Rachel remembered the night as if it were yesterday. She had gone cruising with her friends on a hot summer night in Nebraska. Her boyfriend Tommy sat behind the wheel, the tunes were cranked, and she had never felt so alive. What a wonderful feeling to have friends. Her parents had been killed in a single engine plane crash, somewhere outside of New Mexico, when she was five years old. Since then, she had lived in foster home after foster home, never seeming to stay long enough to make real connections. This was the first time in her life that she had stayed more than a consecutive year in any school.

The Johnsons had taken her in a year and a half ago. Joanne had always wanted a daughter; whereas she presumed Michael just wanted to keep Joanne busy. Perhaps to keep her so preoccupied that she was unable to recognize his constant infidelities. That had only worked for a year. For the last six months she had overheard more than a few screaming matches about his frequent business trips. Joanne was not stupid, nor was she blind to her husband's indifference. Rachel hoped that they could hold it together long enough for her to finish her high school education. Once in university, she promised herself, she would never have to see any of them again.

For the first year, Joanne had lavished her with attention: they had shopped together for expensive designer clothes, had gotten manicures and pedicures together in prestigious salons, and had luncheons together in trendy restaurants. They had talked girl talk, had shared their feelings, and had even baked cookies. It had all seemed like a fairytale. All that had changed. Everything had changed. For the last six months, Joanne had barely paid any attention to her. It was like she had picked out a puppy from the pound and grown tired of it. It enraged Rachel to think about how she had been duped. At first she had believed that Joanne wanted to be her mother, but now she knew all she really wanted was a life-size Barbie that she could dress and show off to her friends. As for the rest of the family: Michael, her foster father, treated her with indifference, while Brad, her foster brother, treated her with disdain. Often looking at her like she was something he had dragged in on the bottom of his shoe.

Over the last few months, no one seemed to even notice she was alive. She might as well have been invisible, but that was just fine by her. She kept telling herself: keep your head down and your nose clean, and if you're lucky, you won't have to leave all the people you have come to love behind. More importantly, you won't have to leave all the people who have come to love you like Tommy. At seventeen, Tommy was two years older than her, and seemed the most mature guy she knew. Out of all the people in her life, Tommy was the only person she felt truly loved her, and come hell or high water, she wasn't going to lose him.

She looked over at Tommy, thinking about how much she loved him, and wondered if she should tell him tonight. The words had dangled from her lips several times before, but she had always chickened out at the last moment. For someone like her, saying I love you was a very scary prospect. An intense feeling of love washed over her in that moment and she no longer cared. Oh yes, she would tell him tonight. She would tell him exactly how she felt.

Tommy sensed she was staring at him and turned to look at her. Giving her his most winning smile, he reached over and playfully squeezed her knee. She let out a small squeal that made all her friends laugh. Yes, she thought, life is good; dear Lord let it stay this way. They drove around for hours laughing and joking with each other. Rachel had never smiled so much in her whole life. She felt like her face was going to crack. Unfortunately, the night had to end. Tommy dropped everyone off according to their curfews. Rachel was lucky in that regard. She doubted if anyone would notice if she stayed out all night. She wouldn't though. No, she couldn't. If she was to get in trouble, they might send her packing. She had no choice but to tow the line.

Once alone, Tommy headed straight for the look off. He just loved to drive fast, and tonight was no exception to the rule. The car screamed around each corner. Faster and faster he drove until he skidded to a halt. Not before nearly careening over the edge of the cliff overlooking their small Nebraskan town. The feeling was exhilarating. She had never felt so alive, so young and so carefree. She turned to look at Tommy, her heart pounding in her chest with a big goofy grin on her face. She felt like the luckiest girl alive. Her friends had all gushed that he was so patient. Marveling that he hadn't even gotten to second base with her, and yet they were still dating.

Her best friend Sue had remarked, "Johnny would have dumped me long ago, if I didn't let him feel that he was eventually going to go all the way with me."

Rachel had just given her a smug grin and said, "Well Tommy isn't like that. He says he'll wait forever, if that's what it takes."

Now on the look off, she wondered if that had really been true. The way he was looking at her was as if he were trying to drink her in with his eyes. She didn't have to look down at his already too-tight jeans to know the intensity of his arousal. She could see it smoldering in his eyes. Rachel threw her arms out in a defensive gesture as Tommy leaned across to kiss her. She had allowed this intimacy before, but never let Tommy get too carried away. As soon as she sensed his hands moving southward, she always abruptly ended the evening. This time he did not take that route; instead, his lips left hers as he began to trail hot kisses down her neck. Rachel's heart began to beat out a faster tempo. She felt a warm sensation between her thighs as shivers ran up and down her spine. This new exhilarating experience was almost too much for her. She had to make him stop. She put her hands against his chest, and felt his heart pounding out its own rapid tune in her palm. But before she could succumb to this new sensation, she gently pushed him away.

