The Stand
~ Alyssa ~ The courtroom feels colder today. Even colder than yesterday. Maybe it’s the air conditioning. Maybe it’s him. Mark sits across the room — perfectly still, jaw tight, his lawyer whispering something into his ear. He doesn’t look at me at first. Coward. I smooth the front of my blazer — black, sharp-shouldered, tailored to perfection. My hair is tied high, sleek, red highlights glinting under the sterile courtroom lights. My Louboutins click against the floor with every step. Every inch of me is deliberate today. Composed. Controlled. Because if he gets even a flicker of fear, he wins. Triston’s testimony is done. Winston’s too. Both of them steady, factual, restrained — but their knuckles were white the entire time. I could see it in their eyes: the promise of what
- Writer
