Between My Thighs: An Urban Erotic Tale

by Naija

  The Irresistible Impulse Test was adopted in 1887 and encompassed not only whether a defendant knew right from wrong, but also whether he could control his impulses to commit wrongdoing. The test is often used as an appendage to the M’Naghten Rule, which essentially determines if the person who committed the crime can distinguish from right and wrong. I agreed with Kevin that it was the best path to take.

  “I’m going to have to spend some time in here to make that plea work. Usually, people aren’t simply released. They typically are confined to a mental hospital,” I replied.

  “Well, you have time. I say in three months or less you should be walking out of here. Let me work the outside for you. I know an excellent defense attorney who has experience in cases similar to yours.”

  Kevin and I concluded our session. He agreed to bring in the legal team that would support my case during our next appointment.

  • • •

  Extreme dissociative disorder is what the specialists said I had. It’s a mental process that produces a lack of connection in a person’s thoughts, feelings, and actions. With me pretending to be disconnected, it seemed like an appropriate assessment.

  Usually, individuals who displayed characteristics of the disorder experienced some sort of severe trauma growing up. As a child, I would often go away to imaginary places where I could escape the emotional pain from not having my father around. This defense mechanism improved after my brother was killed, and by the time I met Troy, I had mastered it. I never experienced physical abuse as a child. It was only after I became an adult that the abuse started, thanks to the trifling men with whom I dealt. It wasn’t physical abuse. I never bothered with a man who thought he was going to beat my ass. I managed to remain in abusive relationships of the other kind—those that were psychologically, verbally, and spiritually damaging.

  My relationship with Troy was an overwhelmingly traumatic experience. I developed highly creative survival techniques within my head; it was the only way to deal with his bullshit.

  The first night in the mental ward was the hardest. The place definitely wasn’t the Waldorf, and I felt like I was going through detox being away from my routine. I was on suicide watch the first seventy-two hours before Kevin fixed that. Finally, I had toiletries, blankets, and other bare necessities. I knew the people in the ward were watching me. I wasn’t sure what type of show they expected, but I gave them a performance, further supporting my diagnosis. I didn’t regret what happened to Troy, which alone classified me as a lunatic.

  I fell asleep one morning only to be awakened for my first psychotherapy treatment with Dr. Monroe. She was assigned by the unit to rehabilitate me. Fully aware of my background, she never believed I was incognizant. That was evident in her brutal treatments.

  “What really happened that night?” Dr. Monroe asked with an unusual grin during our first session.

  I remained unresponsive. Her attempts to engage me in her talk therapy failed. Truth was, I didn’t respect Dr. Monroe, and she knew it. She’d attained her degree from an unaccredited university, often misdiagnosed her patients, and treated them poorly. The product of numerous malpractice suits, the best gig she could get was volunteering at a facility that was extremely short staffed, under-funded, and would allow her to exchange rudimentary services at low costs. In a payback effort, she dispensed a number of medications to teach me about fucking with her as she put it.

  I didn’t have a chemical imbalance. My first night, I was given antidepressants because the staff feared I’d take my own life. They didn’t know how much I cherished my life. Essentially, that’s why I had to cleanse myself of the garbage that decomposed it, starting with Troy.

  Dr. Monroe knew her prescription for antipsychotic drugs would only make matters worse, given that no chemical imbalance existed, which is why I tried to strangle her ass when she dispensed them. Suddenly, I hurled out of my chair, jumping right onto her. My weight knocked her over. I was sitting on top of her, hands clenched around her throat, banging her head against the leg of the stainless-steel table in the observation room.

  Dr. Monroe had decided she didn’t need an observer during our sessions. Primarily, it was her safeguard to mistreat me. It was my opportunity to kick her ass without interruption. I may have been institutionalized, but I had many connections, including both colleagues and patients. Once the director of the facility was made aware of her attack against me, he removed Dr. Monroe from any further contact with me. Kevin later ordered my transfer to another facility.

  I promoted my disorder. During one of my sessions, I started masturbating right in our group circle. It was funny. Johnny, the sex-addict schizophrenic joined in. He pulled out his dick, bent over, and started sucking his own love. Before the counselors knew what happened, the whole group was climaxing.

  I was content. The rest of my group therapies for the month were cancelled.

  I’d played so heavily into my psychotic state that at times I wasn’t even sure if I was pretending. Realistically, Kevin did have a stronger case than I originally thought. There were times when I experienced symptoms of depression, mood swings, insomnia, panic attacks, visual hallucinations, eating disorders, and extended migraines, all of which were warning signs for dissociative disorder.

  Chapter 18|

  It was my second month in the mental ward, and I really felt deranged, cramped in my little eight-by-ten cell.

  Luckily, I was able to sit out in the courtyard under supervision, thanks to Kevin. He’d arranged for me to have two hours of free time in the yard daily as part of my treatment. I spent the day inhaling fresh air, listening to birds chirp, and writing in my journal. I could hear the faint sound of water flowing in a nearby creek, which relaxed me.

