Criminal Sexual Conduct

I sat spinning scissors around my finger on the kitchen table. I couldn't look up. I saw only the brown uniform and badges across from me. No face. This faceless man had asked me questions I couldn't answer. My face got hot and throat froze. In my left corner a pair of holed jeans stood, waiting.

Less than an hour before, when I came home from school, these holy jeans had the face of my father who had told me the police called while I was gone. They left a phone number. They'd like me to call back as soon as possible. I couldn't tell you now what either of us thought it was about. I'm sure we both assumed I was in some sort of trouble but I hadn't broken any laws, aside from smoking an occasional joint with friends, since a couple years prior when I had been questioned about breaking and entering but never charged.

My heart raced as I dialed the number. My dad was on the couch, not hoovering but in definite reach of my voice. The officer told me that my best friend's step-dad (further referred to as "The Victim" and "The Suspect", respectively) was in police custody for rape and asked if knew anything about this. No. "No idea," I lied.
"She told us she believes you had been assaulted as well. We'd like to speak with you in person," he said. I didn't hear a word after that.