Lestrade looked at me with a serious face. I was beginning to think this was a bad idea. Talking to him was dangerous.
"I'm sorry, I can't say any more," I blurted out, standing. I wanted to leave but John's arm shot up and pulled me back into the chair.
"You need to do this. I won't let anyone hurt you," He said. Lestrafe quietly agreed, still a little new to John and I's 'friendly' nature toward one another. 'It's not me I'm worried about,' I thought, but sat and didn't mention it. A rapping knock sound came from behind me and I turned swiftly to face it. It was a woman, her long brown hair fell to her bottom and wrapped around her wiry frame. I ran a hand through my own recent dye-job and sighed. I hated who I had become. I had promised to move on and yet this one event had encompassed and ruined my entire life. In America had a job I was good at, people who tolerated me and a bed I could fall asleep in. Other than that I was a lonely sack of good-for-nothing.
"Come in?" Lestrade called to her. She walked in, looking at John and I and then the DI.
"Genevieve's called. Says she's got important information about the kidnapping yesterday," She stated to him, looking very proud of herself. She must be an intern. The DI nodded and told her to tell 'ol Genny' he'd call her back. The woman left, shutting the door loudly, and the conversation moved on.
"There was a kidnapping yesterday? Where?" I asked, but Greg was having none of it.
"I apologize, I just..." I gave up and gestured for him to do what he had to.
"How long were you held captive?" This question was one I'd heard so many times and had been answered for me every single time. I don't remember anything except being captured. I can barely remember my escape.
"Six days," I say this with confidence, because that is what everyone has told me. Greg looks incredulous, as does John.
"Jesus, you lost six days?" John questions quietly-to himself mostly-and I nod. He shakes his head.
"What happened to you?" John asked tenderly. I only shrugged. I still don't know.
"The report says I was drugged." The mood in the room was so low, I hadn't figured it could sink any more, but I was wrong.
"Were you..." Lestrade starts, but does not finish. I know where he is going and I answer him.
"Yes. I was sexually abused. It wasn't a ransom kidnapping. We didn't have an abundant amount of money." I felt sick about how I could pass over and forget about the fact that I was raped with ease. I didn't like to feel. Feeling hurt and I didn't like to hurt. Being here- just being in London- hurt. It hurt like the ghost of an amputated limb.