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"Is the trial over for the day?"

Rebecca's answer to Kennedy's question was not an answer at all, and it made Kennedy even more infuriated with her former friend, if that were possible.

"We're on a recess. Judge got a call from her daughter or something. Don't ignore the question," she ordered, "When were you planning to tell me that you're testifying against me?"

Rebecca nodded.

"I got subpoenaed, Kennedy. I'm literally being forced to testify."

Kennedy stomped into the apartment and Rebecca closed the door behind her.

"What are you gonna say?"

"I have to tell the truth." Rebecca said, her voice small and weak compared to Kennedy's yelling, "I'm gonna be under oath."

"If you screw me over—"

"Shut up, Kennedy." Rebecca interrupted, her voice a bit louder, "I'm going to tell them what I saw. Which, I'm assuming, is going to be the same story that your lawyer is gonna tell. You can't possibly be claiming that you didn't do it when there's an eyewitness to the crime. So, my testimony isn't gonna do shit to the case you're trying to build."

Kennedy was quiet, her heartrate going down as she breathed in and out. She knew that Hotchky was going to go for involuntary manslaughter—claiming that while Kennedy was speeding, she happened to hit a man in the middle of the road and didn't mean to. It was possible to get only parole if she were found guilty of it. But the prosecution's charge—murder with express malice—could land her in a cell for the rest of her life.

Unless Rebecca spilled about everything Kennedy had told her regarding her plan to scare Hank, she would probably be safe.

"Just...don't tell them anything I told you. If they ask you, say that you don't know. Please." Kennedy couldn't believe she was sitting there begging Rebecca Eaves to save her ass.

Rebecca nodded once.

"I'll keep quiet."

"Thank you." Kennedy started for the door before Rebecca called her back.

"Wait," she said, causing Kennedy to turn around, "I found something that you should know."

"Rebecca, I'm going to be late to court—"

"It's important," Rebecca promised. "I can't show you because your stepmother showed up and threatened me, but I found this website. Karl, Farrow, Wilcox. Attorneys at law."

Kennedy scoffed.

"Lydia's not a lawyer. And who's Karl?"

"I know Lydia's not a lawyer. I think it was a front for something. And Karl is Jaxson Karl. The Assistant District Attorney."

Kennedy's eyes got a little wider as she stared at Rebecca.

"The guy who's trying to get me thrown in jail?"

Rebecca nodded.

"Yes. Your father also had an article written on the site with Hank, but I couldn't get it to load. The whole website was weird and messed up, but it has to be something important, because they still keep track of it. Lydia came here and told me she knew I had been on the site, and to stay away from it. It felt like she was threatening me without actually saying the words."

Kennedy didn't say anything for a second, running Rebecca's words over in her mind.

"I don't have time for this." Kennedy shook her head, "I'm going to be late. We'll discuss it later."

She headed for the door before noticing Rebecca following her.

"What?" Kennedy asked, having flashbacks to Rebecca following her like a lost puppy months earlier.

"I'm going to come." Rebecca replied, "I want to see what Jaxson Karl is about."

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"Court is in session."

The judge didn't bang a gavel like Rebecca had seen in TV shows, which slightly disappointed her as she sat three rows behind the back of Kennedy's head. The courtroom, however, looked like everything she had seen on TV shows: the wooden paneling on every wall, the judge sitting up on the bench with the witness stand beside her. The judge wore a long black robe and had her hair tied back in a low bun; she even had the glasses perched on the tip of her nose like Rebecca imagined Ruth Bader Ginsburg would have done. Rebecca supposed that the jury was one of Kennedy's peers—eight of the twelve were white—but only five were women. Rebecca felt like they all should have been women. Wouldn't women be more sympathetic to the fact that Kennedy killed her crazy stalker ex-boyfriend?

She didn't even know if 'boyfriend' was the correct term to describe who Hank had been to Kennedy in the first place.

The prosecution sat on the right side of the room, closer to the jury, and the defense was on the left. Kennedy was sitting next to two people who Rebecca assumed were her lawyers, while the prosecution's table also had three people sitting there—but they were probably all lawyers.

"Your Honor, and may it please the Court," Rebecca was shoved out of her observations by Kennedy's lawyer standing up and speaking much louder than Rebecca would have thought necessary.

