me years to complete my memoirs, and when I finished the last chapter, I read the final line over and over again. As I close this book, I now understand my strange addiction. Sweet dreams.
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Strange Addiction Copyright © 2012 Alexis Nicole
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