  It was good to be outside, away from the green concrete walls and smelly corridors of the institution. The place was designed to foster craziness.

  I’d been thinking about going to trial. Initially, it frightened me, imagining the several different outcomes. Overall, I felt like my defense was strong. There was no evidence of premeditation, and I was confident in the ability of Kevin and his team. I just hoped the jury would be sympathetic.

  The next day would be my first appearance in court where I was formally notified of the charges against me—voluntary manslaughter.

  Earlier in the week, Kevin introduced me to my lawyer, Shonnel Jamison, who had more than fifteen years experience working in forensic psychology and criminal law.

  When we appeared in front of the judge, the preliminary hearing was waived since it was clear I’d committed the crime, and the date was set for pre-trial in three weeks.

  “If we can resolve your case in a pre-trial conference you may not have to stand trial. It will ultimately depend on if we can strike a deal with the prosecutor. If not, we’ll move forward to either a bench or jury trial depending on availability of jurors or direction of the judge,” Shonnel said.

  “What are the advantages of going before the judge versus the jury?” I asked.

  “Often, the judge is more sympathetic than jurors. It can also be a faster process. Now, it may be difficult to afford you a jury of your peers as it may not be in your best interest. Instead, we should select women who are going to identify with your experiences versus individuals who feel you should not have been able to lose control given your history in dealing with these types of circumstances,” she said before we departed.

  The drive back was short. Kevin was waiting at the facility when I returned.

  “I’ll take her from here,” he told the guard. “How are you doing, Raquel?”

  “Hi. I’m not sure. Some days are better than others. I’ve been struggling with the notion that I may not get out of this place, Kevin.”

  “You shouldn’t think so negatively. You have to stay strong. How was it in court today?”

  “We are set for pre-trial in three weeks. I’m just not sure killing them was worth this, Kevin.”

  “Listen, you hang in there. If it makes
you feel better, I got a corporate apartment here in the city so I can be closer to you and make sure you’re getting the treatment you need so we can get you out of here.” Kevin smiled. “I also went by your place today, got your mail, and checked to make sure your apartment had been restored. They did a decent job cleaning the catastrophe.”

  “That’s great, Kevin. Thank you for doing that. Have you spoken to my mother?”

  “Yes. She sends her love.”

  “What about my office? Everything okay there?”

  “Stop being a worrywart. Things are fine at the office. Kapri is holding it down just like you hired her to do. Everyone misses you, but you have a great support system. I want you to plan on going to trial, Raquel. The motion for a pre-trial is just a technicality. Usually, prosecution and defense don’t come to agreements in this stage. Especially in unique cases like yours. Just be ready to go all the way,” he said.

  “I’ve been thinking about Troy a lot lately,” I replied.

  “What type of thoughts?”

  “Good ones, before I knew who he really was. I miss him sometimes.”

  “That’s natural,” he replied.

  “How am I supposed to act when we get inside the courtroom?”

  “Like someone who suffers from temporary insanity. We’ll introduce your progress when it’s favorable. Until then, get some rest. Let me work the outside for you. I have a few people in my pocket.” Kevin replied before he left.

  • • •

  I’d been visiting the chapel praying for redemption. It was the only thing I could do to gain the strength that was needed to survive my predicament. Unexpectedly, my inner voice kicked in and I felt comfort, like things were going to work out.

  During my third month in the medical center, I finally had my day in court. Kevin had brought one of my suits from home. After spending the morning meditating and preparing my mental state, I dressed and waited for him and my lawyer.

  “The prosecuting attorney is going to try and control your responses and reactions. Don’t allow them to get next to you,” Shonnel said. “We’re ready for any angle they come from. Just remain relaxed and confident, and you’ll be fine.”

  I hadn’t expected to see the families of the victims present when we entered the courtroom. My mother was by my side. I quickly recognized Cynthia and Joslyn, Troy’s baby mamas, and Melina, Dallas’s mother sitting opposite of us. I acknowledged them with a wicked stare before taking my seat.

  Everyone stood as the bailiff announced the entrance of the judge. “The case of the People versus Howard. Is the prosecution ready?”

  “We’re ready,” the prosecution replied.

  “Is the defendant ready?”

  “Yes, your honor,” Shonnel replied.

  The proceedings continued with the swearing in of the jury. I don’t know how my legal team did it, but the jury pool consisted primarily of women, all of whom were minority.

  The prosecution began with its opening statement. “Ladies and gentleman, we are here to do one thing today and that is to make sure justice is served. Dr. Raquel Howard is guilty of murdering not one but two innocent individuals in a gruesome act, which the defense would have you believe is a crime of passion. To add insult to injury, Dr. Howard has pleaded not guilty by reason of insanity. This is an attempt to ridicule the justice system as Dr. Howard has an extensive background as a clinical psychologist. She would have us believe she wasn’t able to distinguish right from wrong when she violently shot two people in the head, instantly killing them. Dr. Howard is a vicious individual who had every intention on committing this crime and using her expertise in the field of psychology as her defense. Dr. Howard waited four days with the bodies, planning and rehearsing her argument before she was found by the police. We cannot allow this atrocity to go unpunished, and you are here today to make sure she is convicted as such.”

