“Can you tell me why you’re here today to see me?” I asked, as I always do, at the beginning of my session with Mr. Draflin. Usually when convicts come to me it’s for much of the same reason, because I deal with sex-offenders. Most of the time, even though the men I see are already convicted of their crime, they lie to me about the reason they’ve come to see me. But, Mr. Draflins eyes shone with willingness to comply, and he leaned forward in his seat. He paused for a moment as though he was carefully choosing his words and began.

“For a long time, I was just shutting my eyes to the world. Now that they’re open, everything seems so much more… more. That’s actually the only reason I even have stories to tell nowadays, because now that I can see, I really look. I look at people, no… that’s not the right word. I think the word examine fits better what I do. And after I examine them, I feel that their stories are mine to tell, because I know everything about those people I examine.” He twiddled his thumbs a bit, and a slightly guilty look came onto his face as he continued. “I’m no good with words though, at least on paper. That’s why I had to take pictures. I’d examine people from the moment they woke up, and I’d tell the story of their days, sometimes weeks. Nobody ever told me not to, they understood that now the stories were mine.” The last few words came out with righteousness clinging on their coat-tails. “But then, she came along. I was captivated, I had to tell her story, it became somewhat of a… duty. I started following her home from work and then from home to the store. No matter where she went, she always had the same make-up, the same black eyeliner and thick mascara coated eyelashes. I did something I never thought I could. I fell in love.” His eyes darted to the floor before he started his next statement. “Because of this I got… careless. She saw me taking her picture and she got really scared. She started to run back to her apartment, I had to catch up to her so I ran too. I had to tell her I loved her…” After a long pause I asked him, “How did you tell her?”

“I caught up with her. I grabbed her by the wrist and she started to scream.” He looked at me pleadingly. “I didn’t know what do, so I kissed her, maybe too hard, because I tasted blood. I didn’t stop though. I knew this was the last time I’d see her, so I brought her up to her room and used her key to get in. When we were there we made love. I think I hurt her though, because she was crying. I think it was just her first-time, it always hurts then, right? Did I hurt her? Does she hate me? That’s what the police told me, they told me I raped her. I didn’t, did I?” His face fell into his hands and he began to cry.