Her face felt like it was on fire, she was hyperventilating, and her heart felt like it was trying to make a rapid retreat from her chest. To her surprise, she managed to say in barely a whisper: "No Tommy, we can't. I've explained all this to you before."

Tommy growled in frustration, moving away from her reluctantly. Once he was back behind the wheel, he turned to her with venom in his eyes. His fist struck the steering wheel, making her jump, as he ground out through clenched teeth, "No, Rachel why don't you explain it to me for the hundredth time? Explain to me why it is that I can't even touch my own girlfriend." He said this as his hands gripped the steering wheel so tight that she could see his knuckles turn white.

"Look Tommy," she pleaded. "You know how it is with me. I mean, I'm living with a foster family who has only taken me in because they feel they owe some kind of debt to society. It's like they volunteered in a soup kitchen, or something. I mean right now, they might as well be ladling soup into a bowl for all the enthusiasm they show me. What do you think they would do if I came home pregnant? Do you think they would jump for joy?"

Tommy eagerly reached in his jeans pocket, frantically digging around for something. Retrieving it, he thrust it at her as he said, "You won't get knocked up Rachel. I have protection." She could see the glimmer of hope in his eyes.

She shook her head emphatically and in an exasperated voice, she said, "Condoms break, don't they? I mean, you hear about it all the time."

"Come on Rach, be reasonable," Tommy pleaded. "It won't break."

"I am using reason, Tommy. Do you know that there is a senior who won't be finishing the year, because she hadn't used reason? Things break, accidents happen. I can't take that chance. I'm walking a fine line and there is no room for error. Can't you understand that?" she entreated.

"I understand all right. You're choosing your family over me."

"Don't be stupid," Rachel blurted out. She knew it was a mistake as soon as she had said it.

"So now you think I'm stupid, do you?" Tommy asked indignantly.

"No, Tommy, you know that's not what I meant." Rachel stumbled over her words as she continued, "I mean I really care about you."

She hesitated. This was new territory for her. She took a deep breath and waded in, "I love you Tommy, but I can't risk making love to you, at least not until I'm old enough to live on my own." She looked at him imploringly. Her eyes welled with tears, willing him to understand.

"So let me get this straight. You expect me to what, wait three years for you?" Tommy asked incredulously.

Rachel realized how stupid she must sound. When she replayed what she had just said over in her own head, she realized how foolish and naïve she must appear. Of course he wouldn't wait. As this thought struck her, the tears that had been threatening began to fall of their own accord. She turned abruptly in an attempt to hide her pain, and in a barely audible whisper, said, "Take me home Tommy." Without a word of argument Tommy threw the car in reverse and sped down the country lane towards home.

The silence was deafening during the long drive. Tommy refused to speak, and she just continued to look straight ahead as she cried silent tears, the familiar landscape unrecognizable through her blurred vision. Once home, she exited the car quickly so that he could not see how devastated she was. She needn't have worried about hiding her feelings, because he didn't even look at her, and as soon as she shut the door, he just revved the engine, and sped away down the street, leaving a plume of dust in his wake.

As he sped away, she turned towards the imposing house – not her home, it would never be her home – and walked reluctantly towards the front door. She began to fish in her purse for the keys, because at that moment she could tell that it was uninhabited. No light but the porch light illuminated the foreyard. How could something meant to be so welcoming, not feel so to her? As she looked at this building, a two-story colonial, she wondered what the passersby thought. Did they think a happy, well-to-do family lived here? Well they would be wrong on both counts. During the frequent arguments between Joanne and Michael, she had overheard that they were in serious financial debt. She often heard Joanne crying at night. Obviously, this was not the life she had envisioned. Michael was a workaholic destined for an early grave, and Brad was angry all the time. She imagined that was what made him such a good football player. He could take out all his frustrations on the opposing team.

