Him
The waiting is the worst thing.
Worse than police officers knocking on your door while you’re having dinner with your wife, informing you as the steak in your stomach liquefies, that you’ve been accused of rape. Worse, even, than the look in your wife’s eyes when you admit that, yes, you slept with someone, but it meant nothing.
Worse than protesting your innocence to a bunch of strangers, like that stuck up old woman with the pearls. Her lips curled into a sneer when I called that bitch out for what she is. When I said she’d been pestering me all night in a slutty outfit, then jumped into my taxi uninvited and took me back to her place. When I described her saying she loved me afterwards, and going hysterical when I said I’m married.
Worse than watching her give evidence on a screen, all buttoned-up, pretending to be pure. There was a young dude in the jury with a shaved head. I could tell by the way he rolled his eyes that he knew what kind of girl she is. We all know, right?
Worse because now I’m helpless.
Three days and counting. How long does it take twelve people to make a decision? Who will win: sour-faced pearl woman or my bald bro?
My phone rings and sends shock waves through my body.
“The verdict is in.”
Her
A hush descends as the jury foreperson stands. It’s the lady with the kind face and the pearl necklace.
My nightmare has endured for years, but the last thirty minutes, awaiting this moment, has been the longest of all.
Thirty minutes. The same amount of time he held me down for. Half the length of a lunch-break. That’s all it took to ruin my life.
I’m watching on a screen, but still I can smell the dusty courtroom, its air thick with the baited breath of all those people. Still I feel intimidated by the sheer scale of the room, its weight bearing down on me. And now his ragged breath is in my face, stinking of alcohol. His tongue slithers over me. I sink my nails into my skin, desperate to claw away the shame.
“Have you reached a verdict?” says the judge.
“We have, your honour.”
“On the charge of rape, how do you find the defendant?”
Time stretches like a yawn as she opens her mouth. Two lives hang in the balance.
“Guilty.” A shaft of light glints off one of her pearls and then disappears.
Waves of sound lap over me. Muttering. Sharp intakes of breath. And then something guttural and raw. He’s doubled-over in the stand, vomiting. My stomach churns. I can’t hear the judge’s words over my own retching.
It wasn’t him, but it was someone exactly like him, long ago. If he could be punished, I’d be free.
But as he descends the steps, swallowed up by the court, I feel no peace. I just sink deeper into my black hole.
