Sooner or later handcuffs found their way onto my wrists. Odd how familiar they felt despite the years since I'd been last bound in them.
Back then I was innocent, wrongly accused of being an accessory. I wished I could say the same thing now. Still, there's no guilt flooding me, no ill feelings in my gut.
Everything in the room is cold, made to be unstimulating and unemotional. The table, the lights, even the intercom are bolted down. Everything immobile save for me and my chair. And even though the Columbus Police Department has tried in every way to make me uncomfortable, I wasn't.
Why should I be?
What gave them the right to decide my feelings? They'd decided enough else for me today. Storming my house, tasering my husband and ruining my lovely Thanksgiving dinner.
It was my turn
