Page 55 of Cut Deeper

A deferred jail sentence, for rehabilitation purposes. The defendants wouldn’t serve a day if they behaved for a period of time. I went back to the judge’s decision.

Eleven months.

Eight months.

Eight months.

All deferred. One to two years.

I googled suspended sentences for sexual assault on a child. The links loaded. Child abuse images and sexual assault—little to no jail time. It didn’t surprise me. But when I realised how many cases left the victims knowing their abuser was still out there, walking the same streets, I put my phone down.

Like a masochist, I picked it up and clicked another link.

…the most serious category for producing sexual abuse images of children. Over 509 images.

Judge Mathew Atkinson said:“He could not face the fact that he was interested in these images. It was an addiction.”

Stephen Carling, of St Charles Road, Beirley, denied the offences he was convicted of.

Suspended sentence. 250 hours of community service. Ten years on the register.

Tap. Read.

Tap. Read.

Tap. Read.

I continued until I was numb.

Men being sentenced by men.

Children and women left vulnerable. Most victims probably couldn’t even afford to leave the area—the social housing lists were a debacle. I’d tried to hide outside once. In the school. In the apartment corridor. Closets. Under a car one night, gravel biting into my cheek.

With a ragged breath, I went back to the first three. This time I went to the police website and screenshotted the rapists’faces.

These men, from their teens to their sixties. There was no reform where there were no consequences.

I set the tray aside and knotted my hair above my head. Climbed out of bed. Went into the wardrobe and collected my knife set from the bottom drawer.

In a trance, I walked out of the bedroom and down to the basement. Ethan wouldn’t like the mess. I didn’t care.

I reached the basement door.

Unlocked it.

The Frenchman looked up at me as if I were his saviour.

I ignored the pleas and set the suede roll on the metal table, untying it, rolling it flat. My fingers travelled the knives, the chisel.

I’d never relied on a broken system built by men, for men. I ended them and drank their blood.

I slid a knife free and pressed the flat of the cold metal against my heated cheek.

What a glorious day this would be.

Chapter 30

Ethan