Page 17 of Shameful Addictions

The resounding echo of an opening door brought her spinning around, turning to look at the entrance to the courtroom. The crowd moved with her, dozens of heads craning to get a glimpse of the intruder.

A man strode in, a proud and tall man with a black suit tailored to fit his body like a set of scales. His hair was black as coal and his eyes–Charlotte gasped at the sight of them–were cold and somehow alien, reptilian in their disinterest. His features were angular and sharp, and he walked like a man who knew the world would bend to make room for his presence.

“Mamba,” she whispered.

Mamba turned his dark snake’s eyes in her direction. His lips thinned. He moved around her with uncanny grace and took up a spot at the other table. Behind him, unnoticed by her until just then, came not one lawyer, or two, but six lawyers outfitted in matching grey suits.

“Thank you for gracing us with your presence,” the judge said, speaking the typically sarcastic words with utter respect and reverence.

Mamba folded his hands in front of him. His tongue flicked out, moistening his lips. “We will begin now,” he said, his voice a firm and accentless hiss.

The judge nodded. “Court is now in session,” he called.

The proceedings began.

Mamba sat there at his table, motionless, eerie, like a god amongst men while his team of lawyers beat the absolute shit out of Parskey. He put up a good attempt, but Charlotte knew from the very moment she saw Mamba that they would lose.

Media coverage agreed with her assessment. Against all her better judgment, she sat in front of the TV that night, watching the news for some sign of herself. A series of typical, boring stories left her hoping that no one cared about her anymore, that maybe the stir she had caused was less important than shootings and politics.

And then, it happened. The female journalist sitting at her desk, Windy Smothers, looked down at the papers in front of her with a harsh frown. “Now onto a topic we’ve been covering since it began. Charlotte Aria, the famous video blogger behind Living, Loving, Lifestyling, known colloquially as Triple L. With a sizable following in the millions, Charlotte gained traction by being a positive role model to young women. All that changed when she suddenly revealed herself to be anti-woman, anti-feminist, and anti-freedom of choice.”

I’m none of those things!

Windy continued, naturally oblivious to Charlotte’s internal protests. “Charlotte condemned a strip club known as Club Lollipop, and in doing so put down women everywhere. In this day and age, sex work is a proud trade, a job taken by strong women who use their body, looks, and physical abilities however they want. These women work hard for their money, and Charlotte made herself an enemy of self-proclaimed sluts everywhere in a video less than five minutes long.

“Charlotte’s first day in court was today and judging by the temper of the crowd, she has lost all her fans and gained herself nearly as many haters.” Windy looked straight at the camera with a scowl that had Charlotte shrinking back in her seat. “Many think that this is the fate she deserves. Women are liberated. This modern world accepts them. Charlotte had plenty of chances to get with the times–and failed. We will, of course, continue covering this case as the trial proceeds.”

Charlotte didn’t watch the news again after that. She was so confused about how her attempt to stand up for women had turned against her.

Luckily, or perhaps unluckily, the trial only took another two days. Afterward, the jury convened and returned a mere five minutes later with their verdict.

The foreman announced, “We the jury find Charlotte Aria guilty of all charges put against her. In order to make up for her grievous crime against the plaintiff, she will have to pay a fine of 10 million dollars. This fine will be paid in a series of monthly installments over the next three years. So say we.”

And the judge agreed, and the court adjourned.

Charlotte lowered her head to the table and wrapped her arms around herself, so defeated she couldn’t even cry. 10 million dollars was nothing to a man like Mamba, but it was enough to ruin her in a very short time. He knew it. She could feel his eyes on her as she slumped in her chair, and she could sense his satisfaction.

She had bitten him, but she was just a little mouse, and now he had bitten back.

Chapter seven

His slave

Herfirstmonthlypaymentto Mamba slashed her savings account in half. Charlotte watched the money disappear into one of his many accounts, perhaps belonging to an overseas bank where the fees were lower and no one would ask questions. She wanted to weep at the partial destruction of what she’d worked to build for so long, but all she could do was sit there in a state of utter and absolute numbness.

She’d had that account since before she was born, when her parents opened it up in her soon-to-be-name to start funneling money in to provide for her future. As the years had passed and she got birthday money and worked summer jobs, she stowed nearly all of it away in that account. It became a mix between an emergency fund and a retirement fund. She took from it only sparingly, to buy her first car, to pay for college. When her career took off, she stopped digging into her savings. Stopped needing to. Since then, it had grown exponentially thanks to a dividend and her investments in stocks.

More than 32 years of money had been slumbering away, dormant, in that account, and now she was thrust back in time to when she was younger and still had financial troubles.

Charlotte nibbled her nails and rubbed her eyes with her hands, and sat back in her chair. “It’s not so bad,” she told herself, willing herself to believe it. She had her last paycheck coming and that would go directly into her checking account. She’d continue to get pay from the stocks she held, bulking up her savings again just in time to give her a comfortable buffer. The next month after that, she’d get more from her stocks and could do a third payment.

After that…

It was difficult to think about what could even possibly come after that. That was only three months and she had a total of 36 to get through. She’d be able to pull another month from her checking, but then she wouldn’t be able to make the fifth. Maybe, if she combined the last of her savings and the rest of her checking…

It was going to be tight, she could tell, without even running the numbers. And what was she to do for the sixth month?

She had to count on getting a new job and very, very soon. And it had to be a good job. She couldn’t flip burgers or hold a sign outside a car dealership.

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