What I Wish Happened

Chapter Fifteen

The last two months had completely altered my life, almost nothing was the same; relationships have been tested and no one looks at me the same. I'm like a piece of china and I hate it. Currently, I am sat in the Los Angeles Police Station, in nothing but my underwear and a dirty white tank top, the coat an officer had put around my shoulders and a metallic blanket laid down on the cheap plastic chair that was pulled up to a table in the middle of an investigation room. I had been left alone for the last forty minutes now. I blinked back my tears and forced myself to look straight forward at the blank grey walls opposite me. I pulled the jacket tighter around my body, hoping to feel some warmth I'd been missing for the last two weeks. As I run those godforsaken weeks through my head, I try to come to terms with what had happened to him, but I can't: what happened couldn't have really happened, could it?

As I become engulfed in my own thoughts, a shadow casts over me, I don't pay attention to it, I just lower my head and look down at my dirt covered hands. A soft, kind sounding voice echoes through my brain, "Miss Founders, your brother bought these, she places a small pile of clothes on the table in front of me. I pay attention to her hands as she pulls them away, they are dainty and clean, her nails short and filed with a single plain wedding band encircling her finger.

I look up to inspect the rest of the young police officer stood in front of me - she can't be more older than a few years older than me - her hair is tightly pulled back into a short chopped ponytail, her shirt neatly tucked into her trousers. "The chief has closed the women's showers so you be alone in there. I'll stand outside and only be a shout away." I nod as I rise to my feet and pull the small pile of clothes close to my chest, she leads me out of the room into a skinny hallway.

My throat aches from the past two weeks of almost screaming and shouting, but I need something to take away the all-consuming pain, "Officer?" Her brows furrow from the sound of my sore croaky voice. She slows down and turns to face me, "My name is Officer Daily, but I would like for you to call me Meg, sweetheart." I smile as I realise she seems sweet.

"Meg, can I have some water, my throat and whole body aches." She quickly nods, I try to just stare at her and avoid seeing the concerned looks from other passing officers. Her head begins to spin before landing on the water dispenser. She quickly shuffles over and pours some water into a plastic cup, before I'd even reached her, she hands me the cup and pours herself a small cup. "Miss Founders, if it's okay, I'd like to get the medic to look over you after you shower if that okay?" I smile and nod almost unnoticeably, "and if you'd like you can use my personal body wash, they aren't designer or anything but the supplied ones aren't very nice." I force a smile to thank her for the gesture without actually having to go through the pain of speaking.

She leads me to the changing room and shows me to the shower, handing me body wash and shampoo from her locker. I send a thankful smile before placing them on the floor of the shower and walking to the sinks and mirrors. I look at myself; I'm covered in dirt, I've lost quite a bit of weight, my collarbones are more distinct, the tank top I'm wearing was fitted, now it hangs off me slightly, my eyes red and inflamed, my skin is covered in cuts, only small but noticeable, some are scabbed over others are still bleeding slightly, then there is the big cut, the one that was on purpose. On the right half of my neck, there is one single cut, I remember the yells and screams that occurred when the cut came to pass. I raise my hands and run my fore-finger along it, I let out an almost mute shriek, I take a deep breath to try to compose myself, me breaking down is what Marcos wants, and what he wants the least, I need to stay strong for him. I look down at my hands again, my dirty broken nails, my boney hands, covered in cuts that could easily get infected. then there are my wrists, bruised and blistered, my new tattoo sore and clearly struggling to heal, the words ring even truer now. I look down at my feet, my ankles and knees bruised and blistered too.