"That's not the true story, you know."
A raspy voice of criticism bound in arrogant delight.
It's coming from over there, somewhere behind the gentleman glossed with anxiety and arousal.
"The police never get it right you know."
Do you know?
"Well, I'm not supposed to say this. It's supposed to be a secret. Not many people even know about this."
She says. She says again. She adds dramatic affect. She's Probably curling little Suzie Cue's into her blonde hair. Smacking lips. Rolling eyes.
"But it was all set up by this girl with an Oxy addiction. You know Oxy-cottin. Well he has a prescription or something from when he was in the army. He hurt himself. But he never takes the pills."
She stressed Cotton, not sure yet very definite. Holes begin to Gape in her story. But is it her, or is it what she doesn't know? Or is it what we already know?
"Well this girl set it all up so they would get his pills for her. It didn't even happen on campus."
"Wait, didn't they ring the rape station?"
spouts another voice, female. Elongated. Pruned to carry every syllable.
"That's what they say, but I know. It didn't happen behind the gym. Who are you going to trust, some stupid police reports or me?"
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We're supposed to be listening in on our peers turnings Kings into Gods are we not? Or is it the truth?
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