the next morning
It wasn't that he was a bad person, but that he had just made some wrong decisions. Isn't that what everyone says though? The mother who testifies at her son's trial, pleading with the jury to see him for who he truly is--someone not lost, just misplaced. A person who took the wrong path in life, not by choice, but by misdirection of others. It seems as if everyone has an excuse for the mistakes they end up making, whether it's the drugs, or the family, or the world in which we live, everyone throws blame away from themselves. So what was hers?

Sure she did drugs, but not excessively, smoke a little pot now and again, her family wasn't perfect but her mother was all the support she needed, and the world, well, that seemed a little ridiculous to try and blame her surroundings for placing her inbetween his sheets. Her own legs walked to his door, her own hands unhooked her bra, and it was her own lips that found their way to his mouth. No, she knew exactly what her excuse was--the sense of belonging. When she was with him she felt sensations she had never experienced before; being wanted was something new and she craved it like a junkie with his next hit. She knew she should get up and leave, find someone that would treat her with a little dignity and make her feel like she was worth something more than tits and ass, but for now, she'd hang up her self worth like she did her coat when she came into his room, and she'd lay on her back and pretend that his touch was meaningful. She wondered how long she'd be able to keep this up before she finally lost all respect for herself, but when no answer came to mind, she knew that things were about to get much much worse.