His Mission

Police Visit.

"Hey, Emily. Wake up. The police want to talk to you," Jake calls out while gently shaking me awake. My eyes fling open and I release a small gasp before sitting up in bed. "The police? Why? What have I done?" I question him with nerves sprawled across my face. I roll over in bed to climb out, but I lose my balance and end up hitting the floor with a hard thump. A groan slips through my lips and I hear Jake laughing from my bedroom doorway. "Are you okay down there?" He calls out with amusement.

"Yeah, just a bruised ego." I mutter before standing up. I rub at my eyes before looking at Jake. He's standing in my bedroom doorway dressed and ready to go for the day. He doesn't look hungover in the slightest and I don't remember him creeping out of bed this morning. "Why are the police here?" I ask him before reaching for his hoodie. I throw it over my pyjamas before tying my long hair into a ponytail.

"They want to talk to you about leaving home. Your Mom filed you as a missing person," Jake tells me. My mouth falls open in shock and I quickly snap it shut. How dare she! She hasn't called, text or checked in on me once. Does she believe sending the police round to talk to me is going to bring me home? How does she know I'm living with Jake? My stomach stirs with uneasiness.

"I'll be downstairs in five minutes," I say quietly. My hands grow warm with nerves. I've rehearsed what I'd say to the police for many years, but now that it's here, I feel my mind turn blank. What if they don't believe me? What if they force me to go home because I'm not yet eighteen? I'd rather live on the streets than return home to Trevor. "You're going to do fine. Tell them the truth," Jake says when he notices the worry etched into my features. I respond with a small smile but I don't feel confident. I really don't want to screw this up.

*

"My step-father abused me for years," I say quietly to the two female police officers. They're sitting on one couch, and I'm sitting opposite them in the leather armchair. I roll Jake's hoodie sleeves over my hands before wrapping my arms around my shivering frame. Jake is standing in the doorway of the living room, giving us enough space to talk but keeping his presence known. I feel comfortable knowing he's in the room with me. The two police officers look at each other, and one begins writing in her notepad.

"Can you give me examples, Emily?" The older police officer asks me. She appears to be in her early fifties and she has a kind face. I feel warmth flood my face with embarrassment and I glance over at Jake. He shoots a reassuring smile at me to urge me to keep going.

"It started when I was a child. He punched me, kicked me, fractured my bones. He's left behind bruises and scars. He's verbally abused me too for as long as I can remember." I whisper, hating how broken I sound. Will talking about Trevor ever get easier for me? I don't want to be defined by the things he did to me. My words cause Jake's jaw to harden, and he inhales a deep breath to keep himself calm. I know he wants nothing more than to lay into Trevor for revenge. The officers fall silent and I take their silence as a sign they don't believe me. I quickly stand up before lifting my hoodie to expose my bruised body.

"Do you see them? I'm not lying. The bruises are starting to fade," I say to them firmly. The older officer gives me a reassuring smile with sadness filling her eyes. "We believe you, Emily. That's why we're here. We want you to write an official statement against Trevor so we can prosecute him." Hearing her words causes a deep sigh of relief to flood through me. "I don't want to press charges," I say quickly. I don't have much confidence in the police. I don't want to be dragged in for hours of questioning before attending a court case that would probably end up in Trevor's favour. I want to deal with Trevor on my own terms, with Jake by my side.

"Why do you not want to press charges?" The other office speaks for the first time. She narrows her eyes in my direction and I can sense she doesn't agree with my decision. Not many people would, but it's a personal choice.