Free Painless by Devon Hartford

four years in prison. Are you okay with that?”
    “Yup.”
    Russell nodded toward the doors to the courtroom. “You ready?”
    “One other thing.”
    Russell raised his brows. “Do I want to hear it? The look on your face tells me I don’t.”
    I grinned. “I’m going to testify.”
    Russell nodded, his eyes narrowing while his lips pursed thoughtfully. “As your attorney, I would be remiss if I didn’t remind you that it’s never wise for a defendant to testify. If you do, the Deputy District Attorney will have free rein to ask you anything he wants. Including questions about your criminal record. They will dredge up all of the demons from your past and parade them in front of the jury like a marching band. In the eyes of the jury, you will go from looking like a man who punched another man in a single case of self defense to Crime Spree Christos.”
    I knew he was right. But I hadn’t started that fight with Horst Grossman. No matter how hard the D.A. tried to convince the jury I was a piece of shit, I knew the truth. I was going to stand up for myself. I was going to look every member of the jury straight in the eye and tell my story. If they didn’t believe me? Fuck ‘em.
    They could all rot in hell.
    “What other evidence do we have that I didn’t start the fight,” I asked, “other than my version of events?”
    “Not as much as I would like,” Russell said curtly.
    “Then I have to testify,” I said. “We don’t have any other options.”
    Russell looked me in the eye. Hard. He didn’t shout. He didn’t lose his temper. He didn’t try to argue me out of it. I’m pretty sure he could see the resolve in my eyes. All he said was, “You’re sure?”
    “Yeah.”
    “All right then. I’ll make it work. Let’s do this thing,” Russell said, opening the door to the courtroom for me. He motioned inside. “After you, sir.”
    ===
    SAMANTHA

    Professor Tutan-yawn-yawn was working the ancient Egyptian sleep magic in Sociology class better than the sandman today. I’d drained my Venti Americano within the first five minutes of class. If I was going to make it through the rest of the day, I was going to need more coffee.
    I texted Madison.
    I have a coffee emergency. Meet me at Toasted Roast after class?
    Her reply, Can’t. I have Managerial Accounting with Dorquemann and Spanish after that. Lunch?
    I replied, K. C u then.
    I heaved a sigh. Maybe I could find Kamiko or Romeo. I was seriously in need of some moral support. I didn’t want to stew in my own thoughts about what might happen to Christos for a second longer.
    I did my best to concentrate on the Sociology lecture and take notes until class was finished. Still in need of coffee, I got a fresh cup at Toasted Roast by myself before heading over to my History lecture.
    I squeezed into a seat and pulled out my laptop. There wasn’t enough room for my coffee and computer on the little fold out armrest desktop.  
    Did the University have a suggestion box somewhere? Because they totally needed to install cup holders in all the lecture halls.
    “Well if it isn’t Cathy Guisewite,” some guy in the row behind me said over my shoulder in a smooth, smoldering voice.
    I turned and looked into the eyes of a cute guy sitting behind me. He was chewing on the corner of a pen and grinning at me. He had this clean shaven boy band look going. No tattoos, and not especially muscular, but great hair and totally swoon worthy. I could imagine him sitting behind a piano and crooning while women threw underwear at him onstage.
    I frowned but sort of smiled at him. “You must have me confused with someone else.”
    “Nope.”
    “I’m not Cathy Whoever.”
    “Sure you are,” he grinned.
    This poor boy had a screw loose. I arched an eyebrow. “Uh…no?”
    “Don’t tell me you’ve never read Cathy?”
    “What?” I was totally confused. Maybe I had the loose screw. I’m sure if I shook my head something would rattle around inside.
    “The comic