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At The Police




Sunday morning, in a village in the southeast of germany.

I hardly fell asleep saturday night, so I didn't calculated much sleep.

At 7:10 I had to get up, but I was completly awake around 6:30.

About one hour later we left the hotel, at least 30 minutes earlier than planned.

It wasn't the police station I went to after I had been freed, this was the small one of this village.

But that also meant that I would talk about my past with a couple of total strangers.

Our way to the police staiton guided us once across the city center, which was, for village scales, full of peoples.

I know about my appearance, but I hate it when people stare at me like I'm an animal in a zoo.

We arived at the police station about ten minutes early, and instead of waiting I agreed on "the earlier in, the earlier out".

My parents waited outside, while Sophie and I got asked into an office.

Originally two police officers where supposed to do the "interview", but, after I asked her to do so, Sophie managed to convince one of them, a man, to leave.

I am afraid of both men and women, but my fear of men is much worse.

The woman told me a name, and asked me if I know everything about someone whos name that is.

I didn't, just because backthen I never knew the guys names.

To me, they've been the gentlemen, the men, the "friendly guys", the sirs.

So that way turned out to be a dead end.

Suddenly (at least for me), the woman had a small pile of papers in her hand.

She told me that they got some photos, and they needed me to confirm that guy is who they supposed him to be.

The first photo was harmless.

It had been made after he was arrested, and showed him from the side.

The second one, seemingly made at the same time, showed his face.

I got a small shock as I looked into his eyes, it felt like he stared at me.

I recognized the face, but it looked different to my memory.

A beard, a different haircut, somehow "different" eyes.

The third, and last, photo was the kind of picture I was hoping to avoid.

It was a screenshot.

A screenshot from these sick films.

I looked at that picture for about a second, and than it happened.

It was like somebody ripped down everything around me like posters from a wall.

I was five again, and I "re-experienced" the exact scene from the picture.

It lasted for (what felt like) two hours, in fact it had been less than two minutes.

I was "back", and I was crying.

It was so ashaming.

I sat there, completly save, and cried because of a damn picture.

I mean, I hardly ever cried by the time all that happened, and backthen I was a child.

Now I was nineteen years old, and cried because of a screenshot of "that".

That just makes no sense.

While I had been mentally "elsewhere", Sophie had taken away the pictures, and given me the small teddy.

I took it in my hand, and pressed it into a small ball.

It took me another five minutes before I managed to stop myself from crying.

"Ok again?", asked the policewoman.

I nodded.

In the next 15-20 minutes the woman asked me at what time I first "met" that guy (met, I would call it different), how often, at what point the "visits" (same thing) stopped, if it was regular or not, and a couple of other, rather harmless things.

Finally, she asked me if there was something "special" that should be added.

And then, I told her all the stuff.

It was like I was going "fast-forward" through my memory, picking all the important bits.

Not only the ways he made me do "IT".

I told her how that guy always pulled me around by my hair instead of my hands or collar, how I got beaten up because he was angry after some bloke overtook him on the way to the farm, how he choked me if I made the slightest noise, how he brought a stopwatch around by the time I was almost nine and gave me a "time limit" to make him "finsh".

If I failed, he slammed me to a wall with a force that knocked me out.

How he did "IT" while my "father" cutted of two of my fingers after I had biten him instead of s**king him, how, at the age of six, he put tabasco "into me" to give me a reason to cry (and still punished me for crying), and a lot more.

I was about to tell her everything he did.

At some point, halfway through all I wanted to tell her, she stopped me.

"That is all we need, and...and more than I can both handle and believe.", she said.

We said goodbye, and left the station.

While we had been in the station, my parents had brought the car around.

I was in some kind of trance, different to the dissociation backthen.

It was, and I know how bad this comparesion is, it felt like I was under water.

I shortly after I got into the car, I heard my mother talking about "getting me back to the hotel as fast as possible".

I denied, asked her to bring me "somewhere lonely".

We drove southbound, left the village, and stopped on a small dirttrack.

I climbed out of the car, leaving the wchair in the trunk.

I pulled myself meter after meter away from the car, I heard the others waiting at the car.

A couple of meters away from the car I laid down on a meadow, and stared into the sky.

The "trance" endet, and I just cried and cried.

I had managed to push it all away while being at the police, while driving through the city.

But I couldn't hold it back another second.

It was at least as bad as backthen, if not worse.

That was why I wanted to go out of the village, instead of back to the hotel.

I wanted to be alone, not in a room.

And maybe I wouldn't make it back to my room before I burst into tears.

After ten minutes or so, Sophie sat down beside me.

"You made it, once more.

Well done Miraclegirl.

That was unbelievably brave.

We are...impressed."

Luckily she didn't said proud, because hearing that is a trigger.

"How do you feel?"


Sick and exhausted."

I really did.

Not that exhausted, but sick.

Sophie sat next to me for half an hour, if not longer.

As I turned around to make my way back to the car, Sophie asked me if she might help me.

"No, after all I did that's a piece of cake."

I really said the last bit in english, don't ask me why.

We returned, and drove back to the hotel.

No one could see that I'd cried, the only traces were missing make-up on a scar, and slightly red eyes.

I reached my room shortly after Sophie, and found a small cake on the table.

"Whats that?", I asked her.

"Your way back a couple o minutes ago."

Sophies humor sometimes was really simple, but I loved it just because of that.

And as she said that I smiled, I really did.

"Come on.", she said.

"That was the hardest bit.

They will lock him up forever."

I knew they can't, but at that point I wanted to believe it.

"What about tomorrow, ready for that?"

"Of course.

I'll see it, someone's going to buy it, and it will be a real home."

So, that's it from today.

I will write about our visit at the "farm" tomorrow evening.



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