The Report

The winter wind pierces my thin jacket as I shuffle down the sidewalk. My converse slap against the concrete with each step, the sound reverberating in my head. My breath trails from my mouth like smoke, marking my path so I won’t get lost if I need to turn around and go back. But I can’t turn back, there is only forward.

I step up to the police station door and reach out to grasp the door handle. It’s made of ice; it freezes my hand, my whole body goes still. Suspended in front of the door, I am forced to choose between one cold and another. A deep breath and I pull, stepping inside and greeting the police with my false, polite smile that I’ve perfected over the years. That smile is so weary, shown to so many strangers. I no longer have to force it; it has become a permanent part of the façade.

In a cold room, I wait for the questions. All angles, all smooth, all so cold and foreign. The chairs are soft, a poor attempt at comfort. I can’t sit still. I crack my knuckles, my neck, my back. I look for something to focus on, anything; but all I see around is blankness: empty air and empty walls, while the little black camera in the corner records my anxiety. My mother sits beside me, but I may as well be all alone as I wait; she doesn’t know what to say.

In walks the officer and the questions begin. Can you remember how old you were? How long did it last? How many times? How did he do it? The questions keep coming, and I don’t know most of the answers. I’m disappointing him, he must just be good at hiding it. I’m disappointing myself. Why can’t I remember? Is there something wrong with my brain? Just keep calm, speak professionally, be honest. My voice holds steady as I answer him, the conversation bouncing back and forth across the metal table between us.

But no matter how clear my voice is, I can feel myself crumbling. Slowly losing control from within as I search my memories for any clues we could use. All I find is frustration; there is nothing more in my mind that could put the monster behind bars. I need to remember, but so many of my memories are locked away in my head. I can’t see them, I can’t hear them. I wouldn’t even know the first place to look. I can’t even concentrate properly. I sigh internally and give up my search. The questions are done, but it doesn’t make me feel any better.

I can relax, drop the strong girl act. I can let down my guard. Or I could if my mother wasn’t with me. I need to stay strong for her. If I fall now she will be lost as well, buried beneath my own depression and guilt. And then I would have to save us both. I don’t have the strength left in me for that, so I just act tough until we reach home. Just one long, cold drive to trade one hell for another.