Slowly raising my shirt over my head, it felt like an out-of-body experience. I felt like my actions were not a part of my mind, like my body robotically operated out of necessity, regardless of my inner child's desperate desire to run away screaming.

With my shirt off I clung to my loose bra, holding it to my heaving breasts, and stared at Jeff, begging with my eyes for a glimmer of understanding, forgiveness, or mercy. I was experiencing what my psychology professor had called "The delusion of reprieve," in which the condemned will foolishly believe against all odds that something or someone will save them at the last possible minute before a horrible fate befalls them.