Copyright 1991 Aya Katz
FROM THE DIARY OF VERITY LACKLAND ...
I'm stuck here. Maybe forever. And I've got to be good because there is no other choice.
I feel so sick of myself. I am a weakling. I stood there before the Judge and I quaked in my boots, just like the coward that Nabal said I was. He was right.
The point is, I don't want to go to jail. And when I said I might as well be dead, I didn't mean that either. Because when I was in jail again, I thought about killing myself, seriously thought about it, and I figured out something really awful about myself: I can't do it. I don't even need to try to know that. I can't, because the mere thought of doing myself in makes me sick to my stomach.
So that means there's nothing I can do but be a good little girl and go along with whatever they have in mind.
I'm no better than any of them. Worse really. Because someone like Pipa has no sense of justice. But I do. And I've given in, completely. I'm a submissive little slave.
Nabal came in tonight, the first time I've been back since I missed my meeting with the probation officer.
"Welcome back," he said. His face did not betray any amusement, but I knew better than to expect him to care.
"I suppose you know where I've been," I said.
He smiled. "Pipa did mention something about the carcel."
I can just imagine him and Pipa chatting about me.
"But I understand that you are working on overcoming your addiction," Nabal added, "and that they've let you out on good behavior. It's just a question of taking it one day at a time," he said, speaking slowly. "And accepting that which you haven't the power to change."
"I can't change anything," I said.
"Precisely." His eyes were sad, and only his mouth twisted slightly, the mere shadow of a smile. And he took another swig of his drink.
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