"Once you do this, you can never go back. You understand?"

The seat beneath me is ice cold, despite the fact I've been sitting in it for five hours. My wrists hurt. The glare of the bright light above reflects of the silver table. The table separates me from Chief Harris.

He's a large man, tall, broad. Like an oak tree, aged and full of strength. His eyes leave no room for masks, or facades. I'm bare, his gaze piercing through the smile I hide behind. My is ass numb and my is heart pounding.

I try to give my signature smirk, something nasty and suggestive, "You sound like you're talking to a virgin before popping her cherry."

He sighs, a long, heavy thing that weighs down on me. He's disappointed in me. The thought skitters across my back like a spider, tickling some ancient need to make someone proud. I haven't felt that in a long, long time.

"You can make jokes all you want, Jonas," He wipes his eyes, tired, a wilted oak tree, "but the situation will remain serious."

I scoff, bouncing my thighs. My dirty, muddy boots smudge the pristine interrogation room floors. My nose is still crusty with blood. They handcuffed me to stop the wild, desperate flailing of my arms. I was lost in panic, drowning in survival mode.

"Hey," his voice is soft, a low, smooth melody meant to lull children to sleep, "just tell me what I already know, and I'll put him away. For good."

For good. He won't hurt me anymore. The idea sounds bogus. Sir, Father, Dad. He'll be trapped in a metal cell, just like he's trapped me in fear. Fear of his anger. He's always so angry. Mom left a hole, a hole filled with rage and despair and I've filled it. Filled it with tears, and bruises, and scars and blood and-

"Calm down, Jonas."

I gasp, pulling away from the thunder storm raging in my skull. My eyes are burning hot. My cheeks are wet. I hate crying.

Harris's brows are pulled down in concern, though his hand is clenched in anger. Anger at Sir, I hope. I'd be trapped, caught like a rabbit if he decided to use me as a breathing punching bag. Wouldn't be the first time.

I laugh, but it sounds more like a sigh of defeat, "Alright, Chief Harris," I lean down to my hands, wiping away salty tears, hissing at the sensitive skin around my eye, "I, Jonas Grove, am being abu... abused by my father, Nathan Grove. Happy now?"

He shakes his head, "No."

My heart drops and my throat locks up, he doesn't believe me? Sir will find out and he'll really kill me now, I won't be rescued, he'll let me bleed out on the cold, hard floor and-

"No, I'm not happy, Jonas."

A weight lifts off me, like butterflies have filled my stomach and rearranged my guts to better fit a ball of pure joy. He's being put away. For good.

Harris stands, leaning over to unlock me. I draw my hands to my chest, rubbing my wrists. He stares at me, at the blood under my nostrils. The purple blooming on my eye. He stares until he has the words,

"What are you going to do, now that he's gonna' be gone?"

The ball of light resting in my stomach bursts, rays of hope shining down on every heavy, dark demon hiding in my blood.

It starts as a giggle, then it grows, like a song, reaching the last chorus, throwing in all the horns and violins. I'm laughing so hard my stomach hurts. Or maybe that's just the pain from a well aimed boot, whatever, details are irrelevant.

I can't stop laughing, not even to respond,

"Anything, I can do anything now."

He smiles, and it's like my future is finally something I can see. It's not shrouded in pain and a young death. I'm free. I can do anything and everything.