Page 81 of Meet Me at the Metro

“Ellie! You have to tell someone in authority before this turns serious. Hell, it already seems serious. Touching you like that isn’t okay, and you know it. You’re scared, and you have every reason to be. You need to make a report to the police, at least.”

“What would I even say?”

“You tell them the truth—that your ex-boyfriend is harassing you. You can’t let this drag out. What if something happens to you?”

I contemplate that possibility as I’ve done every night since I first ran into John at the train station. I’ve been in such denial, and suddenly, the weight of reality smothers me, stirring up a surge of emotions that have tears welling in my eyes.

“It’s going to be alright, Ellie,” Connor comforts, drawing me toward him. “Just please, for my peace of mind, go talk to them.I’ll go with you.”

He has no idea how much I needed to hear that.

“Okay,” I relent, knowing there’s no avoiding this anymore. “I’ll go.”

Brown leather chairs encase Connor and me as we sit patiently inside the dimly lit police station. The sound of my foot tapping nervously against the gray-tiled floors becomes a steady thrum in the room, and I try to focus on it rather than the distorted mess of uncertainty spinning around in my head.

“Miss Mattice?”A middle-aged police officer enters the quiet lobby and tears me away from my restless stream of thoughts.

“Yes,” I answer, rising from my chair.

He nods toward the blue metal doors he just came through and requests, “Follow me this way, please.”

“May my friend come with me?”

“That’s fine.”

Connor jumps from his seat and joins my side as we follow after the officer. He leads us down a narrow hallway, opening up to a large room full of cubicles, and weaves us through the maze of sectioned metal desks until we arrive at his. He politely pulls out two chairs and offers us to sit. I try to calm my racing heart as Connor and I settle into the seats, and the officer sits behind the computer in front of us. A long, few moments of silence pass between the three of us before the man finally speaks.

“So the secretary informed me that you’re looking to report an incident, right?”

“Yes, sir,” I answer, swallowing the sudden lump in my throat. “I… My,umm—My—”

“It’s okay,” Connor whispers, graciously reminding me of his support.

Itgives me enough courage to speak. “My ex-boyfriend has been harassing me.”

The officer glances up from his computer screen, frowning as he assesses me. “I’m sorry to hear that. Can you tell me more? Like, the relationship between you two?”

“Well, we dated for two years back in the States—we both attendGildenhill Universitynow but recently broke up.”

“So you guys are international students?”

I nod.

“Do you two live together?”

“No. I live with my two roommates. I’ve tried breaking all contact with him, but I keep running into him.”

“Unwarranted?”

“Yes, unwarranted. I try to avoid engaging with him, but he doesn’t leave me alone. He gets—” I fight past a wave of nausea— “physical.”

“Can you clarify what you mean by physical?”

The question triggers me to recalljusthow physical the altercations became. So vividly, they come rushing to the forefront of my mind—the way his fist felt as it squeezed around my arm, the bitter ache at the back of my head when he had me pressed against the wall, and the way his hands scorched every part of my body that they touched.

My chest tightens, and my throat constricts as I remember it all. I hate how quickly my perception of John has turned resentful. I hate how he’s tarnished every good discernment I’d once had about him.

Connor’s hand atop mine pulls me out of my distressed thoughts. When I glance down, I see how terribly my fingers tremble.

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