The Watch.
by Chantelle Tibbs
Dinner was a bust. I’d lost count of how many failed meals I shared with Dan since the incident. My world had been dialed down to a dimness, just a shade above dark. Keeping his attention had been the center of everything. Trying to stay sexy enough for him to stay, alluring enough for him to leave. Her. But now all I could feel myself in touch with was an empty stomach where food and life could have been. All I could see, as Dan mouthed words to fill the silence, was her. The defendant. Diana Elizabeth Stanley.
That afternoon in court was another bust as I tried my best to prove how dangerous the defendant was. She was an empty shell of a seventeen year old who stood accused of violently beating my client, a twenty-seven year old man twice her build. In my career I’d never seen anything like it. The fear in this grown man’s eyes at even the mention of having to face her in court. We could barely get my client into the courtroom.
“I can’t do it.”
“She doesn’t have the rage. She was tested twice and never showed any symptoms in custody.”
“She doesn’t need the rage. She is the rage.”
He was physically pushed into the courtroom, his feet dragged forward. I needed the courtroom to see his cast, the blood, the scars, black eyes. The bandage over his head. In the end none of it mattered to the judge or the jury. A new blood disorder that made women with the second rarest blood type violent, violent in particular towards men, was the main focus of everyone now. There had even been talk about enforcing a curfew for all males before they could “get this thing sorted out.”
Diana Stanley’s blood type didn’t match. She didn’t have it. So the case didn’t matter. She was a tall, wiry, yet pixie-esque looking girl with strong but not necessarily intimidating features. Shaggy brown hair framed her face. Then there were the eyes. Deep pools of black, the eyes that stood my hair.
When the verdict read “Not Guilty,” she looked directly at me. I forced my eyes to meet hers. She needed to see my strength, even in defeat. I could swear she smiled at me. What haunted me for weeks was that I could feel myself smile back.
After my silent dinner with Dan, I found myself in the tiny bed of my sheek city pad staring up at the ceiling. It was her face I saw staring back down at me. I had to find her. Before she struck again. I flew off my bed and out the front door.
More of The Watch. on January 22nd
right here on Defenestrationism.net
Back to Fan Voting
What’s New
home/ Bonafides
by 
by
Our sphere