I sit slumped in my chair, not listening to what the teacher is saying. "Ms. Emerson?" She says. "What?" I ask. "Do you know the answer?" "Does it look like I know the fucking answer? Bitch, if I knew the answer my hand would be up. Is my hand is up? Call on one of these pussies who has their hand up," I reply angrily. "Go to office," she commands me. I roll my eyes, standing up and walking out of the room. I don't go to the office and instead go outside, pulling out a cigarette and my bottle of "water". I light the cigarette and hold it in my mouth, leaning against the wall, when a brunette woman in her early thirties approaches me. "Can I help you?" I ask, somewhat rudely. "You might be able to. I'm Olivia Benson, with the Manhattan SVU, and I'm investigating the assault of a fellow classmate," she tells me. I nod, "What's her name?" "Krystal Hendrickson." "Sounds familiar. Don't know her." "Can you tell me what you've heard about her?" She asks. "Saw her at a party last week." "And what was she doing?" "I don't know man, I was high and drunk off my ass," I say, rubbing my eyes and taking a draw from my cigarette. I flick off my cigarette ash as she asks, "Okay before you were intoxicated, did you see her doing anything, talking to anybody?" "She was sitting on the couch. With a girl. Sophia something. She wasn't drinking, she was sober. I heard her say one time she didn't like the way it made her feel," I tell her, as I flick my cigarette away and take a swig from my water bottle. "Look, detective, I'm not the most reliable person. I'm supposed to be in the office right now for... I don't really know what for. Teachers don't like me, my friends don't like me, my mom doesn't like me, he'll, I don't like myself. Nobody likes me. Nobody listens to me. Nobody trusts me. I doubt if a court or soemthing would." I take another swigs from the water bottle and grab the wall to steady myself. I could feel the alcohol starting to take affect. "Are you drunk?" She asks, surprised. "A little," I admit. I stumble over to a bench and sit down on it. "What have you been drinking?" She asks, trying to help me. "Uhhm. Nothing?" She looks at my water bottle. "Is it this?" She asks, taking it from me. I shake my head. She uncaps it and smells it. She shakes her head. "Come with me," she says. "Can I finish that?" I ask, nodding towards the vodka.
I wake up with a slight hangover at the police station. I sit up on a couch and swing my legs over to the side, rubbing my eyes. I look around and see a desk and a few awards hanging around the office. I stand and walk over to the desk, seeing a picture of a team, dressed in police uniforms and recognize only one, Olivia Benson. I walk out of the office and into the actual police station area. "Damn," I mumble, rubbing my eyes. I walk up to a blonde woman who looked like she knew what she was doing. "Hey, do you have an aspirin or something?" I ask her. "Uh, yeah, I might have something," she replied slowly. She looks through her desk and finds a bottle. She hands the bottle to me. I open it and pop a few in my mouth, swallowing three dry. "Thanks. I'm Tristin." "Detective Amanda Rollins, SVU." "Oh, do you know that Benson woman?" I ask her. "Liv?" "Uh, I guess. Brunette, dark, curvy?" "That's her," Amanda replies, chuckling. We sit in silence for a few moments before she asks, "So, how old are you." "Just turned 15," I tell her. She hums. "Have you been drinking?" She asks. "A little. Not much," I lie. "Look, Tristin, I know you're young and you make mistakes and you wanna be grown, but you can go around drinking, alright?" "Okay. I won't," I lie again. She puts something in my hand, "If you ever wanna talk, day or night, just call me." "Thanks," I say and then walk out.
