Thank you, Brightsparx. There's more to come, I promise.
Once more I pull the card from my coat pocket and with trembling hands I type the numbers on my cell phone. I've deleted them more times than I can remember in the past few days. What am I doing? What am I going to say? But a part of me needs to get this off my chest. I need to tell my story and I need someone to listen. Will she listen? I don't want to waste her time, as it's too late to make a case. But I can see those eyes reaching out to me everywhere I go.
She picks up and her businesslike 'Benson' hardly matches with the eyes that I've thought about so much. My throat closes in shock and no words come out. I'm such an idiot, having imagined a much more warm welcome. How could she have known it would be me? It's not like she has my phone number and there must be at least a dozen cases she and her squad are working on. There is no way I'm the only one trying to get her attention and I contemplate hanging up. I must have made a sound though, as a much more gentle 'hello?' follows her greeting.
I stammer out my name in the hope she remembers me. Terror fills my mind at the thought of having to explain over the phone. Please, please remember who I am. Please understand how much it took to even call.
Sophia, what can I do for you?
Relief is so great I have to sit down. She remembers. But now comes the hard part.
I was wondering... is there a way... I mean... can we... can we maybe... like,... talk?
My heart is pounding as I stammer my question and it doesn't let up when she agrees and suggests to meet in person. I am relieved she wants to meet but also terrified. The door is open and I'm on the threshold, afraid to go through it. What if she doesn't believe me? Or if she thinks I'm a waste of her time? And that doesn't even come close to the fear I feel about disclosing what I've buried inside for so long.
We agree to meet at the library where I reserve a small study room. I don't want to meet in my apartment, keeping it as a safe haven away from all the ugliness of my past. As if I could ever escape it. I'm happy to have found some neutral ground though, as I wouldn't feel comfortable to come to the precinct.
I had expected a table and some chairs, so the comfortable couch under the window surprises me. A small side table holds some magazines and one wall is completely covered in books. It's been a long time since I studied here and the current layout is much more inviting.
My hands are freezing as I pace the room, trying some breathing exercises to calm down. In through the nose, hold, out through the mouth. Again, and again untill my heart rate starts to go down. Right when I've got some control over my nerves there's a knock at the door and I know there's no going back now. Heart racing once more I walk to the door and open it with shaking hands.