It only takes a moment for everything to change. One split second, and nothing will ever be the same again.
Lana Brooks, a high school senior, will learn how far she can push her friends and family to the breaking point after she gets into the bad c...
"Who was I kidding? I couldn't go to Harvard Law. Or at least, not after this incident."
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❀ Two Weeks Later (Downtown Philadelphia Courthouse) - I sat in the courtroom beside my lawyer. I was wearing a white dress, advised by my lawyer to project my 'innocence.' My lawyer was a stuffy, fifty-something man in a suit. His name was Thomas, and he was one of my father's best friends. Go figure.
I listened halfheartedly to the procedural information. I pretty much knew it all, due to the fact that my dad had been educating me on court cases since my birth.
My lawyer walked around the Judge's seat for a few minutes, mulling over information and presenting photographs of the bruises on my legs, and the cuts on my head, both directly inflicted by Austin.
And then, it was Austin's lawyer's turn.
His lawyer was a short brunette, early-forties, dressed in a navy pantsuit. She wore a permanent scowl on her face.
And she, too, had information ready. But she took a very unexpected turn once she called me to the stand.
"You can do this, Lana. Remember what we talked about," Thomas whispered. I nodded and took the stand confidently.
"Miss Brooks, in your initial statement, you reported both as signs of domestic violence from Mr. Walker, correct?" She asked.
"Yes, ma'am," I replied honestly.
"But at your doctor's visit the day after the drug bust, you reported two new scars from your last checkup three months ago, along with minor injuries from a reported fall down the stairs. How did these scars get there, and were you under the influence of anything at the time?"
"Objection-" Thomas cut in.
"Wait. I want to see where this is going." The Judge shushed Thomas.
"Yes. The first scar, a burn on the inside of my right arm, was self-inflicted, while under the influence of Alcohol. The second scar, directly above my belly button, was partially self-inflicted under the influence of drugs. And when I fell down the stairs, I was on LSD." I finished, my voice strong as ever.
"And, may I ask what partially self-inflicted means?"
"That day we were high, and two of my friends thought it would be a good idea to pierce our belly buttons-ourselves. Technically they actually attempted to pierce it, but I halfheartedly consented."
