SEXty-nine nights of a Girl

Shadows beneath the skin

The interrogation room was silent save for the rhythmic hum of the fluorescent light. Detective Claire Evans sat across the steel table, her notepad resting idly in front of her. She studied the woman seated opposite her—a wiry frame, bruises peeking from the edges of her sweater, and a sharpness in her eyes that hadn't been dulled by the tears streaming down her face. Her name was Evelyn Moore, and she was there for murder.

Evelyn took a deep breath, her voice trembling but resolute. "You want to know why I did it?"

Claire nodded, leaning forward slightly, signalling Evelyn could take her time. Evelyn's hands trembled as she gripped the edges of her chair, her knuckles white against the dark wood.

"My husband, Liam, wasn't always the monster he became," she began, staring at the tabletop as though searching for the right words. "When we first met, he was charming—thoughtful even. He had this way of making you feel like you were the only person in the room. I fell for it. I fell for him."

She paused, her lips curling into a bitter smile. "But after the wedding, everything changed. It started small—comments about my weight and how I dressed. I thought he was just being honest, you know? Trying to help me be better. But it wasn't just words."

Claire scribbled a note as Evelyn continued, her voice growing steadier with each sentence. "He started drinking. That's when the slaps turned into punches. When the nights became... unbearable." Her voice cracked, but she pressed on. "He'd come home smelling of perfume that wasn't mine, with lipstick stains I couldn't have left. When I'd question him, he'd laugh—sometimes he'd hit me, sometimes he'd..." She trailed off, looking away, her chest heaving as she fought to regain composure.

"He was cruel in ways I didn't even know a person could be," Evelyn finally said, her tone icy. "He made me feel like I was nothing. That I deserved it. He'd take what he wanted, whenever he wanted. No matter how much I begged or screamed. And the worst part?" She glanced up, her eyes locking with Claire's. "I believed him. For years, I believed I was the problem."

Evelyn leaned back in her chair, crossing her arms tightly as though trying to shield herself from the memories. "I tried to leave. Twice. The first time, he dragged me back by my hair, screaming about how I was his and how no one else would ever want me. The second time..." She shuddered. "He bit me."

Claire's pen stilled. "He bit you?" she echoed softly.

Evelyn nodded, pulling back the sleeve of her sweater to reveal a faded scar on her forearm. "Like I was a piece of meat he owned. He said it was so I'd never forget who I belonged to."

The room fell silent again, the weight of her words settling like a heavy fog. Evelyn looked down at her hands, her nails bitten to the quick. "I don't know when I stopped loving him," she said quietly. "Maybe it was the first time he raised his hand. Or the time he locked me in the bathroom for two days with no food. But I stayed because... because I was scared. Until last night."

Claire shifted in her seat, her expression neutral but her eyes betraying her unease. "What happened last night, Evelyn?"

Evelyn's jaw tightened. "He came home drunk, as usual. I'd found another woman's earring in the bed that morning. I didn't say anything. I knew better. But he... he wanted to fight. He said I wasn't good enough. That he needed someone younger, prettier. Then he came at me."

Her voice broke, but she pushed through. "He grabbed me, and threw me against the wall. I don't even know what he was yelling anymore. I just remember the knife—his hunting knife—on the counter where he'd left it after cleaning it. And then..." She looked at Claire, her eyes shining with tears but burning with something deeper. "I fought back."