Margo
~
"If you gave him a false number, how did you two meet again?" Detective Grant asks. I guess he really wants a play-by-play.
I sigh. "A few weeks later I saw him lingering outside my school," I start. I dig deep into my memory, trying to piece together our story. "He saw me first as I was leaving. He ran up to me. He was there for a drug deal. I knew the girl he was selling to, which somehow ended up in the three of us walking together. Then I caved and gave him my real number. He was, unfortunately, charming."
Detective Grant nods, scribbling something in his notebook. "How much of this story time is going to be important?" I ask.
"Why don't we skip to what you know about his drug selling habits." I gulp at his words.
"Right." I spin in my chair, closing my eyes and praying this doesn't somehow bite me in the ass. "As we started to hang out more, he would bring me along on his deals. Sometimes he'd have me scale the weed or even try stuff to make sure it was good. He was convincing, and I was young. I felt cool," I scoff at my own words. "I was caught up in the thrill of it all."
It's hard to admit that I aided and abetted someone who's actively making my life a nightmare. It's hard to admit that at one point, I thought I loved X, and I thought he loved me. It's hard to admit that two years of my teenage years were wasted, doing drugs I didn't want to do, and getting into situations I never wanted to be in.
"Things rarely got dangerous, at least when I was there. Most of his customers were high school students. He told me he wouldn't bring me along to deals with felons or older men. He had a large clientele. Soccer moms to homeless people, he sold to everyone." I never understood how so many people knew X. I never understood how he got so deeply involved in this world. Apparently, he was even deeper than I thought.
"Did he ever mention anything about a man who goes by Ant?" Grant watches me carefully for a reaction, but the name doesn't ring any bells.
I scrunch my brows. "Ant? I don't think so."
Detective Grant sighs, leaning back. "Cyprus wasn't just dealing to soccer mom's. He was dealing drugs as a key part in a massive drug cartel. Ant is considered a drug lord, and presumed to be the puppet master of all this," he explains.
"Jesus," I mutter. I had no idea how far gone X truly was. "I do remember him constantly worrying about his profits to please 'the boss.' He was always vague about everything. Anytime I asked where he got his supply, or anything along those lines, he'd mumble some bullshit about 'business' and 'connections.'" I rub my eyes, aggressively trying to rid myself of my exhaustion.
"Let's talk about his behavior after you two separated."
"You mean the stalking?" I ask. He nods. I hold my breath for a minute. I suddenly regret not taking the opportunity to just quickly write all this shit down instead of insisting on getting my story out.
"Toward the end of our relationship, he became physically violent, but in subtle ways that made me think I was crazy. Like, grabbing me so hard I'd bruise or hurting me during... you know." My cheeks heat at the insinuation. I blocked out most of my sexual experiences with X, because deep down I never felt comfortable doing any of it. "He emotionally manipulated me every step of our relationship until I was basically his barbie doll to play with. I was terrified of losing him, so I did basically everything he wanted.
"I knew he was doing hard drugs when he started getting more aggressive and erratic. He was usually calm, or unbothered, but suddenly he was on edge 24/7, doing Xanax and snorting cocaine whenever he could. He thought I didn't know. I always knew. It started to become a talent of mine— knowing which drugs he took and which type of high he was having. I could see it in his eyes when he was feeling violent, so I'd tread lightly, afraid to speak." I clasp my hands together underneath the table, squeezing until they turn white.
"Eventually, I snapped. I was having a manic episode and he was pissed off because a deal he was expecting fell through and he needed the money. I don't even remember what started the argument, but it got heated quickly. When he put his hands on me again, I had enough. I screamed at him, breaking off whatever 'relationship' we had left. I told him to never come near me again or I'd call the police."
"And he didn't listen," the detective finishes for me.
I shake my head. "No, he didn't. For a while he replaced me with random girls. I'd hear things about him, but I never asked around. I was in and out of Orchard Hills at that point, too, so it was hard for him to have any form of contact with me. After about a month he started showing up again. He started nice, begging for forgiveness, apologizing, promising he'd change." I roll my eyes at the recollection of the false promises he'd make.
X is why I learned to never take a man at his word.
"When we realized I wasn't going to take him back, that's when it became creepy. That's when it turned into stalking rather than casually trying to win me back. He'd follow me to and from school, cornering me on the subway. He'd sit outside my house on the weekends. Most of the time I didn't even know he was there. It wasn't until recently that I realized how bad it got."
"How do you mean?" Grant leans forward, concern and intrigue in his expression.
"I was in the city with a boy. He saw us and we didn't see him. He began to threaten the boy's life because he was touching me. He's done crazy things like this before. I'm sure you know about the gun incident at Orchard Hills."
The detective shakes his head, shaggy blonde hair shaking from side to side. "Gun incident?"
My eyes widen. "Really? People still don't believe it happened?"
"What?"
I groan. "Last year, when I was locked up again, he came into Orchard Hills with a gun looking for me. He fired but luckily didn't injure anyone. The only person that knew for sure it was him was me, and because of my condition, they didn't believe me without proof." The anger from retelling that story never disappears.
