I just want him to fucking leave.
“Ha, look at that,” he mutters as he stands next to the bed, hearing him shuffling and what I can only assume as pulling the condom off and pulling his pants up, “looks like you were telling the truth.” And then he just leaves the room.
All I can think about is the statement I made about him to Axe this evening before I left.
He’s harmless.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
I prefer people like the ones I grew up around, not afraid to admit to you the level of darkness that they will steep to. Not like most, who cover up so much of their darkness that you don’t know the vileness to expect from them.
“The gun,” I whisper to myself when I hear the door to the house close behind him. It’s the first time I let myself move or even breathe a sigh of relief.
I try to get up, but my entire body aches as I attempt to push myself up. A cry falls from my mouth, but I don’t let myself stop. My muscles are screaming for me to stop.
On shaky feet, I walk into the hallway. If it wasn’t for my memories, I wouldn’t even be able to tell that anything took place here.
The living room is slightly a different story. We knocked a few things over in the struggle. Leaning over, howling out in pain as I pick them up and put them back in place.
I can breathe a sigh of relief when I see my gun sitting on the kitchen table next to the door. Picking it back up, I carry it to my room and put it back away.
Almost as if nothing even happened… almost.
My skin burns as I glance at my bed and think of what happened. Rushing to the bathroom, leaning over the toilet, and heaving everything out. Then I drag myself into the shower, turning only the hot water on, full blast. Laying in a ball on the shower floor. And I attempt to scrub away the feeling of him off of my skin.
Finally I emerge from the shower, but I still don’t feel better.
And I’m not sure what to do next.
My hands are still shaking as I pull up in the parking lot. Pressing the shifter into park, I sit and stare at the police station sitting in front of me. I can’t believe that I’m here. I can’t believe that I’m actually debating going to report this to the cops. I can’t believe that I’m even in this fucked up situation that I have to be here, reporting this fucked up situation to the police.
Raising up the courage, I swallow, take a deep breath, force myself out of the car, and then walk into the building.
“Yes, can I help you?” The lady at the front asks as I slightly jump, not seeing her there.
“I need to, uh, report, uh, something.” The last word comes out in a whisper as she looks up to me questioning and almost as if I can feel her motherly energy radiating from her, I just nod my head, telepathically answering her question, as I try to force my bottom lip to stop quivering.
“Okay.” She looks at me, concerned, as she stands up and escorts me through the office. She opens a door for me, and I walk into it.
“I’ll get the detective right with you.” She sends me a forced smile. I can’t sit down yet, so I just pace back and forth in the room.
Granted, it’s 3 am. I’m exhausted, and I spent the last 3 hours in my house debating on what I should do. I couldn’t call dad, because he would murder Jake and I would really like my dad to not be incarcerated for my next birthday. I picked up my phone to call Axe, but I hesitated as I looked at the text thread we had.
What would he think of me now?
Staring at my hands, I swallow and exhale.
I’m not even sure how I worked up the courage to come in here. I just couldn’t sit back and let him get away so he could do that to someone else.
“Ms. Davis.” He says as he walks into the cold room. I’m waiting in. He looks surprised when he looks up and sees me still standing. “I’m Detective McClard. Please have a seat.” He says. By his energy and body language, I can tell that I'm really just an annoyance for him. But I do as he asks me to. “Claire informed me you needed to report something.”
“Yes, I was attacked.” I whisper without looking up.
“How old are you?” He asks me.
“17.”
“Do you want to call your parents?”
