Fugue State Read Online Free PDF Page A

away from the jury and considered adding “too much eye-contact” to her list of faults.
    She went over the list of errors she had created in her mind. That scandalous outfit that led both the bouncer and the police to think me a prostitute — bad idea. She winced. Don’t forget the cocktails that left my blood alcohol level at point oh-six, not far below the legal driving limit of point oh-eight. She rolled her eyes to herself as the voice in her head mocked the legal limit. I’m a whore and a lush. Check. Next? Oh, yes. Too deliberate with the knife when I turned on Jamar. According to the prosecution and Detective Marcum, a victim is typically much more precarious with their counter attack, stabbing away haphazardly without thought or recourse. They deemed her use of the knife “an unjustified use of force” in comparison to the superficial cut Jamar had made on her thigh. Finally, the first words the bouncer heard from her were, “Turn off the music.” The grimaces on the juror’s faces revealed their dismay. She didn’t sound like a victim to them, and Alexa didn’t know how to convey innocence. She behaved defensively and sometimes defiantly; Appleby kept her off the stand whenever possible.
    She wanted to tell them how painful the song lyrics were in her head, how those words tortured her even after her attacker lay dead. She wanted to remind them Jamar would have left her dead body in that alley. She fidgeted in her seat with frustration. Who knows what other mistakes I’ve made?
    The prosecutor stood. “I call Alexa DeBrow to the stand.”
    Her toes curled in her designer heels. She was expecting deliberations, not more questioning. Whatever is coming, I’m not ready for it. Reluctant to stand, she turned to Appleby in desperation. He held a blank expression. Having faltered time and again on the stand, she relied heavily on his coaching. With unexpected questioning, she feared another failure. Her nervousness could be misconstrued as guilt, while her attempt to defend herself came off as arrogance. She also feared the judge didn’t like her. He told her she had “an authoritative attitude that would not be tolerated in his courtroom ” when she challenged the prosecutions questions. Challenged the questions? She twists my words in a manner that changes their meaning. Alexa had argued over the prosecutor’s use of the word drunk.
    “How drunk were you that night, Miss DeBrow?”
    “I wasn’t drunk.”
    “So you didn’t have anything to drink?”
    “I had two martinis.”
    “If you had two martinis, you weren’t sober. Agreed?”
    “I had two martinis.” She said each word more firmly than before.
    “Were you sober? Yes or no?”
    “I had two martinis. That is the only answer you get.” She had raised her voice.
    The judge banged her gavel and scolded Alexa’s behavior.
    His reproach sparked a silent fury.
    Alexa’s feet marched toward the stand, tension mounting within her subconscious. How am I supposed to behave? The fact that I am on trial for killing my attacker is ludicrous!
    As she took her seat at the front of the courtroom, she flattened the front of her Emilio Pucci skirt.
    “Dr. DeBrow, I’d like to remind you that you are under oath,” the prosecutor stated.
    Alexa’s eyelids fluttered in a state of disbelief. She said Dr. DeBrow — not Miss DeBrow, like every other day in court. She was startled to hear her own professional title, but only for a moment before she felt more at ease. Perhaps this new gesture is a sign of good faith that they are preparing to admit defeat? She’d wanted to request the judge that she be addressed as Dr. DeBrow because she thought her title would help to portray her as a more debonair and intellectual persona, further separating her from the role of a prostitute that the prosecution had contrived. However, when the judge stated Alexa conveyed an air of authority, she had decided not to ask. She adjusted her posture and sat more upright as