It’s only sauce.

I like his smile.

I think he’s sexy.

I’d like to go on a date with him.

″...accused of murder in the first degree...”

He’s kind of cute.

Now that his wife is out of the way.

″...evidence clearly left behind the scene of the crime- a sock and two sets of fingerprints is enough to identify Mr. Jonathan Samuels as guilty of murder.”

I wish they’d hurry up with this trial. I’d like to run away with him.

He’s looking at me. He’s got nice green eyes. I wonder how his hands would feel all over me...

His lawyer's voice cut through my daydream.

″...the defendant was watching a football match in the living room when he heard a noise. He went to the garage and found his wife on the ground. She had slit her throat and was dying.

He tried to stop the blood flow with his sock and left some prints on the door before he called the hospital and the police. Mr. Samuels is devastated he lost his wife.”

I could make him forget her.

He’s tall. Taller than I’d dated before. He’s got a strong jawline. I can tell he’s very authoritative.

The fat presecuter started to speak again snapping me out of my thoughts.

“Mr Samuels has a history of domestic violence cases against him. In 2011 he was found guilty of punching his then girlfriend Amanda Miskin, in 2013 he was accused of shooting his neighbour’s dog, in 2014 he was booked for throwing a flower pot at his ex-wife Ms. Morena Gray. In 2016 he was fired from his job due to anger issues by Comet Company Ltd. where he worked as a manager. Since 2017, there have been rumours in the neighbourhood that Mr. Samuels regularly beat up his wife, as confirmed by ten friends of the victim Mrs Mary Samuels. The marks on her throat as verified by a qualified doctor clearly show she could not have inflected those wounds on herself.”

A man full of rage.

I could handle that.

I’d handled that before. I’d even stood in court and testified five years ago.

The jury found him not guilty. They let him go. His lawyer was too good.

He almost killed me when he got out. But died in a car crash a day later.

I still find people like him insanely hot.

The other jury members looked solemn. My jury hadn’t looked like that. What had I done differently? Maybe they didn’t believe my story because I was still alive.

″...court dismissed till 3 pm.” said the judge.

We all stood up to go to the cafeteria. I listened in on the other jurors.

“He’s guilty.” said the woman in a blue tunic. Self righteous and so utterly mistaken. She thinks the world is full of good people and bad people. She’s the kid who never had to settle for the grey crayons in kindergarden.

“I agree.” said the man in a brown suit. He was the accountant at the bank I always avoided. Always smiling, happy, son-of-a-bitch.

The nine other jurors nodded in agreement as they sat down at the table, plates of spaghetti in front of them.

It was fascinating how, if you put enough sauce, it would look like splattered blood on your clothes by the time you finished your meal.

“He’s innocent.” I said suddenly.

The table paused to listen to me explain, if only because their mouths were full.

“He’s got anger issues for sure, but he isn’t a murderer.” I said.

My abuser hadn’t killed me. He’d always liked to see me suffer.

“I think someone else did it.” I said taking a fork and twirliing it around my plate of spaghetti. “He wouldn’t have slit her throat because he knew he would get caught. It wasn’t him.”

“But the evidence points straight at him.” started old Mr. Harris. He was a good guy, had three grandkids, lived an easy life. Couldn’t be bothered to know how I, back then, living across the street, got such frequent black eyes.

“It’s been planted to make it look like he did it. But he didn’t.” I said firmly. “Believe me, there is someone else involved. A scorned former lover, a wellwisher, a hateful friend---even a robber.”

I hadn’t had anyone. Maybe that’s why I lived.

We returned for the afternoon session shortly after, my eyes meeting Mr. Samuels as I entered. He was more good looking than I had imagined.

He was neatly shaved. I could almost imagine the scruffy beard growing in a few weeks, reeeking of alcohol and overburned cigerettes.

″...just received CCTV footage from across the street, Mrs Mary Samuels is seen with a man, who is clearly not Mr. Jonathan Samuels. This man on the 53rd second mark, slits her throat and runs away after an argument. This clearly shows Mr. Jonathan Samuels is not guilty. Police are looking for a middle aged man, 5 foot 11 inches tall...”

The jury looked at me and nodded.

In a couple of hours they would all agree with what I had told them.

“The jury finds Mr. Jonathan Samuels not guilty.” was announced precisely at 5 pm.

As we left the room I quickened my pace, so I wouldn’t turn around and ask Jonathan Samuels for a drink. I had to get back and see my therapist.

But he was at the door speaking to every jury member as they filed out of the empty courtroom.

“Thanks.” he said to me with a charming smile. The bastard was smirking now.

I’d seen that look so many times before. I ran out of the building, before I kissed him.

He knew his wife had an affair. He knew her lover was abusive too. He knew he would eventually kill her for him.

He knew. He knew.

I thought of those haunting green eyes turning red. He’d be more careful next time.

And now he was free.

Just like me.

I boarded the cab and held my head in my hands.

But was I really?