"Good afternoon. My name is Brianne Hotchky and I, along with my colleague," she gestured at the lawyer sitting at the table next to Kennedy, "represent the defendant, Miss Kennedy Abrams." She then waved her hand towards Kennedy. Rebecca could only see the back of her head, but she hoped Kennedy was looking somewhat kind.

"The defendant is here under terribly exaggerated charges for the murder of Hank Wilcox. At the end of this trial, we will ask that you return a verdict of not guilty of the state's charges, as they are meant only as a pawn in a legal system that takes the word of a man over an abused woman."

A few jury members began whispering to each other when the lawyer said the word 'abused,' and Ms. Hotchky smiled slightly.

"Order," the judge demanded, once again, to Rebecca's chagrin, not banging the gavel.

"Members of the jury," Ms. Hotchky continued, "my client killed her abuser. My client killed her stalker. She did not kill an innocent man. And she did not kill her abuser intentionally. Over the course of this trial, we will prove to you that Miss Abrams was trying to escape from Mr. Wilcox, and that Mr. Wilcox walked in front of her car of his own volition, assuming she would stop. Assuming that he would be able to harm her again. But Miss Abrams, in a state of intense fear, didn't let go of the gas. She didn't realize what she had done until after the accident had occurred."

Rebecca thought back, not to the night of Hank's murder, but to the day she met Kennedy. The day everything about her life changed because of a girl being stalked by someone she needed to get rid of.

Her mind flashed through what had happened as if it were a "last time on..." recap of whatever show she had decided to drown out her thoughts with.

Turning up the speed on her treadmill. 4.0. 4.5. 5.0. 5.5. 6.0. 6.5. 7.0. 7.4.

'I'm holding out for a hero 'til the end of the night.'

Kennedy walking into the gym and distracting Rebecca with how much she wanted to be like her.

She ran faster. Her feet were flying. Flying on the treadmill, flying out from under her.

'I'm holding out for a hero 'til the morning—'

Falling onto the treadmill and having it push her off onto the floor of the dusty Clemson University public gym.

Kennedy helping her up, noticing Rebecca's volleyball shorts.

"You should come and play with us sometime, we usually try to get together on weekends."

"Don't take this the wrong way, but you don't know me. I'm literally a stranger."

"So? I was just trying to be friendly. Unless you're not into that sort of thing."

"I'm sorry. I guess I just haven't ever had someone invite me to anything."

"You mean someone you don't know?"

"Um, yeah. Someone I don't know."

"Tell you what, I'm throwing a party with some friends at our apartment tonight. You should stop by. I'm sure you would get along with them, and you can invite whoever you want. What's your number? I'll text you the address."

Yeah, that probably should have seemed sketchy. A random girl helping her off the floor and immediately inviting her to a party? No normal person did that.

Rebecca shook her head and tuned her mind back onto the trial.

"ADA Karl explained in his opening statement that his first witness would be Mr. Leo Lutz, to whom their third witness, Rebecca Eaves, detailed her witnessing of the accident. However, Mr. Lutz will say exactly what we already know: that Miss Eaves was in the car and witnessed the accident. His testimony is not one that comes from knowledge of Miss Abrams' previous relationship, or the abuse she suffered at the hands of Mr. Wilcox. Their second witness will be Mr. Wilcox's wife. Naturally, Mr. Wilcox's wife would want to do as much damage to Miss Abrams as possible—after all, my client did sleep with her husband.

"The state's fourth witness would have no idea of Miss Abrams' mindset at the time of the accident. Mr. Uriah didn't have more than one conversation with my client in the time she spent at his Airbnb. And the state's final witness, their expert witness, will be proved to be nothing more than an under-educated therapist with no training in the mindsets of people who have undergone severe trauma.

"The defense, on the other hand, will be calling four highly qualified witnesses to testify to you of what went on behind the closed doors of Mr. Wilcox's detrimental abuse and stalking of my client. Our first witness will be Miss Violet Stern, Miss Abrams' former next-door neighbor. Miss Stern will testify of the multiple nights that she heard Mr. Wilcox yelling at Miss Abrams through her apartment door, demanding that she open it and let him in, and threatening Miss Abrams with all manner of vile things.

"The defense's second witness will be expert witness Dr. Georgia Hadden, psychiatrist and recipient of the Pierce Human Rights Award, for her extraordinary efforts to promote the rights of those with mental health needs. Dr. Hadden with testify of the likelihood of the defendant having PTSD from the abuse she endured at the hands of Mr. Wilcox, and how those suffering from PTSD can be easily triggered by things such as seeing their abuser in person for the first time in weeks or months."

