Consent: a gripping psychological suspense thriller by Lizzie Greenaway

Author:Lizzie Greenaway [Greenaway, Lizzie]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Bloodhound Books - crime, thriller and mystery
Published: 2021-01-11T16:00:00+00:00

Molly

I crumple. As I stand in the dock, I crumple. There is nothing left for her to break. She has beaten me. The blows were delivered so expertly. She was timely in her questioning so it confused me. I suddenly felt like I had to defend myself, but the more she asked the more I questioned myself, the more I questioned my actions, and I stumbled. I stumbled over the facts. I could not cope with the pressure. I had not known it would be that bad, I had not anticipated she would be so nasty. She was like a viper – her tongue so sharp and cutting. And, all the while I could see him. I could see Jacob sitting in the dock, his eyes intently fixed on me, and he was shaking his head slowly, incredulous that he was sat in that chair.

I did not want to look at him. I did not want him to have any power over me, but I could feel his eyes boring into my head. And her questioning, this woman who had pretended to be my friend shortly before, was firing questions at me now, so quickly I had no time to think. She twisted what I said, she turned it into something it wasn’t, and all the while I could feel his eyes. I was breaking, and I wanted it to stop. All I wanted was it to stop. And, I could still feel his eyes, his scathing disapproval and contempt for me, even though it was him. It was him who was the wrongdoer.

She is quicker now. The questions are shorter, sharper, faster. She asks me to repeat myself, but she mangles my words so it all sounds wrong. I know as I am speaking that I have lost. I know as she continues to intimidate and abuse my vulnerable position that it was not worth it. I know immediately that I made a mistake, that I should have let it go, I should have forgotten and moved on. I should not have gone to the police. I should not have let it get to court. Because, this is worse, I am on trial, not just the night in question, but everything about me: my job, my social life, my clothing, my history, my relationships, my alcohol consumption, the way I dance, the way I construct friendships. I am on trial in front of everyone, and I can see now what a failure I am. I should have expected this. What else could I have expected? And the worst thing? It is like I am being raped all over again, only this time with an audience.

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