Page 4 of Protecting Paul

Sam

Speakingtothewomanfrom yesterday and hearing about her situation broke my heart. A lot of old memories were dredged up that reminded me where my desire to help others stems from.

It is hard to sit through the interview with an abused woman, but I have to do it. I know how important it is to have someone listen and to believe, especially someone with the power to do something about it.

“How long has this been going on, ma’am?” I ask gently. She can’t seem to meet my eyes, but I understand that completely. Facing this kind of thing head-on isn’t going to be easy for anyone.

“Um…” She begins. She fidgets as she thinks, looking around the room nervously. “The past five years or so.”

“And has it always been physical?” My voice is soft and as soothing as I can possibly make it. It can be hard for survivors to trust anyone and often times law enforcement has failed them in the past, so that adds another layer to things.

“No…” She trails off. That’s also expected. “It was more, um, verbal at first… then it got worse and worse as things went on…”

“You’re not alone, Mrs. Jones,” I assure her. “That’s very common. I’m just glad you’re able to speak up now, alright?”

“Th- thanks,” she says, and there’s a flash of genuine gratefulness on her face which makes me feel good. “It’s hard to talk about the details though.”

“Of course, it is,” I assure her once again. “Take your time, ma’am. Anything you can provide us will be helpful, but I don’t want to push you before you’re ready, okay?”

She nods, wringing her hands together over the table. She doesn’t say anything for a several minutes, but I let the silence settle between us. It feels tense, as if her unspoken words take on a physical form in the air between us, like a wall of water waiting to crash down and change everything.

“Do you want anything to drink?” I finally say as I try to think of anything that may make her more comfortable. “Or are you hungry?”

“Just water,” She says softly. I stand up and feel her eyes follow me as I walk out of the room. She still won’t make eye contact with me, but her gaze is heavy. “Thank you.”

Part of me wants to tell her to stop thanking me and that I’m only doing my job. I know that won’t help, so I softly offer her a ‘you’re welcome’ over my shoulder as I close the door.

As I head to grab a bottle of water, Officer Sanchez stops me. He’s looking at me with curiosity and concern.

“How’s it going in there?” he asks me, leaning against the wall and sipping a coffee. “Any progress?”

“Not really,” I admit, shrugging it off. “It’s always slow-going in these situations, so I’m just doing what I can for now until she’s ready. What’s the deal with Mr. Jones though?”

“He’s been moaning in the holding cell since we brought him in,” Sanchez says, rolling his eyes. “He sounds off his rocker. He keeps ranting about his constitutional rights and hurling whatever shit he can come up with. The guy’s certainly something else.”

“A scumbag is what he is,” I grumble. “An incredibly stubborn, vocal scumbag.” Sanchez laughs and nods in agreement. “Those kinds of guys think they’re above the law, so in his mind, we’re the bad guys. I doubt anything can change that opinion. I got tired of his complaining after five minutes in the car with him.”

“Just do your best with the lady, and we’ll give him what he deserves,” Sanchez says and slaps me on the back. “Use that big ol’ heart of yours, Sam. I’ve got faith in you.”

I know it’s a compliment, but it brings up a feeling of long-standing guilt. A decade ago, my “big ol’ heart” wasn’t enough to help. I was a kid, sure, but it’s forever one of the biggest regrets of my life; maybethebiggest. I close my eyes for a moment as the memory hits me like a truck.

“What’s that from?” I ask, reaching over and softly touching the bruise on Paul’s arm. It resembles a handprint. I can make out five small bruises that look like fingertips.

“Nothing,” he says quickly and pulls his sleeve down. He won’t make eye contact with me all of a sudden, and every inch of him tenses up. “Don’t worry about it, alright?”

“Easier said than done,” I say gently. He won’t look at me, but I can’t take my eyes off him. I stare at his side profile and notice the way he swallows nervously. “You can tell me. I’m good at keeping secrets.”

“Yeah, I guess you are…” He looks down at his hands. “I got into a fight with my dad. It’s no big deal. It barely hurts anymore.”

“Oh, shit…” Now it’s my turn to swallow nervously. I knew his dad was an asshole, but I didn’t know it was that bad. I wonder how long it’s been going on and how long he’s been dealing with it on his own. “Do you wanna… talk about it? Or, um, is there anything I can do to help?”

“Nah,” he says. He shakes his head and lays back in the grass, staring up at the darkening sky instead of at me. “I don’t want you to get mixed up in it, Sam. I’m fine, I really am.”

“Damn right, you’re fine,” I tease, hoping to lighten the mood a little bit. There’s an aching in my heart to help him, but I can tell he doesn’t want my help. “What about this? Does this help?”

I lean down and press a feather-light kiss to his cheek. He smiles and turns to look at me. The smile doesn’t quite reach all the way to his eyes, but his body is less tense now.

“A little bit,” He says and bites his lip in thought. “But maybe you should try a little more, and we’ll see how much it helps.”

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