That felt more like something Rebecca had seen on TV before. An expert witness, someone who would rattle off their statistics and their professional opinions to support whatever case they were supposed to be making. One of her favorite parts of legal dramas was when the opposing counsel pointed out how many similar trials the expert witnesses had testified at and how much they got paid to testify, essentially invalidating them in the eyes of the jury.

Rebecca wasn't quite sure if she was supposed to be rooting for Kennedy to be found guilty or not guilty. She supposed she would figure out her position after she spent a bit more time figuring out what was going on with the whole Lydia-Jaxon-Kristopher-Hank situation.

"The defense's third witness," Kennedy's attorney continued, her voice slicing through Rebecca's musings, "will be Dr. Hilary Ortley, a specialized researcher into domestic abuse in America. Dr. Ortley has been published in dozens of journals across the country and has founded a clinic for victims of domestic abuse that began here in South Carolina in 1998 and has since spread to seventeen other states. She will testify of the likelihood of Miss Abrams' story about Mr. Wilcox being truthful, about the small pieces of evidence that corroborate Miss Abrams' experiences, and the history of successful, powerful people who were found to be abusive behind closed doors, and what the signs of that type of person looked like.

"Our fourth and final witness," Hotchky sounded like she was ready to get this one off her chest, "will be Miss Kennedy Abrams."

Whispers swept through the courtroom, coming from the audience, the jury, and the prosecution. Rebecca was pretty sure they already had a list of the witnesses and knew Kennedy would be testifying, but Jaxon Karl seemed to have a knack for the dramatics.

Kennedy herself sat absolutely still in her seat, not even a single hair moving. Rebecca glanced around the room as the judge called for everyone to shut up—she may have been more eloquent than that—and felt her heart drop into her stomach when she looked towards the back of the room.

Lydia Farrow Abrams stood in the very back of the courtroom, leaning against the doors that led out to the hallway. She was staring right back at Rebecca, arms crossed and a smirk on her face. As the room settled down, Lydia turned and walked out of the courtroom, the bottom of her bloodred stiletto disappearing around the back of the door.

Rebecca swallowed so loud that it became a gulp and the man sitting beside her raised his eyebrows slightly before moving away from Rebecca just enough for her to notice.

"Continue," the judge instructed Brianne Hotchky.

"Thank you, Your Honor," the lawyer continued, unfazed by the commotion her words had caused. "Miss Abrams will testify of exactly what her relationship with Mr. Wilcox entailed, the exact amount of time it lasted, and of what Mr. Wilcox put her through after they were no longer romantically involved. Miss Abrams will tell her story in full, explaining how she is not a malicious murderer but instead a terrified college student who got in over her head with the wrong man.

"Members of the jury, Miss Abrams is not someone with a record. She is not someone who has had any previous indication of psychotic breaks or of intense spells of anger. She is a young, impressionable girl who was taken advantage of by a rich, powerful man. She is a young woman who tried to end a relationship that she felt trapped in, and who found herself in an even more terrifying position when she did so. She is a young woman who couldn't go anywhere for help because of who she was dealing with. She is a young woman who was living in constant fear for her freedom and her life.

"We ask that at the conclusion of this trial, you find the defendant, Miss Abrams, not guilty of murder with express malice. Thank you."

Brianne Hotchky sat down as the judge nodded her head.

"Thank you, Ms. Hotchky. This court is adjourned until 10:00 AM tomorrow, where we will begin with the direct examination of the prosecution's witnesses."

She finally banged the gavel and Rebecca controlled herself enough to not do a fist pump into the air. That's all she had been waiting for.

Everyone stood up and began making their way towards the doors, but Rebecca's arm was practically pulled out of its socket as she tried to leave.

"Holy shit, Kennedy," she rolled her eyes as she turned around to find the alleged murderer still clutching her arm, "What?"

"Come with me," Kennedy ordered, "We're figuring out what's going on with that website."

"I thought you 'didn't have time for this.'" Rebecca mocked as she followed Kennedy towards the door by the defense table, away from the crowd of people all glancing at the two from the corner of their eyes.

"That was before."

"Before what?"

"Before I found out my dad and Lydia are staying in town until the trial's over."

A/N: Sorry, this was a longer one!