As I stand in front of the judge, waiting for her to sentence me, perspiration covers my body. I’ll be the first to admit I sometimes act impulsively and do stupid things. I’m well known for it. But I’ve never done anything criminal. Not until two months ago. Now, I have to face the music.
I was in love with a guy who I thought loved me back. I was sure of it, even when I decided to pay him a surprise visit last September. He was feeling sick and planned on spending the night alone in bed. I thought I’d bring him some chicken soup from the store because, well, I can’t boil water. I made a mistake. I used the spare key when he didn’t answer because stupid me thought he might be asleep. Nope. He was stuffing another girl’s vagina with his cock like it was a Thanksgiving turkey.
Something inside of me snapped that night.
I suppose I could have pleaded temporary insanity in court. The judge might have believed me—she may have even sympathized with me. But I didn’t do that. I would have, had there not been a curve ball to my crime. Instead of smashing my exes boyfriend with a baseball bat I beat up an identical car in the parking lot of his condo building. How the hell could I have known there were two blue Mustangs there with the same yellow racing stripe down the hood?