She fumbled with the key in the lock and entered the mausoleum-like foyer. It opened up directly to the massive spiral staircase that led to the second floor. Not bothering to turn on the inside light – the beam from the porch window was enough to guide her way. She sat down on the first three steps and tucked her knees toward her chest in an effort to console herself. A trick she had learned early on in life. If there was no one there to comfort her, she could always hug herself. Once there, she let the tears flow unchecked. Sobbing audibly, she worked herself into a full-blown blubber, and then to her horror she began to wail. Every emotion she had ever held in check her entire life seemed to culminate into this one moment.

She thought she would never stop, until she heard a car pull into the driveway. Mortified at the prospect of being discovered by one of the Johnsons; just the thought of one of them finding her like this, made her sobs come to an abrupt standstill mid-sputter. She shielded her tear-streaked eyes from the glare of the car's headlights as they flashed across her tormented face, but her curiosity got the better of her, forcing her towards the window.

She cautiously drew the curtain aside to see Brad trying unsuccessfully to extricate himself from his Mustang convertible. He practically stumbled out of the car as she heard the unmistakable sound of a bottle hit the driveway and go rolling down towards the street. He lumbered after it, easily catching it before it reached the sidewalk. Staggering back up the drive toward the house, he stopped just long enough to toss the bottle back into the front seat in a nonchalant manner. She stood there marveling at his nerve: coming home drunk, drinking and driving, and obviously making no effort to hide the evidence. Why would he? He was Brad the golden boy, who could do no wrong. His parents thought the sun rose and set on him, which goes to show how little parents really know their children.

Sure, he was the captain of the football team, a star quarterback, student president, and a straight A student. Why wouldn't they be proud? They couldn't possibly know the incredible cruelties he visited on the student body on a daily basis. Anyone who was not a member of his clique was fair game. Male or female, at least in this regard, he did not discriminate. How could his parents know that he was a racist, bullish, arrogant bastard? His arrogance was astounding. He looked down his nose at everyone, including the members of his own clique. Talk about a God complex.

Her thoughts were interrupted as the front door opened. Quickly, she began to climb the stairs to her room on the second floor; Brad was the absolute last person she wanted to see her like this. Too late, she was only half way to her destination when she heard the door close as he entered the foyer.

Brad halted her with his words, as he turned on the light of the entryway, "Ray Ray", he slurred, "Why are you skulking around in the dark?"

She turned to look at him and said in a dejected voice, "Don't call me that. I hate it when you call me that." Brad looked shocked by either her words or her appearance – she did not know which, and frankly she didn't care. As she turned around to climb the stairs, Brad again interrupted her retreat.

"What's wrong, Rachel? You look like hell." The unmistakable sound of concern in his voice stopped her in her tracks. She turned to look at him, amazed at his expression. She was confounded, was he actually expressing some sort of brotherly concern for her? This type of behavior was completely out of character for him.

She replied, "It's nothing, Brad. I'm going to bed."

"Suit yourself, but if you want to talk about it, I'll be in the living- room." He said this as he turned off the light in the foyer, and flicked on the light in the living-room, leaving her in near darkness again.

Rachel stood on the stairs, staring down at the spot that Brad had so recently occupied with an expression of shock, her mouth agape. Closing her mouth firmly, she heard her teeth clank together in her own head, and thought it couldn't hurt to talk to him about it. Maybe he would have a different perspective than her. Perhaps, he could tell her how to fix things with Tommy, or perhaps he would tell her that she had made the right decision. Either way, she felt she needed some reassurance. So she followed him into the living room.

Entering the living room, she noticed that Brad had chosen one of the loveseats to lounge on while he watched a late night talk show. When he looked up to see her standing awkwardly in the doorway, he gestured her in with one hand, while patting the cushion beside him in a friendly manner with the other. As she walked towards him, he turned off the TV, leaving the room ominously silent. She thought, oh well in for a penny in for a pound, and reluctantly sat down next to him on the too small sofa.

He turned to face her, their knees almost touching, and said, "Now Rachel, why don't you tell me all about it," as his hand simultaneously snaked out to pat her knee.

She shuddered, something was not right. Why did she suddenly feel like he was a spider and she was a fly being beckoned into his web? She felt trapped. Swallowing down the lump in her throat, she forced herself to relax. Just because he normally couldn't care less about her life didn't mean that he was not concerned now.

She stammered out, "My boyfriend just broke up with me. Never mind, I'm okay. It's no big deal," She pointedly looked down at his hand that was still lying on her knee. Hoping he would get a clue that he was making her uncomfortable, and remove it.