No proof.
He shot up a fucking mental hospital with cameras and witnesses, but since he was masked and only seen by a few patients and nurses, it was ignored entirely. Perceived as a breach in security that Orchard Hills needed to fix before another psych patient got violent. As if it was a fucking patient that tried to shoot me, even though I assured them it was X, but no. No one believes the bipolar girl.
Detective Grant flips through his paperwork, brows etched in confusion. "How did this go unreported?"
I shrug. "I told you. No one believed me."
He shakes his head. "Still, no record of it at all? It's a bit strange."
"Between you and me," I whisper, leaning forward with a smirk. "Your colleagues are fucking awful at their jobs."
Detective Grant doesn't crack a smile. He blinks and then traces his eyes back over his notes. "You've said you've spoken to the police before about Xavier's stalking?"
I nod. My stomach is starting to churn with unease as he riffles through his notes.
"There's hardly any mention of you or any criminal activity, filed complaints, or police involvement between the two of you. It's as if nothings been recorded. I only knew of you because Cyprus can't help but mention you every interrogation," Grant says.
"What does that mean?"
"It means our cops are being extremely negligent regarding this case, and I can't seem to figure out why." Dave's honesty frightens me. He's the only cop who's been honest with me, or even fully willing to hear me out. Now he's telling me that X's case isn't being properly handled. I don't know what to think.
I clasp my hands together, squeezing tightly. "You said my mother gave you a hard time. How?"
He leans back in his chair, tired eyes meeting mine. "I called her twice, asking if you'd be open to speaking with me regarding your history with Xavier Cyprus. She told me that you fabricated your entire relationship due to your mental illness She said you had no history, that everything regarding your involvement with Cyprus was a lie. Non-existent. She assured me that your testimony would be useless, tainted by your Bipolar disorder."
I thought my mother had hurt me in all the ways she possibly could. I was wrong. This hurts more than anything she's done in the past.
I've spent years of my life traumatized by this boy. Crying in the arms of Marley, who undoubtedly relayed the information, leading me to hospitalization several times because of X. Yet she lies to the people trying to help me, saying none of it was real? How is that even remotely justified in her brain? What have I done to make her hate me this much?
I swallow, feeling embarrassed. "I do have bipolar disorder, and I do experience a lot of complications from it, but hallucinating and fabricating stories about my trauma is not one of them. I know what has happened to me. All of it is very real, unfortunately. I can promise you that everything I've shared is the truth."
Detective Grant nods. "I know, Ms. July. My phone calls with your mother did little to persuade me. I always knew your testimony would be important to this case, I just had no way of reaching you with your mother holding you on such a tight leash. Now that your eighteen, her permission wasn't needed to get your statement," he explains. It's comforting to know that someone believes me. Someone powerful who can help me end this living hell I've been living in.
"Thank you." I let out the breath I was holding. "So what now?"
"I need to hear any and all details you remember about X's interactions with drugs. Buyers, sellers, anything you can tell me that may hint to who Cyprus' ringleader is."
I dig back deep into my memory, closing my eyes and trying to recall anything worthy of mentioning. I do my best to give him details on people I knew that were in business with X. Grant said he'd be contacting them, but won't mention it was me who gave their names. Being known as a snitch is the last thing I need, but I'd rather tell the truth than lie and further affect my situation.
After exhausting all possible names or faces I could remember, Grant wanted a timeline of X's abuse and stalking and how it progressed. It was important to Grant to figure out when his behavior began to escalate, assuming his violence coincided with his 'business.' When shit hit the fan with his dealing, his violence flared up. It was a cycle I became used to, obsessively trying to figuring out so I could avoid him, or make him happy. I used to crave the attention he'd give me. The validation that my makeup and straightened hair was worth something.
My thoughts are too loud.
"Margo?" I look at the detective. "Do you have any texts or other evidence to corroborate some of the stalking claims?"
I sigh, scratching an imaginary itch, a distraction for my hands. "I have millions of texts from him, being borderline verbally abusive. Some mention the stalking. I can look for specific ones."
"That will help. You may need to testify in court if we go to trial. Are you open to that?"
I hadn't thought about testifying. The thought of sitting in a courtroom, baring my soul to random strangers to judge. I can hardly trust the people I love. How could I trust strangers to believe me? My own mother refuses to acknowledge my abuse.
"Can I think about it?"
Detective Grant nods, smiling sympathetically. "You may not need to. It's a drug trail, after all, and it may not even make it to trail depending on the next few weeks. I can explain the legal jargon another time. We should get going." He glances at his watch, and I glance at the clock behind him— 5:33P.M.
I've almost spent the entire day in this room. I didn't realize how long we were talking. I guess I really did tell my life story. Well, the scariest parts, I guess.
We both stand, my chair spinning away behind me. "Thank you. For listening to me," I say, looking down at my shoes.
His eyes soften and he smiles. "Of course. If you want to talk more, I'll give your nurse my card." He walks forward, opening the door and turning to me. "We're going to get him, Margo. I promise."
For the first time today, I genuinely smile.