Courtney's pov;
"Zack Smith, I'm arresting you on suspicion of abduction and attempted murder. You do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not mention something you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence." A police woman says to Zack.
"You wait till I'm out here again Courtney. You're dead!" Zack shouts at me.
"HAHA FUCK YOU BITCH!" Ellie screams at him.
"Excuse me." An ambulance man says to Ellie. "Can you come with us please, I'd like to stitch your arm up."
"Yeh sure, can my boyfriend and Courtney come?" She asks.
"I need to talk to Courtney down at the station actually." A police lady cuts in.
"Why? I didn't do anything wrong!" I start to panic.
"I know, I just want to ask you a few questions." She smiles.
"Okay. My boyfriends coming though." I say and she nods.
"I'll meet you at the hospital in a bit Ellie. Love you." I say and hug her.
Me and Dylan get into the police woman's car, and he places his hand on my thigh.
**********************************
"So you knew Zack a few years ago?" The interviewer lady asks me.
Dylan wasn't allowed to come in with me, so I was forced to go in by myself.
"Yes. We used to date." I simply reply.
"Tell me about your relationship." She says.
"Well say first, he was the sweetest kindest guy I had ever met. But then he started telling me what to do and what not to do. One day, he told me what to wear, but I didn't like it so I changed the outfit. When he saw that I wasn't wearing what he chose, he got really angry and hit me. It got worse from then. Every time I did something he didn't like, he would hit me. He told me not to tell anyone, or he would hurt my little sister, so I kept my mouth shut. He would say these awful things to me, and one day, it went too far. He got so angry because I cooked him beef instead of chicken, and he held a knife to my throat, and threatened to kill me. That's how I got this scar." I tucked my hair to one side and showed her the scar at the back of my neck.
"Oh my. What were the awful things he was saying to you?" She asks.
"When he hit me, he kept telling me I deserved it, and he even gave me a razor blade and told me to 'slit my wrists.'" I said, frowning at the memory.
"And did you?" She asks again.
"I did. I did it because I felt so low about myself. He told me I wasn't worth it, and that I'm lucky someone like him loves me, or I would have no one. Once I cut my wrists, he got so mad at me. He didn't get mad because he cared, he got mad because my skin wasn't in perfect condition, and he was embarrassed to be seen with me." I told her.
"Mhm. And your mum has called the police on him before?" She says.
"Yes, she has. I haven't told the police this much about our past relationship, purely because I had the bruises and scars to prove he hurt me, plus he confessed because he thought it was funny." I said, hoping this would end soon because I don't want to keep reliving the awful memories.
"Do you have any idea how he found you? You say you moved to America a few months ago because your dad had a job offer there?" She asks.
"Yes, we moved to America because my dad got a job offer there, and they knew how many bad memories England held for me, so we moved. And no, I have no idea how he found me." I replied.