He removed his hand and brought it up to her chin. Tenderly tilting her face upward, he said, "The mascara that's running down your face tells a different story." She shook her head, seeming just to indicate a negative response; when in actuality all she had really wanted to do was shake his hand loose. Their close proximity was making her extremely uncomfortable. She wiped her face self-consciously and, as he dropped his hands to his sides, let out an audible sigh of relief.

"I wouldn't worry about it too much Rachel. You've really filled out this last year. I don't think you're going to have any trouble finding yourself another boyfriend." He said this as he reached out his hand and grabbed her breast.

She gasped, horrified that he would do such a thing, and leapt off the sofa to get away from his unwanted advances. That was what they were, she realized. She looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. He was positively leering at her, mentally undressing her with his eyes. She suddenly felt as if she was standing naked in front of him. Her arms flew up to cover her breasts in a defensive gesture.

Indignantly, she ground out through clenched teeth, "What the hell are you doing, Brad?"

Brad replied in a nonchalant manner, "I would think it's obvious, or is it? Are you a virgin, Rachel?" He laughed menacingly as he continued, "Little Ray Ray's a virgin. No wonder your boyfriend dumped you."

There was the cruelty she was used to. She turned abruptly, meaning to leave the room with not another word spoken, but he grabbed her wrist, and not so gently pulled her down beside him once more.

Taking each of her shoulders in his hands, he turned her to face him and said, "Relax, Rachel! I mean my God, it's only sex. I could introduce you to a few tricks that would drive the guys wild. Hell, you're hot! I know you don't see it, but you are. The guys will be falling all over themselves to bang you. A few of my friends might even consider giving you a whirl. By the beginning of the first semester, you'll be one of the most popular girls in school. And that ex-boyfriend of yours will be kicking himself. Of course you'd have to dump the bunch of losers you hang around with now." Hearing him call down her friends woke her from the shock that had set in from his appalling behavior.

"My friends are not losers," she blurted out. "You're the loser. Now let me go." She said this as she began to try to wiggle free. It was no good; he was too strong, she couldn't get his fingers to loosen at all. Her heart was hammering in her chest. She had never felt this afraid, not ever before.

He laughed at her useless struggles, saying, "Come on, Rachel. You're going to love it," and began to lean towards her. He laid her down on the sofa, released her shoulders, and lay down on top of her. She could barely breathe. She could only pant as he placed his full weight on her.

She could scarcely force out a plea, "Brad please, you're crushing me; get up."

To her relief and displeasure, he moved just slightly, shifting his weight from his upper body to his lower. She could feel his erection stabbing her inner thigh as he parted her legs, and was mortified when her skirt rode up to reveal her panties. She tried desperately to pull it back down as she opened her mouth to tell him to get the hell off her and call him a few choice names, but he covered her mouth with his own and rudely thrust his tongue in, probing it around fiercely.

She could taste the stale alcohol and pepperoni he had had earlier. There was no feeling of arousal like the feelings she had experienced earlier with Tommy. Instead there was a feeling of deep revulsion. It felt as if someone had placed a rotting uncooked fish conveniently warmed to room temperature in her mouth. She simultaneously gagged and shuddered, revolted by what was happening to her. At that moment, Brad thrust his hand up her skirt. He grabbed a fistful of her panties and tore them completely off, leaving her naked and exposed to his view. With his other hand, he tore open the front of her blouse, revealing her bra. This broke her from her reverie and convinced her that this was no joking matter. There would be no reasoning with him. He meant to rape her. As he teetered on top of her, awkwardly struggling to undo his belt buckle and pull down his pants, she realized that this might be her only chance, so before she even realized she had decided to do it; she bit down hard on his tongue. He screamed in agony, releasing her abruptly, and clutched his injured appendage with both hands, which threw him even more off balance.

Rachel screamed in his face, determined that this time there would be no doubt as to how she felt about his little proposition, "Get off of me you pervert!" she said as she pushed at his chest with all her might, throwing him completely off balance, and knocking him to the floor.

"You bitch!" Brad snarled from his vantage point on the floor. "We can do this the easy way, or we can do it the hard way. Either way, we're going to do it." And when she looked down into his eyes, devoid of all emotion except hatred, she knew he meant every word he said.

Rachel leapt to her feet, meaning to run to her bedroom and lock the door. But when she tried to get past Brad, he snaked his arm out, easily tripping her. She landed with a thud face first on the carpeted floor. It briefly knocked the wind out of her, but the fear coursing through her veins quickened her recovery. Picking herself up rapidly, looking like a runner in a starting gate, she ran towards the stairs with Brad directly at her heels. Her shirt tails flew out behind her as she sped towards the safety of her room.

