His lips move back and forth, as pink and luscious as I recall, as He pleads his case, determined to talk his way out of trouble, as I remember he always does. This time, though, He cannot win –if I let him defeat me, again, it really will all end.
I catch His eye over the pedestal he stands behind, and, though he averts his gaze after a mere second, I can feel the burning rage of anger His stare contains.
“. . . Just wants attention!” He is saying now, the lies spewing out of his mouth as if he’s rehearsed them endlessly, which I don’t doubt.
“She probably gave herself those bruises, just to set me up!”
He is yelling now, his voice echoing around in the vast room, slithering in and out of the rows that continue on and on to the back of the room.
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