The woman glares at him before turning back to me. “Josh, you know how John used to get at work. It was the reasonIfired him. That and his reckless drinking habits.”
Josh’s jaw tightens, but he doesn’t retaliate.
“Josh, perhaps you should wait outside while I finish the interrogation.” The policewoman grabs a chair leaning against the wall, moves it towards the bed, and sits down. She waits until the police officer goes outside before she speaks. “Is there anyone besides Mrs Crawford and your mum who witnessed John—your dad’s violent behaviour?”
“Um…” I clench the sheets and tug them up, settling them over my chest. “There’s a worker at the service station near my home. His name is James. They banned my dad there because…”
I bite my lip, remembering Dad gripped my hair while he dragged me into the service station. James, horrified, watched as Dad forced me to grab the six-pack of beer and head to the counter.
“It’s okay,” the policewoman says reassuringly. “You don’t have to persist if you don’t feel comfortable.”
“There’s also my friend, Andy,” I say.
Conner goes rigid. The policewoman flickers a look at him and then back to me.
“Ex-friend, sorry. He used to live near me when we were younger. He knows and might talk to you… although I am not too sure.”
She writes in her notepad. “Could you give me his number?” Knowing Andy’s number by heart, I tell her, and she writes it down. “Is there any other evidence I can use against your dad?”
“Uh… yes.” I look at Conner and whisper, “I’m sorry.” Turning back to the policewoman, I take a deep breath and say, “Not too long ago, there was a photo that went around the school of my body. A few days before that photo was taken, Dad beat me because work didn’t pay me until a few days later, so it declined when he tried using my card. The photo shows my bruised, naked body. I’m sure you could find that photo easily. Almost everyone h-has it at school.”
The policewoman brushes at the tear under her eye before writing in her notepad. “I think that is all we need for now.” She takes out a folded stack of papers and hands them to Conner. “There’s a significant amount of evidence that your dad tampered with and worked with another police officer on the night shift. I’d like to say sorry, the phone calls Mrs Crawford made never went through due to the individual’s involvement with your dad after I fired him.”
“W-when did you fire Dad?” I ask. “If you don’t mind my asking.”
“Eight months ago.”
My stomach drops, and I feel sick. All this time… all this time, Dad wasn’t working. It makes sense why I had to pick up the slack with most of the bills. He must have been drinking all day and night, stumbling home like a fool.
“I don’t want to give you any false hope, but he will go to jail even if you don’t file a report on him. Dealingwith drugs, domestic violence against your mum that she’s reporting, and tampering with evidence is damning. So, if you feel uncomfortable writing a report, you don’t have to.” The policewoman takes a deep breath. “You are a strong, brave, and incredible girl, Noya Dawn Taylor. No matter your decision, I will personally make surehecan never be in the same city as you again. You have my word.”
Looking down at the papers on the edge of the bed, I know what I want before she even asks.
“I just want to be free,” I whisper. “Thank you, but I won’t be filing anything against him. I…” I take a deep breath. “I just want to leave all this behind me.”
“Where are you going after you leave the hospital?”
With a smile, I face Conner and answer, “Home.”
58
HOME
Home.Who would have thought going home had another obstacle? The horror display outside the hospital doors makes me want to hide from the world forever. Conner warned me. Mrs Jones warned me. Mrs Crawford told me to wear a mask.
I thought I’d be okay. Strong enough to get through a swarm of people. My dad abused me my entire life. Why would I fear news outlets?
I didn’t realise they were worse.
Much worse.
The doors open, and once they notice me, they swarm. There’s no care that I was in the hospital. They don’t care that I don’t like how close they are to me. They don’t care about personal space. They don’t care about my emotions. They don’t care. All they care about is the gospel.
They care for a story to post online, which I’d already seen late last night before Conner could switch the channel. Neighbours who had never called the police or cared for my well-being the entire time I lived there spoke as they knew me. The children’s channel was the only channel not focused on my abuse.
“Noya!” they shout, calling my name. One of them even calls me Dawn.
“Noya, how do you feel about overcoming your abusive father?” one of them asks.