Her heart felt like it was going to explode in her chest. Every fiber of her being felt like it had been supercharged. The fight or flight response had kicked in, and adrenaline began a steady race through her veins. She was so elated that she was actually outrunning the star quarterback that she passed the stairs before she even realized her mistake. No time to turn back now, she thought. She kept running through the dining room, knocking the chairs over as she sped past, hoping it would slow him down enough to do the loop again and make it to her room. Not daring to look over her shoulder to find out, she hit the swinging kitchen door with such force that it lodged the doorknob into the wall on the other side. She felt a breath of air at the back of her head as he swiped at her and missed. Oh God, she couldn't possibly make it to her room.

Frantically looking around the kitchen, with only the streetlight for illumination, she could see that someone had left out the cast iron frying pan. She quickly grabbed the handle and rounded on him just as he cleared the door jamb. The frying pan connected with his forehead with such force that it sent shock waves screaming all the way up her arm. The pan retaliated by painfully reverberating in her hand. Brad just stood there, shock written all over his face, but his eyes were vacant. As her friends would say, the lights were on, but nobody was home. He teetered on the spot for a moment, and then his legs buckled and he went down like a sack of potatoes. He lay there face first on the kitchen floor while the blood from his forehead ran in little rivulets across the floor, in deep contrast to the stark white marble.

Rachel screamed, "Oh my God! I've killed him!" and began to panic. She paced the kitchen floor, not knowing what to do next. When she realized that she was still holding the pan, she dropped it unceremoniously on the kitchen floor. It landed with a thud, cracking the expensive Italian marble. She felt nauseated and dizzy at the same time. There was a horrible sound coming from somewhere. It took her a minute to realize that it was the sound of her own wailing. She was hysterical.

She forced herself to take deep breaths, willing her jangled nerves under control until her heart began to slowly decelerate in her chest, and she began to breath normally, with the snorts and hitches in her chest coming less frequently. She was relieved when her brain started firing on all four cylinders again, and her CPR training kicked in, "Roll him over, check his pulse, and call 911," she said out loud to no one in particular.

But as she reached out a hand to do this, she found herself hesitant. What if he was faking? she thought. She quickly withdrew her hand and decided to do a test jab with her foot first. She reluctantly brought out one sneaker clad foot and pushed her big toe into his chest, moving him just slightly. Nothing. Bending down slowly with trembling hands, she quickly rolled him over to check his pulse. To her relief, she felt the slow steady rhythm of his heart. Letting out an audible sigh, she proceeded to her next task.

Rachel called 911, gave them the address and told them that there had been an accident and they could find the injured person on the kitchen floor. She did this because she had no intention of being anywhere in the vicinity when they arrived. Acting quickly, she rolled him over on to his side so that he would not choke on his foul tongue, grabbed a dishtowel from the drawer, and wrapped it tightly around his head in order to stem the bleeding. As she did this, she thought: if only she had gone to bed, none of this would have happened. Rachel's inner voice chided her for her stupidity. Oh, it would have happened all right, maybe not today, but it would have happened eventually – of this there could be no doubt.

With the realization that there could have been no other outcome, she turned on her heels and took off running, bounding up the stairs, taking them two at a time. As soon as she cleared her bedroom doorway, she shed the tattered remains of her shirt, letting it fall to the floor. Realizing that she had lost her panties in the chase, she blushed furiously. Briefly, she considered retrieving them, but thought better of it. Let Joanne and Michael find them tattered and torn in their posh dining area. It would serve them right, raising a monster like that. She threw on a T-shirt, grabbed her backpack, and quickly stuffed some toiletries in, as well as a change of clothes. Then she grabbed her wallet, which held twenty-two dollars and change, not a lot to get by on, but it would have to do. While hopping around the room in an attempt to put a new pair of panties on, she shuddered. She wished she could take a shower to wash off the stink of her bastard foster brother, but she knew she had no time. So she threw the backpack on her back instead and left her bedroom, running full tilt down the stairs. Vehemently, she flung the front door wide open, and emerged into the warm summer night. In the distance she could hear the siren song of the approaching ambulance as she jogged down the street. Never looking back...

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Rachel was picked up three counties over by the police two weeks later. She was hungry, dirty, tired, cold, and terrified. She had spent two weeks eating one meal a day in the cheapest diner in town, she had not showered since the night she had left, and there had been far too many restless nights attempting to sleep in back alleys, every slight noise seeming to wake her from a troubled sleep. It was nearly September and the nights were getting colder. The night the police picked her up had been the coldest and scariest yet. As she walked the streets trying to stay warm, a man in a minivan had stopped several times to proposition her. She had flatly refused his offer of money for services rendered, but he just wouldn't leave her alone.

