37. Laney
I’m still in the hospital when the police come to speak to me.
The officer in charge introduces himself as Detective Knox. I’ve never been good with authority figures, and having this man in my room makes me want to hide under the bed.
But I remind myself how much our future relies on me making sure the police know that Reed did nothing wrong, so I force myself to sit up straight and make eye contact with this man.
“Miss Flores,” he starts, “I realize this isn’t easy to speak about, especially after you’ve been through so much already, but you understand that we have to follow through with these things when complaints are made.”
“Complaints from whom?” I ask. “Not from me.”
“It’s been brought to our attention that you have what some might consider…” he clears his throat… “an inappropriate relationship with your stepfather, Reed Riviera.”
I hold my chin high. “Is something being considered inappropriate also illegal now?”
“No, you’re right about that, but if this relationship began before you turned eighteen, then it most definitely would be considered illegal.”
“But we weren’t even in California for the vast majority of the time we were in each other’s lives before I turned eighteen. We were in Canada, though we didn’t know it at the time, where the age of consent is sixteen. Surely we’d be governed by those laws in this case?”
“Are you saying you had sexual relations with your stepfather or either of your stepbrothers before you turned eighteen?”
“No. I’m not saying that at all. What I’m saying is that you have no reason to be here, Detective. No crime has been committed. I’m an adult. I can choose to be with whoever I want.”
I wish I was as confident as I’m making myself sound.
“We will be speaking with both your stepbrothers as well.”
“Speak to whoever you want. Like I said, no crime has been committed. You’re wasting your time. It’s not as though Los Angeles doesn’t have enough real criminals to chase after. I’m sure your time would be better spent elsewhere.”
He sucks in a breath and nods, then flips his folder shut. “Unfortunately, high profile cases tend to take priority, and as I’m sure you’ve seen from the amount of newspaper and social media coverage, your case is definitely considered high profile.”
“I understand,” I say, though I don’t. Not really.
Cases that make the newspapers and social media will always get more police attention than those that don’t, and often it means the cases that aren’t properly investigated are the same ones that aren’t newsworthy enough.
It’s the reason most people can name white serial killers but can rarely mention killers who are people of color.
People tend to kill within their races, and the media doesn’t seem to care about men or women of color who are murdered.
There’s even a term for it—Missing White Woman Syndrome.
They’re the stories that will sell papers.
I watched a documentary about it before the crash.
Detective Knox continues, “I know this must be hard, but I understand that you tried to take your own life a few days ago.”
I’m still ashamed about what I did. “Yes. I made a mistake. I can see that now.”
“Did your reason for wanting to take your own life have to do with any abuse you might have suffered at the hands of your stepfather?”
My jaw drops. “No! It absolutely did not.”
I can’t tell him about the abuse I did suffer, the rape by one man, and sexual assault by another.
As far as the police are aware, those men don’t even exist. Maybe they see something in me.
Do victims of a sexual assault act in a certain way?
Do we subconsciously say or do certain things that give us away to those who have experience dealing with victims?
I find it hard to believe that to be true.
I imagine some women would be triggered by sex, where I haven’t been able to get enough of it.
It’s been like each time one of the guys has fucked me, it’s taken me one more step away from the assault.
It’s given me control of my body again, allowed me to reclaim it as my own.
We’re all individuals and deal with things in our own way.
“It was the press I couldn’t handle,” I tell the detective. “What they, and everyone on social media, was saying about Reed. They were trying to destroy him, and I felt responsible. I just felt like if I no longer existed, they’d all go away and leave him alone.”
Except now they’ll blame him for this as well, will probably claim he drove me to it, just like the police are doing now. I hadn’t even considered that, but then I hadn’t considered much except my own pain.
“Please,” I say, “just understand that Reed Rivera would never hurt me. He loves me, and I love him. Neither of us are doing anything wrong, no matter what everyone else is saying.”
He nods and closes his notebook. “Thank you for speaking with me, Miss Flores, I’ll be sure to update my report with your statement. As far as I can tell, no further action will be taken.”
I let out a sigh of relief and drop back against my pillows, suddenly exhausted. It probably won’t make any difference to the press that the police agree we’ve done nothing wrong, but it’s something. It feels good to have someone in authority on our side.