"I fucking hate you." I growl, my fists balling at my sides as I restrain from punching his perfect face.
He grins, his snowy hair falling in his eyes as he advances me, his irises glistening with mischief. "Oh, yeah? Come on, Florence. Show me just...
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Chapter Thirteen
My fingers brush over each other, the wool blanket around me feeling like a dozen of bricks weighing me down. But . . . I'm cold. I need it, my mother says.
I suddenly slam my hand on my knee and jump up, my shoulders rolling as a spasm of disgust tumbles through me. My mother jumps in her seat, wiping her tears, and gasps.
"Honey," I flinch, shaking my head and pacing around in the room. "Honey . . . you need to sit down."
I speak but my voice is unrecognizable; a cold void with a wobbly base. "I don't need to do anything."
Goosebumps rush over my skin and I glance at my mom, a sneer rolling over my lips. "What?" I snap. "Why are you staring at me like that? I don't need your pity."
I don't like this. I don't want to speak to my mom that way. All I want to do is curl up in her arms and have her cradle me, rock me, until I fall asleep. But I can't. If she touches me, I scream. If she speaks, I snap. If she breathes too loud, I break.
I—can't—do—anything.
"Maeve Florence," Her voice is suddenly stern, her bottom lip trembling and her voice vibrating with each word. "Sit down. The police will be in here in any second and we need you stable and—"
"Stable?" I laugh, shaking my head and pushing the chair I was once sitting on across the room. "Stable? Are you fucking kidding me? I was ra—raped and you want me to be stable?"
"Maeve," She pleads. "That's not what I meant—"
"You know what?" I scoff. "I'm not doing this. I'm leaving. I can't—"
The door creaks open and I jump back, my hip slamming into the metal table beside me. A woman slowly steps into the room, a clipboard in her hand, tucked under her arm.
She pushes her glasses up. "I'm sorry to frighten you, Dear." Her voice is British, calm. "My name is Jolan. I am just going to ask a few questions, the main one being if you would like to take the SART kit test? This is all your choice to make." She then glances at my mother. "Ma'am, if I could please ask you to step out, that would be wonderful."
My mother looks at me with pleading eyes but I keep my eyes trained on the tiled floor, my hands trembling at my sides. Her sigh echoes and repeats in my ears as she exits the room.
"Yes." The words come out as a croak. "I would like to take the test. Sexual Assault Response Team, right?"
"That is correct." She smiles at me when I meet her gaze. "Alright," She huffs and looks at her keyboard. "I see you've already filled out your witness statement. Great."