He circled the block once more, pulling up to her at the curb, and began to follow her. She heard the whine of the automatic window on the passenger's side of the minivan, and as the creepy man leaned towards the door to open it, he asked, "Hey, wanna have some fun? Come on babe, you look cold. I'll warm you up."

"Get lost!" she shrieked, tossing her hot beverage at the side of the van, mourning its loss. Oh well, warmth was secondary to her need for safety. Unfortunately, he was unperturbed.

It wasn't until he noticed that she had discovered a loose brick on the street and picked it up that he wasted no time in leaving. He had peeled away from the curb, spewing profanities out the open window. Rachel continued to wander the streets for a few more hours, shivering from either the cold or fright, or possibly both, when the police finally picked her up.

Once at the station, Rachel was shocked to find out that she was being charged with assault with a deadly weapon. As there was no place for her to stay, she was to remain in detention until the court hearing one week later. She had tried to tell her side of the story, that it had been self-defense, that her foster brother had tried to rape her, but no one believed her. She couldn't believe that the police had found no evidence of foul play. Hell, her panties were on the dining room floor! That was unless someone had found them first. Of course...the Johnsons were covering for their little golden boy.

She realized that it would be up to her to reveal the truth, but when she professed her innocence over and over again, the police just kept snidely saying to her, "Tell it to the judge." One of the officers had gone as far as to accuse her of being an ungrateful foster child that had turned on her foster brother in a fit of rage. He just walked away shaking his head saying under his breath, "They take her in, and this is the thanks she gives them by trying to kill their only son." It hurt that they didn't believe her, but she knew the truth would come out at the trial. And Brad would pay for what he did.

She awoke the morning of the trial feeling nauseous. She was appointed a public defender that she had not seen until the day of the trial. He was a greasy looking fellow with a potbelly and a bad suit. When he spoke to her outside of the courtroom, she detected the faint odor of alcohol on his breath. This did nothing to reassure her that she was in good hands. Brad took the stand first, and told a completely fabricated story about her coming home drunk and upset. When he tried to talk to her and cheer her up by joking around with her, he explained, she had taken it the wrong way, and had hit him on the head with the frying pan.

Rachel just sat there as he spoke, seething, trying to take solace in the thought that she would take the stand later that afternoon and the truth would come out, but when they recessed for lunch her lawyer approached her, and advised her that it would be wisest to plead guilty.

It was a first offense, he explained. The judge wouldn't give her any jail time. She would get probation of course, but in light of the circumstances, wouldn't that be the best outcome? When she informed him that she was innocent, he just patted her on the shoulder in a patronizing way and went on to explain that if the judge heard her side of the story and still did not believe her, then he would be less inclined to show her leniency. Fearing incarceration, she reluctantly agreed to the terms.

When they came back from recess, she pleaded guilty to the charges. Expecting the judge to give her a slap on the wrist, instead he announced that he was sick and tired of the teenagers in his town thinking that they could get away with murder. She heard him say, as if through ten gallons of water.

"Rachel Morgan, I hereby sentence you to six months in a juvenile detention center, and a year's probation." As he dropped the gavel, the sound seemed to ring in her ears, or was it the ringing sound most people hear just before they faint? Rachel swooned.

The judge pointed his gavel at her and said, "And you, little lady, had better clean up your act or we will be seeing each other again." As he exited the courtroom, she turned in shock, ready to ask her lawyer what had gone wrong, but he had already gone over to the prosecutor and was shaking his hand animatedly.

Joanne, Michael and Brad stood around the prosecutor, waiting to thank him. As the bailiff dragged her away, she made eye contact with Brad. He was positively beaming. He looked like he had just won the big game. She half expected to see all the members of the farcical court lift him high on their shoulders and parade him around like the hero of the day. She felt numb when she realized that she had been betrayed not once, not twice, but three times in as many weeks. As the bailiff placed her on the bus that would take her to her new home at the detention center, she swore she would never give anyone the chance to betray her, not ever again.

 Thanks for reading I hope you like it. If you do please vote comment, add it to you library or share it with you followers. I wonder what you think of Rachel's Aka Kat's Story? Is it too sorry sack? Let me know. I think you'll like the next video in the installment. It's sex-tacular!