Temporary insanity （n.） – Olivia
TEMPORARY INSANITY (N.):
A DEFENSE BY THE ACCUSED THAT HE/SHE WAS brIEFLY INSANE AT THE TIME THE CRIME WAS COMMITTED AND THEREFORE WAS INCAPABLE OF KNOWING THE NATURE OF HIS/HER ALLEGED CRIMINAL ACT.
OLIVIA
Three Nights Later
Bree (Giftshop Manager)
Hey there, Livvie. We won’t need you at the bookstore tomorrow, so this week will just be 12 hours of paid work, okay?
Lindsay
You’re really not talking to me?
I said I was sorry…
Istuffed a cheese cracker into my mouth and gulped down my third energy shot.
Six hours down, six to go.
I was parked outside of 1345 Park Avenue Place, the condo where the public property records claimed Judge Asshole lived.
With its marble entryway, twenty-four-hour doormen and white-gloved valets, it was part of a world where people had no idea what it was like to live paycheck to paycheck, where the smallest of fees could be wiped away with a credit card and never thought about again.
There were two pools inside—not including the one on the roof, a private five-star restaurant, and a premium spa for the “beloved residents’ personal and private pleasure.”
My laptop was open on my dashboard, the screen littered with windows of research on every aspect of this jerk’s life.
His biography read like a bullshit fairytale written by a bot. It was basically, “small country boy runs to the city to achieve his dreams by working hard, and you can do it, too!”
Reading between the lines, it was clear that he’d allowed his summa cum laude degree from Harvard Law to go to his head.
He’d spent over a decade at the top law firm in this city—where he’d earned millions of dollars in settlements—and eventually shifted from practicing the law to controlling it.
He served as a trial judge for several years before the mayor appointed him to the criminal court bench, and he’d been ruining lives ever since.
I just couldn’t “get over” how much he’d affected mine.
The dominoes in my life had been crashing down one by one since my day in court, and soon there wouldn’t be any left standing.
And this all started with HIM.
Grabbing another cheese cracker, I considered my next move. I needed to have a plan for when he finally came home.
So far, I’d whittled the list down to three: State my case to him and beg him to reconsider his ruling. Join the Reddit board and vent with the other people he’d wronged. “Let it go” and be mature like a normal adult.
Ugh.
None of those options felt fitting enough, and they didn’t affect him at all. Just me.
They wouldn’t show him that he was wrong for what he did to me…
I wanted this man to feel how I felt—to know what it was like to be utterly hopeless and experience pain over something he couldn’t control.
But how?
As I was considering sending his neighbors a bunch of mean letters, a shiny black Ferrari roared past me and made a U-turn in the middle of the street.
It pulled up to the velvet ropes across from me, and then a valet attendant approached the driver’s side door.
Seconds later, Judge Ashton stepped out in a custom dark gray suit with a smug and sexy smile to match.
So he can afford multiple luxury cars?
The car he was standing in front of days ago was a champagne-colored McLaren.
I watched him grab a briefcase from his trunk and quickly disappear behind the lobby’s glittering gold doors.
The valet slipped behind the wheel of the Ferrari, but unlike usual, he didn’t pull into the private garage that was right next door.
Instead, he pulled into traffic.
Confused, I waited a few seconds before following him.
Letting a Honda move between us, I coasted from a distance as he rounded the block and drove the Ferrari into a back lot. Right next to the McLaren I’d seen before.
After stepping out and locking it, he hopped into an Audi and drove away.
I parked across the street, staring at a collection of luxury cars that were worth more than all my life’s problems.
Maybe I could—
No, wait. What the hell am I thinking?
I shut my laptop and shoved my snacks aside.
Even if some of the traffic charges weren’t mine, it wasn’t his fault that I didn’t know. And maybe—just maybe—there was a lesson for me in all this.
Perhaps this was me finally reaching rock bottom and things were about to turn around tomorrow.
I let out a deep breath and cranked my engine.
Let it go, Liv.
Just let it go.
As I glanced at my rearview mirror, my phone sounded with "Don't listen to a word I say," my new ringtone for Lindsay.
I stared at the screen until it went to voicemail.
But then she called me again.
“What is it, Lindsay?” I answered.
“So you are ignoring me?” she asked. “What if this was an emergency?”
“I have a feeling it’s not.” I paused, feeling a faint pang of guilt. “Is it?”
“No, but I don’t want you to miss out on anything court-related ever again.”
“What are you talking about?”
“There’s some court officer here saying he came to put a Breathalyzer lock on your car,” she said. “Oh, and some type of speeding alert thing as well. He says there’s a ninety dollar mandatory fee…”
I turned off my car.
“Um, hello?” She asked. “Are you there, Olivia?”
“Yes.” I gritted my teeth. “I’m here.”
“I paid the fee for you,” she said. “So, don’t waste your time thinking about that.”
That’s not what I’m thinking about at all right now.
“The guy apologized for stopping by so late, but he was in the area and figured he’d stop by. He wanted to confirm that you’ll be here for your scheduled session tomorrow morning at nine.”
“Yes.” My blood boiled. “Nine o’clock.”
“Okay, cool. Um, can you please come home soon so I can apologize for everything again? I made your favorite pasta for dinner and I have the rest of the money I owe you.”
“I’ll be there in an hour,” I said. “See you soon.”
“See you soon.”
I ended the call, feeling the sudden urge to wreck everything all around me.
I looked over at the parking lot and saw two perfect options.
Without thinking for another second, I stepped out of my car and opened my trunk.
Uniforms from all the part-time jobs I’d worked over the years stared back at me, along with a gleaming crowbar.
Before I could give it a second thought, I grabbed a black hoodie and pulled it over my head.
A round of thunder roared right above my head, and a streak of lightning danced across the night sky.
I assumed it was a warning from the universe, an omen to back away and “move on,” but…it was too late.
I grabbed the crowbar and slammed the trunk shut. Making sure my hoodie was drawn as tightly as possible, I moved behind a bush and waited until the street was quiet and clear.
Keeping my head down, I walked right over to the McLaren. I stared at it for several seconds while my heart raced and my hands trembled.
The thunder served me a heavier warning, but I heard a louder voice in my head.
“You’re the reason for your problems today, Miss Spencer…”
“No, you are, asshole…” I raised the bar as high as I could before slamming it into the driver’s side window.
The glass broke, but it didn’t shatter, so I hit it again and again.
It finally gave way—sending thousands of shards to the asphalt, so I moved to the next. And the next.
I considered giving the windshield mercy, but Judge Ashton didn’t give me any, so I attacked it, too.
And since he seemed like the type who liked symmetry, I attacked his rear window until it shattered, too.
Suddenly, sheets of rain fell from the clouds and the thunder struck up an unrelenting symphony.
If the sky’s percussion was trying to send me a final message, I refused to listen.
I moved in front of the Ferrari—dragging the edge of the crowbar against its hood and leaving a deep scratch. I knocked off the left side mirror and gifted its windows the same “Fuck You” treatment.
I was out of breath by the time the last one shattered, and I didn’t want to risk using any more time to admire my work. Besides, I was certain it wouldn’t be long before the valet returned to park another car.
Soaking wet, I ran back to my car and immediately pulled onto the street.
I sped away from the scene of the crime, waiting to feel a twinge of guilt or a single shred of shame, but those feelings didn’t come at all.
I felt better.
So much better.