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“Jules, someone is here to talk to you.”
I close my eyes and shake my head. My chest starts to heave with uneven breaths. I can feel the panic creeping in.
“No, no, I don’t want to talk to anyone.”
“I know…but I’m afraid there is no way around this. I’m sorry, Jules, but it’s the police and they really want to talk to you. I think it would be good for you.”
“What would be good for me is if everyone left me alone,” I grit out, feeling a pang of anger for the first time in weeks.
“They are in the living room waiting for you. Do you want to go out there or do you want me to let them come in here?”
I find myself shaking my head. There is no way I want them in here, this has been my safe space for weeks, and I’m not letting them invade it. Pushing myself off the bed. Sebastian sighs loudly, running a hand through his hair and I know he is relieved.
“I’ll be in my room if you need me, okay? Unless you want me to come out there with you.”
“No, I’ll do this alone,” I tell him, there is no need to involve him any further in this mess. I walk out into the living room and find a man and a woman sitting on the couch, both smile at me the moment they see me.
“Miss Peterson, it is very nice to meet you,” the woman greets me. Her voice is soft and comforting, much like how a favorite blanket might feel, and I know without a doubt she’s a shrink. I’ve seen shrinks before, my dad made me go and see one when I had a hard time coping with the move.
“I’m Susan, would it be alright if I call you Jules?”
I nod slightly and take a seat on the recliner. Pieces of me want to run back to the bedroom and hide in the bed, while other pieces of me know it’s time to talk, even if it’s just a little.
“Jules, this is the detective who is leading the investigation we are here for today. He will only be here listening and taking notes. I will be the one asking you questions, is that okay with you?” I nod again and she continues. “I know this is going to be hard for you to talk about, but it is very vital that we get some information from you.”
I suck in a shallow breath, but the air doesn’t even fill my lungs.
“Okay, just ask so this can be over with quick,” I tell her and even though I know I sound rude, she only smiles at me, not paying any attention to my harsh tone. Susan looks to the detective for a moment and then clears her throat.
“Jules, did Remington Miller sexually assault you?”
My heart aches hearing his name, the scabbed wound over my heart now pulsing with fresh blood. It hurts so badly that it takes me a second to realize what she just asked me.
“No, he didn’t,” I divulge and watch as the detective scribbles something down on his notepad. I want to ask him what he’s writing down, and why but don’t. I don’t want to subject myself to anything more than I have to.
“The recording that was sent to students at your school, do you know when and where that was taken?” I try to keep my walls up and not let any emotion in, but this is getting harder and harder by the second with them asking questions that all but force me to remember the man that broke my heart in two.
“It was taken in my room, a few days after I started school here, maybe the fourth of April.”
“Are you certain? We have reason to believe that it was taken at a party you attended a few days after that.”
I shift in my seat suddenly having the urge to get up and run away. Why would they ask about the party? Aside from trying to forget him, I’ve tried my best to forget that night.
“Jules, are you aware that pictures were sent to the school shortly after the recording was sent out?”
I give her a confused look, not understanding what she is saying. “Pictures? What kind of pictures?”
“Pictures of you. Pictures that appear to have been taken at that party you and Remington attended.” A sudden feeling of impending doom drenches over me like acid falling from the sky.
“What kind of pictures,” I repeat.
“You weren’t fully dressed in these pictures and it looked like you were passed out. It looks as though the pictures were taken without your consent.”
“I want to see them,” I demand, every muscle in my abdomen clenches and as if she was expecting me to ask to see them, she pulls a black folder out sitting beside her. She hands it to me, and my heart starts to race inside my chest, the sound filling my ears. Something feels like it’s wrapping around my throat, making it hard to breathe, to swallow.
