The Aftermath

Questions and Answers

Maya's POV

"Your mother and father got divorced when you were five?" the officer asked.

"Yeah," I nodded slumping down into my seat. "It wasn't very pretty."

"And why is that?"

"I don't know," I shrugged. "The yelling during the fighting, the drinking when it ended."

"Your mother or your father drank?" the officer asked.

"Both, they're both alcoholics," I sighed.

"Your mother was an alcoholic," Shawn interjected. "She's under control, she has been for almost a year," he told the officer.

"And they have joint custody?"

"Yeah. They're supposed to anyway."

"What do you mean by that?" the officer asked.

"I was supposed to spend weekends with my mom, but she–"

"I'm sorry I'm late," the door swung open and in walked my mom.

"I invited her, I thought she should be here," Shawn said.

"You were saying, Miss Hart?"

"She stopped coming around," I glanced over at my mom who was sitting there cluelessly.

"What are we talking about?" she asked.

Everyone stayed quiet.

"The divorce," I said. "And how you stopped taking me on weekends, and then how you stopped seeing me at all."

She stared down at her lap guiltily.

"I did what I thought was best for you," she defended.

"By leaving me with dad?" I asked incredulously.

"Yes, I was struggling with money and drinking and couldn't care for you, but your father–"

"Beat me," I cut her off.

"What?" she looked genuinely surprised.

"Almost every day," I said through gritted teeth.

"No, no that's not possible, I would've known" she stuttered.

"Remember dinner, when I told you I was sore from gym class?" I asked her. "I lied."

I saw tears filling her eyes until she hid her face in her hands, being comforted by Shawn.

"Miss Hart, I know this might be difficult, but I need you to answer me honestly. Are you claiming that your father physically abused you?" the officer asked.

"Yes, he would hit me all the time," I spoke clearly.

"With what? His fists? Objects?"

"Sometimes his fists, sometimes his belt or whatever he could get his hands on."

The officer was listening intently and writing something down on a notepad.

"I couldn't get out of gym class and some girls were making fun of me and I lost it. That's all that happened."

"Ok," the officer said getting up from his seat. "I'll be in touch with you and your principal," he left the office.

When he walked out, the principal walked in.

"Maya, you're suspended for two days for the locker room incident," he said regretfully. "But I suggest you take off longer to get some professional help."

"Thanks, but no thanks. I'll see you after my suspension," I walked past him.

"Maya, release your hands," Riley followed me.

"What?"

"Your hands, you have them balled into fists," she said taking them and releasing them.

Dark red, slightly bloody nail indents in the shape of crescents had formed on my palms from clenching my fists so tightly.

"Maya, maybe it would be a good idea to go see someone," she said.

"Not you too," I groaned. 

"Maya, a therapist might be able to help you."

"I don't need therapy!" I yelled at her.

She stepped back slightly at my outburst.

"I'm sorry," I broke down in tears. "I didn't mean to, I, I just–"

"It's okay," she wrapped her arms around me. "But you need to get help."

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