Apparently, taking a failed attempt seriously is not something the police have to do.
Protect and Serve? Yeah, right.
I sit on the couch, feeling humiliated and stunned by the ordeal I’ve just been through – as if a rape threat and chase weren’t horrifying enough.
“So he made a joke, and you ran?” The police officer sat opposite me comments, looking down at his clipboard as he writes. His voice is monotone, talking about the situation as if someone had left a scary pumpkin on my doorstep.
I gulp, holding back the emotions my body is eager to release – but knowing that if I do, he’ll list me as hysterical. “He followed me from the bar, and when I got my keys out, ready to unlock my door, he said what are you getting those keys out for? They won’t save you.” I pause, my voice cracking. “When I ran through my garden and into my house, he followed me and banged on my door, shouting what he was going to do if he got his hands on me, until an officer arrived… How is that a joke?”
The man looks up from his paperwork. “How do you know he was going to do anything?”
I stare at him, blinking as I take in his blank expression. Calmly I mutter, “what the fuck is wrong with you?”
“Don’t speak to me like that,” he barks.
My breathing becomes uneven, my heart pounding in my chest and my instincts telling me to run. “I’d like to leave.”
“Are you withdrawing your complaint?” He questions, sounding frustrated that I’ve put him through the inconvenience of filling in the paperwork.
He rolls his eyes and gestures to the door. “Get out.”
I move quickly, almost running for the door. As I walk through the station, getting to the Lobby, I feel eyes on me. I hold my breath as my body tries to freeze, pushing forward. I see him from the corner of my eye, in full uniform, standing with his colleagues and smiling as he watches me leave. I should’ve known.
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