Gretchen speaks of her love for Archie, after he put her in jail.

by ANDREA FROST

When people write or speak of me they use words equivalent to contemptible, despicable, loathsome or vile. They do not know me but they are not wrong. They are not. I have been asked repeatedly to explain myself. To tell everything. To give it all up. I suppose I have remained silent in the midst of my accusers because they already know me. There is nothing to add except perhaps a superfluous punctuation mark of some sort at the end of "she did not show any emotion during the proceedings as her hands were cuffed behind her back." Perhaps a question mark?

Do you know that I have read all eleven volumes of The Story of Civilization? I took upon this reading to better myself and was quickly immersed in the lives of the historical characters that have advanced us into this modern age. I suppose what I most appreciate about this particular record is the treatment of the villains in our society and perhaps my goal is one and the same; to humanize but not excuse my behaviors. I recognize there is no defense. I have committed one of most deplorable of acts over and over and over again.

My father's fingers stretched out, reached to tickle me beyond any point of return. He tickled me until it caused me physical pain and still the tickling continued. Until I began screaming and then crying and still it continued. Until I rolled myself into the smallest ball possible and still it continued. Until I could no longer feel a thing and still it continued.

I fell in love with a man I knew I could never trust but this brought a shiny, metal lust into my loins.

And, I took his face between my hands and licked his lips, his grizzled chin, his eyelids. I wrapped my broken arms around his slender waist and rested my head upon his broad chest. I would peer up into his swirling, murky green eyes and drown in his mumbled wishes to not cause injury. To do no harm.

I have never loved anyone as I did him.

My sole pleasure came from him; from his telling me of his artifices. His confidences turned me into his other half and the more he deceived the world and returned forthrightly to me displaying himself the more I loved him. The less able I felt I could trust him, the more I did.

Eight years later he took everything from me.