  “Ms. Jamison, do you have an opening statement?” the judge asked.

  Shonnel was a savvy sister. She was dressed in a sharp Dolce and Gabbana crepe suit and radiated with sophistication and poise. She wasn’t intimidated at all by the prosecution and proceeded with her opening remarks.

  “Yes, your honor. Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, don’t be fooled by the efforts of the prosecution to sway you into believing that this professional woman of stature is not capable of possessing one of the most humanistic traits known—emotion. The prosecutor brought up an interesting point when he mentioned Dr. Howard dwelling for four days with two dead bodies, yet suggested her mental state wasn’t impaired. Only someone with mental disease could endure such a horrific scene. What the prosecution didn’t mention was how Dr. Howard was soiled in feces, urine, and blood when she was found. She was in shock and had dissociated herself from what had taken place. Imagine returning home from a long day of work to find your fiancé in bed with one of your friends and then being attacked by the lady. This is enough to trigger an emotional imbalance. Dr. Howard didn’t plan to kill these people. Instead, she acted with an irresistible impulse upon being subjected to the traumatic event. Sure, Dr. Howard has a background in clinical psychology. She also has a history of mental illness, which stems from years of abuse. Dr. Howard has experienced a number of devastating obstacles. She was engaged to a man who physically, mentally, and verbally assaulted her. The loss of their unborn child ignited a whole new dimension of depression and anxiety. These events sent her over the edge, temporarily hindering her ability to think logically and control her urge. My client experienced a psychotic meltdown and suffered from dissociative disorder, which altered her perception, surroundings, identity, and ultimately her consciousness.”

  “Will the prosecution call its first witness?” the judge asked.

  The prosecutor searched for his key witness who apparently slipped out of the court room without his knowledge. “Our witness is not available, sir,” the prosecution replied.

  There was a rumble of noise coming from the galley. I glanced at Kevin who didn’t seem at all surprised, then looked at Shonnel who was staring at the prosecuting attorney in disbelief.

  “Does the defense wish to call any witnesses?” the judge said.

  “Yes, your honor. We call Officer Linda Chapman to the witness stand.”

  Officer Chapman was the female officer who found me in my bedroom. Kevin and Shonnel thought it was good to allow her testimony since she could further support my mental state.

  “You were one of the first officers on the scene the night of the murders. Is that correct?” Shonnel asked.

  “Yes,” she replied.

  “Can you describe that night to us?”

  “My partner and I arrived at the defendant’s residence. When I walked into her bedroom, the defendant was in a catatonic state. I couldn’t tell if she was injured or not, she was soaked in so much blood. I attempted to gain a response from her with no success. Based on her appearance, I requested someone from psych.”

  “Is it normal for you to call a member from the psychiatric unit in homicide cases?”

  “No.”

  “Then why did you this time?”

  “The defendant appeared to be mentally challenged. After asking her a series of questions and analyzing her condition, she just seemed like she’d snapped.”

  “Thank you. No further questions, your honor.” Shonnel took her seat.

  “Would you like to cross-examine this witness?” the judge asked the prosecuting team.

  “Yes, your honor. Officer Chapman, how long have you worked crime scenes?”

  “Twenty-five years,” she replied.

  “Where was your partner when you were in the room with the defendant?”

  “He was at the entrance of the apartment holding the landlord back.”

  “When you saw the deceased, did you at all sympathize with Dr. Howard?”

  “Your honor, I object. What kind of badgering is the prosecution up to? The witness is an officer of the law. She has no reason to sympathize with Dr. Howard,�
�� Shonnel interrupted.

  “Sustained. Get on with your questioning and make sure it’s relevant to this case. The officer has no affinity with the defendant. Therefore, is not capable of sympathizing as you’ve implied,” the judge stated.

  “Your honor, Officer Chapman has a history of battered woman syndrome and may have inadvertently felt compassion for Dr. Howard,” the prosecutor replied.

  “You’re pressing your luck with me. Officer Chapman is not on trial here. Either get to the point or sit down,” the judge demanded.

  “No further questions.”

  “Your honor, we call Dr. Kevin Frazier to the witness stand,” Shonnel said. After Kevin was sworn in, questioning began. “Dr. Frazier, can you explain to the jury the details of your diagnosis for Dr. Howard?”

  “Sure. Dr. Howard suffered from a disorder that causes a person to mentally break away from reality. It’s a defense mechanism that surfaces in victims of abuse. It doesn’t matter at what stage the maltreatment occurs. Typically, we treat the disease with hypnotherapy and other psychotherapies to allow the patient to relive the traumatic events, essentially allowing them to escape and cope with their past.”

  “Is it your professional opinion that Dr. Howard suffered from temporary insanity when she committed the crime?”

  “Yes.”

  “No further questions, your honor.”

  “Would you like to cross-examine the defense witness?” the judge asked.

  “Yes, your honor. Dr. Frazier, how can you sit here and give expert testimony on behalf of the defendant when you have a personal relationship with her?”