The ABCs of Guilt

"Can you tell me more about that?" Mary asked her client gently.

"Don't tell me ya'll expect me to just spill mah guts ta ya," the Mississippi native said with a sneer as she picked at the fraying edge of the hole at the knee of her jeans.

"Everyone needs someone to talk to."

"Fine," Rogue snapped at the woman and went silent, staring at the high heeled black boots she wore.

"Go on," the young counselor urged.

"How should I start? I know why they sent me," she said.

"Just tell me what you're thinking right now," the counselor advised when her client went silent once more.

"Killer. Liar. Murderer, that's what they think."

"Now what makes you say that?"

"Obviously because I did it."

"Please elaborate on that," Mary said before silence could descend once more.

"Quit pretendin' ya don't know! Remy's dead!" Rogue yelled.

"So what does that mean to you?" the counselor asked gently.

"Time's up," Rogue stated, glancing at the delicate gold watch on her wrist. "Unless ya want ta get behind."

"Very well. We'll pick this up next week. Xavier's sending someone to pick you up?" Mary asked in concern.

"Yes," Rogue snapped, gathering her purse and jacket.

"Zoe will give you a reminder card before you leave, okay?"

"All right, Mary. Be seein' ya, chere," Rogue lifted the eerie black on red eyes, that Mary was now used to, to give the counselor a wink and a devil-may-care grin as she left the office.