Does It Hurt? (115)
What I do regret is all the people that I’ve hurt on the way.
When I left my old house, stained with Kevin’s blood, I only wore socks on my feet. But what hurts is that I slipped them into other people’s shoes and carried my sins into lives that had no place being there.
That… that I do regret.
I’ve taken enough lives. But tonight will be the last.
And for the first time in my life, I feel at peace with that.
Sawyer Bennett
By the time she’s done, she’s shaking her head, sadness permeating the air.
“She killed herself,” she states.
I nod, a tear slipping through and trailing down my cheek. I did kill myself, but not in the way she thinks.
“I don’t know if her remains are in the cellar, but she was there. She existed.”
“How long ago was this?”
I roll my lips. “I-I’m not sure… Time is different there. But I think it was five birthdays ago.”
Bancroft nods. “I’ll put these into evidence.”
My throat dries, and I can’t help but stare at the piece of paper and wonder if I just made a huge mistake. They will investigate Sawyer Bennett and my admission of guilt. Eventually, it will lead to my wanted status, and the sighting in the airport from my distant relative. Most likely, it’ll be written off because Sawyer Bennett was never there—she died five years ago on Raven Isle.
I’m sure they’ll see the picture of me when I was fourteen years old, sitting awkwardly on the couch with a Christmas present in hand. It was broadcasted everywhere after I escaped.
Up until I killed Kev, I had my natural dark brown hair color styled into a boy cut with thick straightened bangs on my face. I was going through a gothic phase then, wearing heavy black makeup and studded chokers. I presented myself that way in the hopes that Kev would find me less appealing, but it never worked, no matter how hard I tried.
It was the only picture they could find of me. My parents weren’t big on documenting our happy little family, and once Kev’s abuse began, I did everything in my power to avoid being close to them—let alone take pictures with them.
If I’m lucky, they won’t be able to see beneath the bad haircut and heavy makeup and discover the girl sitting before them.
For another hour, she continues with her questioning, offering patience and understanding as I trip over my words, grow flustered, and continue to ask to see Enzo.
She asks about how I was raised, if Sylvester offered us schooling—I said he did since she made note that I appeared educated for someone who was so sheltered—about what he did to Kacey and why, and how he would keep us hidden from people when they wrecked, or when he received shipments, and lastly, about the deaths of Sylvester and Kacey. I broke out into tears during that, and while my sadness may have benefited me, it was nothing but genuine. I didn’t know Kacey for more than an hour or two, but her story and her death are heartbreaking, and she didn’t deserve the hand she was dealt.
In the end, she assures me that I’m not under arrest, but they still will need to ask questions as the investigation unfolds. While walking me out of the interrogation room and to her desk, she speaks to me about options for a place for me to stay until I get an official identity in place.
She’s mid-sentence, in the middle of rifling through file folders by her desk, when she stops, her eyes locked onto my thigh.
My stomach twists and my eyes instantly cut to where she’s staring.
My tattoo.
I’m still wearing the jean shorts, leaving it entirely on display.
Heart thudding, I fondly finger the wonky black letters, a slight smile on my face. Hopefully, her seeing that I’m not trying to hide it will make her unsuspicious.
“I got in so much trouble for that, but I don’t regret it.”
Her brow furrows and she comes around to get a closer look.
“The hell is it?”
“I, uhm, I found a sewing needle and got some pen ink and gave myself a tattoo,” I explain awkwardly. “I’ve been angry with my dad for so long, it was one of the few ways I chose to rebel.”
I hate that I’m forced to paint over such a special memory with an ugly one, but at least I know the real one. I’ll always have Simon to hold on to.
Officer Bancroft chuckles. “I like it. But don’t do that again. Could’ve given yourself a serious infection.”
“Okay,” I say with a soft smile.
“So, there are a few shelters that will take you in, but—”
“I’d like to stay with Enzo,” I cut in.
She tightens her lips, and the look on her face has my nerves reigniting all over again. “Please, he protected me. He saved me. I-I don’t want him to get in troub—”
“Honey, they’re just questioning him right now. I understand that you might feel safe with Enzo and have formed a bond, but why don’t we find someplace that might be able to give you around-the-clock care? You’re going to experience culture shock and have difficulties acclimating, so it’s important that we make sure you’re okay.”
A shot of adrenaline releases into my bloodstream, and I’m beginning to panic again. It’s starting to feel like a constant state of mind.
I don’t want to go to a shelter. It feels like, yet again, I’m being forced to give up my freedom.