A Few Days Later
People are screaming all around me. They're laughing and drinking. I'm laughing and drinking too. It's the only way I can laugh anymore. A boy comes up behind me, grinding on my ass. He grabs my hips, holding me still while he bumps his crotch against me. I turn in his arms. I knew this house was often used for prostitutes and hookers so he probably thought that's what I was. He leads me to a more secluded room. "How old are you," he asks. "How old do you want me to be?" I ask, pulling my shirt over my head. "You're old enough," he nods, staring at my breasts. He unclios my bra and cups my breasts before biting them both. He's suddenly pulling my pants down and he's inside me, thrusting in and out. I lie there, happy I was finally feeling something. He grunts as he enters me again and again. When he finishes, he starts putting his pants back on and I start getting dressed too. "We should meet up again sometime," he says as he buckles his let. "Yeah," I mumble, putting my shirt back on. Then he is gone. He came and he left, within a matter of minutes. I pick up a bottle of whiskey sitting on the table next to the bed. I pick it up and tip it back as I make my way back to the party. Someone is handing out pills. I decide to snort a few. As I do, my nose burns and my lungs feel cold. I drink more of the whiskey. I kiss another dude sloppily. When his girlfriend comes over and slaps me, I stop. I continue drinking from the bottle and grab another pill. I feel dizzy and sick, but keep swaying to the music. Then suddenly the doors burst open and cops come flooding in. People run and the cops do nothing but I can't run and instead collapse on the couch. "Tristin?" I hear a familiar voice. "Hmm?" I hum, unable to open my eyes. "Come here," the voice says, lifting me up by the arms. "Who are you?" I mumble. "Oh god," she says. "What the hell have you taken?" "Pill." "What kind of pill?" I shrug. "Blue," I giggle. I'm suddenly in the front seat of a police car, sitting next to woman. I start messing with the radio and end up on some jazz station. I start crying. "I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm just so- so... so messed up and..." I trail off and begin again abruptly, "I hate my life. My mom is a fucking schizophrenic prostitute..." I proceed to mumble something about my dad and the rest of my family, before slumping over, my head hitting the dash. "I just had sex... with a dude whose name I don't even know," I slur. I continue to cry and I feel someone's hand on my back, trying to comfort me. "I need to go home. I need to go... home! Home! Need to go..." I start to become erratic. I punch the dash. "I need to go home!" I scream. "Okay! Okay! Where do you live?" The driver asks. I tell her my address and I'm there in what seems like seconds They walk me inside to find my mother on a rampage, arguing with her boyfriend. "Who the hell are these people!?" She screams at me. They continue to walk me to my room. "Tristin! Tristin! Who are these people!? Fucking answer me! Is this the government!?" She continues to yell at me as they lay me down and I pass out.
Although I'm not sure how I got here, I wake up in the same office I did a few days ago. This time the brunette detective is sitting at the desk. I groan almost immediately after I wake up. She looks over at me. "I have aspirin for you," she says, peering at me through her glasses. I hold my head as she brings me the aspirin and water. "Thank you," I say quietly. She pulls a chair out in front of me. "Do you have anything you want to talk about?" She asks me, concerned. "No," I say shortly. "May I ask you a few questions?" She asks. "I guess." "Has your mother ever abused you?" She asks. I scoff. "No." "Okay. Has anybody ever done anything to you that you didn't want them to?" "What? Like rape me?" I ask incredulously. "I'm usually too drunk to even notice they're doing anything, detective." She sighs. "Why do party so much?" "Helps me forget," I reply. "Forget what?" She asks. "How horrible my life is. I don't have to think about my mom. Or the fact that I don't have a dad. Or that I don't have any friends. Or that I'm a failure in school. I can just escape it all. I'm a different person. I have fun. I smile. I laugh. I don't do that when I'm sober." "Have you ever considered seeing a counselor." "We don't have to money," I tell her. "Last night, what did you take?" "I drank quite a bit. And then I took a couple of pills, I don't know what they were." "Do you realize how dangerous that is? Taking unidentified pills with alcohol?" She says, almost angrily. "You're not my mother," I say defensively. "No, but you're actual mother isn't going to say anything to you." "It's none of your buissness what I do!" I scream. I stand up and storm out of her office. She pulls me back in. "I'm sorry," She says. "Please sit down, I have some news for you." I sit down angrily. "You're mother thought we were trying to take you away from her. She overdosed on pills this morning. Your mother died." I sit on the couch. Just sitting. Not moving. I'm not sure I can move. And I don't feel anything. I don't feel shock or sadness. I don't feel anything. "You will go to a foster home," she continues. "And if you'd like, I want to be your foster mother." "I just got done telling you you aren't my mother and now... you are," I begin laughing. A smile crosses her face. "Yeah, you did."
Later That Week
I'm at Olivia's house, in the room she had given me. He holds me down, my arms pinned above my head as he pushes into. "Hit me," I say. A blow lands across my face and I smile. "Again." He hits me again. I laugh. "Harder." He hits me harder. I spread my legs wider and he thrusts more intensely. I hear the door open. "Shit," I mumble. "Should I stop?" He asks. I shake my head, "No, keep going, that feels good. Hit me again." I almost want to be caught by Olivia. I don't know why. I moan loudly, "Don't stop!" He pushes into me faster. I wrap my legs around him as he pounds into me. He pulls out of me and cums on my stomach. At that moment, Olivia knocks on the door. "Just a second," I call. "Get in the closet," I whisper. He nods and does as I had said. I slip on a t shirt and sweatpants quickly and open the door. "Hey, Liv, how was work?" I ask, out of breath. "Fine... is something wrong?..." she asks suspiciously. "No," I say. "Everything's fine." "Alright," she says. "What do you want for dinner?" "Anything's good," I reply. "I'll be in the kitchen in a second, I have to do something." I close the door quickly and go to my closet. "Get dressed and climb down the fire escape. I will call you later, okay," I tell him. He nods and leaves. I walk into the kitchen to find Olivia heating up leftovers. I sit down on a barstool "There was a boy in there, wasn't there?" She asks, eating a forkful of pasta. I nod slightly, guilty. She just sighs.