Guilty Until Proven Innocent

Guilty Until Proven Innocent… Right?

She stared at me, questioning me, I’m sure.

“I don’t believe you,” she announced, shaking her head.

“I wish it was a lie, Michelle, but I swear nothing happened after that,” I promised.

“Why…” she cleared her throat, likely pushing back the urge to cry, “why are you telling me this now?” She finally asked.

I shrugged, but not because I didn’t know the answer. I guess I shrugged because I didn’t know what else to do.

“The guilt?” I finally answered. “I’m disgusted with myself, but I was drunk. I didn’t…I don’t even remember what happened. She just got mad at me, threatening to tell you, and it came as a shock to me…Because I didn’t remember. I still don’t remember.” I repeated, hoping to emphasize that this was not done to hurt her.

“So,” I continued, “I wanted to be the one to tell you.” Having said it out loud, though, I realized how incriminating my words were.

“So, you’re confessing because, she was going to tell me anyways?” She asked, completely missing the part that I thought I emphasized.

Her voice was barely above a whisper. My neck was positioned in an unusual angle, as I was trying to hear her, but I was also afraid to get too close. This entire situation seemed outrageously and unusually unfair. Doing something like this wasn’t even in my character.

“No. No. That’s…that’s not it. I didn’t even know I slept with her,” I repeated. “Like I didn’t know until she said something. She called me, asking to link up and I was so confused. I asked her why we would do that, and I guess she felt rejected?” I stared at her awaiting some sort of response.

She stayed silent, as I realized that I was telling her that her best friend and I slept together, and that she tried to sleep with me again. But also, that I didn’t even realize I slept with her in the first place.

“I remember going to the party,” I continued talking to fill the space…to hopefully slice through some of the tension, “I remember having a few drinks and…come to think of it, I remembered her offering me a drink.”

“So, now this is all my best friend’s fault? Is that what you’re insinuating?” She asked, as her voice gradually began to raise.

I shook my head in both defeat and denial, “No no no…well, maybe…Monica, listen. I’ve never done anything like this before. This is so far beneath my character. I would never willingly do anything to hurt you.” I stated, with my own voice growing in octaves.

“But you still did,” she said, as the tears began to well in her eyes.

My chest felt tight. It felt as even I had eaten too much suddenly. “Monica, please don’t cry. My motive for telling you, was not to hurt you,” I repeated.

She shook her head, refusing to speak.

“Just hear me out,” I said, as I continued to plead my case, “I literally only remember things from that night right up until I took that drink from Stacey,” Monica’s best friend.

She said nothing.

“Monica, please. She never liked me, and you know that. This is beginning to feel like a set up.” Realization was setting in, the more and more I spoke. “Or she was jealous.”

“Ugh, stop it.”

I stared at her, acknowledging both the insanity and validity in my own words. “I don’t actually think I slept with her,” I continued, ignoring her rejection. “I think she gave me that stupid drink in hopes to manipulate me into thinking I did. She knew I’d do this. Because this! This is my character. To immediately right a wrong…Monica please tell me this is making sense.”

She finally looked at me, “text her.”

“What?” I wasn’t sure I heard her correctly.

“Text her and tell her you want her to come over.”

So, I did. I would have done anything at the point. I wasn’t quite sure what the motive was yet, but I did it.

Within seconds, Stacey replied with, “I knew you’d come around. I’ll be there in 10.”