Chapter 3

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what next?

what next?

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I walk with him inside the crime scene and go straight to my room.

My room isn't even a room—it's a storage cupboard.

He raises his eyebrows at me, clearly confused.

"I never caught your name," I say, grabbing some clothes and necessities.

"Oh right, sorry. My name's Officer Jenkins, but you can call me Frank."

I nod and reach under my pillow to grab the photo of me and Dad. In the picture, I'm sitting on his shoulders, laughing while clutching my teddy bear. I carefully tuck the photo into the sole of the backpack, not wanting to damage the only memory I have of us. Then I grab the teddy bear from under the bed and shove it into the bag before Frank can catch my expression.

My face is crimson. I probably look like a tomato.

I cough and clear my throat.

"You have everything you need?"

I nod, and we leave.

I know Frank is probably wondering about my reaction. Maybe even thinking I'm weird.

To be honest, I'm surprised myself.

I should be freaking out, asking a million questions... but I'm calm.

Too calm.

"How long will they be locked in for?" I break the silence with a blunt question.

"Considering the extent of the drugs they had—measured in kilos—I'd say easily over fourteen years."

He looks at me with pity and soft eyes. I can tell he feels sorry for me.

But I don't care.

The rest of the car ride is deathly silent. No one says a word.

When we arrive at the police station, they pull me into an interrogation room. You'd think I was the one caught with the drugs.

They ask me a billion questions.

Had I ever seen them take any substances?

Had I seen them buy or sell?

I answer truthfully, not even thinking about it.

But deep down, I'm terrified they'll bring up the abuse.

All my bruises and scars are well covered, but the anxiety in my chest is unbearable.

A part of me wants to say something—to get justice.

The other part can't.

Because honestly?

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