the police station

TW: MENTIONS OF SEXUAL ASSAULT, PHYSICAL ASSAULT, & INTRUSIVE THOUGHTS
VIEWERS' DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

THE FIRST THING MARTHA HOLLAND REMEMBERS is kissing JJ goodbye as they were pulled away from each other. Her boyfriend told her: it's going to be okay, as Deputy Shoupe forcefully pushed him into the available holding cell.

She remembers yelling at him to lay off just to be pulled back into a brightly lit room.

The second thing Martha Holland remembers is the smell of cigarette smoke —not the good kind—and the deadly lighting bouncing off the decrepit brick walls. They were painted in a dull yellow, the color of wilted sunflower petals, dead and undisturbed like a morgue.

The lights were blinding, too blinding that her eyes burned and her tears turned red.

She sat there in that dingy-looking room for what seemed like hours. The chair was uncomfortable, the backrest bumpy and curved a certain way where it jutted out and stabbed her tender back. The overhead lights swayed from the low air conditioning, its yellow beams shining a spotlight on an anxious and sweaty girl.

The sound of the door hinges creaking and its slamming thud rang through the girl's eardrums. It was defiant, especially when she heard the lock click closed. Shutting her out wasn't the best thing she needed right now, but how were they supposed to know that?

The sound stuck with her, overcoming her other senses, it was on repeat like a broken record; the beat scratching some part in her brain. It was better than the voices in her mind:

How's JJ? Is he hurt? Where's John B? I wonder how Pope is doing with his father. I hope Kiara is okay. What about my parents? What's going to happen with Sarah and Wheezie when this blows over? Will Topper and Kelce get into trouble? Will they believe me? Will my parents believe me? Will the town believe me? Fucking hell, is Midsummer tonight? Good job Martha. Way to ruin everyone's night. Fucking idiot.

She shut her eyes, her brain jumping back to the sound. It was definitely better than being suffocated in this silent room by her own mind. She blacked out everything else, for a long, long time.

Until, the rusted hinges creaked back open again, revealing a person.

Sheriff Peterkin looked at her with pitiful eyes. She was the only available female officer that Marty trusted to tell her story to.

She was also the head of Sexual Trauma Cases, it was a job that was given to her as a joke because no one is dumb enough to actually report that stuff around Kildare County. In too many cases the victims get paid off to keep silent, too many times the police officers, assaulter's families, and the local townspeople blame the victim until they're too afraid of saying anything. Until that is, someone is brave enough to step up.

Martha spilled. Every last drop she could.

It must've been building inside her because Peterkin didn't even introduce herself and the young girl ripped out the grenade pin and threw the bomb into the middle of the dead room.

"Rafe Cameron raped me."

Martha started to cry as she saw the hesitation. Of course, no one fucking believes you. Why would they?! If only JJ was here.

"Don't cry, darling. I believe you," Peterkin said, grabbing Marty's hand with a squeeze. "Are you okay?"

Marty glanced up at the kind Sheriff, gulping as she shook her head. "No, not really. He- he has.. uh..." She hesitated to tell her more.

"Tell me. It's okay, you'll be protected under my watch. No harm will come from him anymore as long as I'm alive. I swear on my mother." Her voice was sincere, almost hopeful. Peterkin had many complaints about the banished kook prince, this was her chance to finally act on it.

A voice rang in her head. A broken and shattered voice. A promise. That's a start. She's a reputable source. Trust her. Please, I know you can. You have to. You gotta hold him responsible. For our sake, tell her. Tell somebody.

"Okay, well," she turned her head to the left. Her makeup was almost gone because she practically sweated it off. "He did this. With his golf club, three days ago. Pope Heyward and Topper Thornton were there. Pope and I were actually jumped by them," she said, tears falling down her face. Her salty water droplets burned her cuts as they slid down each crevice. "This wasn't the first time he's threatened me with violence. He did it, two days after. My family is good friends with Ward. It was brunch. He strangled me until I couldn't breathe anymore."

She looked down at the carpeted floor, noticing that the butts of the table were covered with tennis balls, that it wasn't nailed to the floor. That's when she noticed, this wasn't an interrogation room, this was a place that held people that could lose their absolute mind and wouldn't hurt anyone. She was labeled as crazy as soon as she walked into the building.

They had good reason. You are fucking crazy. Do you honestly think that any retribution will come out of this? Your own father is buddy-buddy with your rapist. You're fucking delusional. Her negative thoughts stacked upon each other, building a tower that could suffocate her if it crumbled. But she kept talking.

"Sarah Cameron and Nickolett Thornton were there to witness it. And then five days after that, Kelce, Topper, and himself joked about that night during my morning shift at The Wreck. Mr. Carrera and Kiara can give you eye witness reports if you need them."

Marty then chuckled. Laughter fell out of her mouth as the tears couldn't stop falling.

"Pfft, for a rapist he's shitty at keeping things a secret. And here I am, doing a better job than he has! Ha!"

"What do you mean?" Peterkin questioned.

"He just couldn't control his narcissism. He has photo evidence somewhere on his phone. Showed them to me. Showed them to Kelce and Topper."

Peterkin nodded. She smiled at the girl. "I'm so proud of your bravery. Thank you for sharing your story. Do you want to press charges?"

"It's up to me? What about my parents?"

"Yes, it's always up to you. You don't need parental consent to press charges on something like this unless you want your parents involved? Do they know?" Peterkin asked her, eyebrows raised.

Martha shook her head. "But I want them to know, are they here yet?"

"They arrived as soon as you were placed in this room. Heyward told 'em, called them after you left his place." Peterkin motioned over to the door, nodding to the cameras in the room.

An officer opened the door, walking in and holding the door open for a heartbroken Lola and a seriously upset Chris.

Martha stood, walking over to her parents, her mouth spewing out unnecessary apologies. "Mom, Dad, I'm sorry to pull you away from your day, I'm so sorry"—

—"Maryjane, don't apologize," Her father said as his wife took their daughter into her arms. Martha started to cry into her mother's chest, it was so warm, so different from the cold room.  "We should be apologizing to you, I- We would never want you to feel like you can't tell us anything." He wrapped his arms around his now sobbing wife, entrapping his beloved girls in a much-needed hug.

Marty sniffled, lifting her head as she gulped away her broken sobs. "I was gonna tell you but I was scared. You guys are good friends with Ward, I thought that I would ruin business opp-opportunities for you."

Lola pulled away, nodding up to her husband before locking eyes with her daughter. Her soft and gentle hands holding Marty's face, her thumbs wiping the tears away. "No, no darling. You will always come first. Family comes first. Always."

Tears started to pour out of Martha's face, she bit her lip to try to stop it from quivering. She's never felt this much reassurance, this love, in so long. Her body shook. Her knees buckled. Her arms were thrown over her parents' shoulders, her fingers clasping at their shirts.

"Do you want to press charges?" Peterkin repeated, tears threatening to come crashing down at the emotional scene in front of her.

"If you do, I must preface some things..." She looks down at her notes. "Once this breaks the media, and it will, this will rip families apart. We will have to interview your friends and his friends. I will try everything in my power to hold him responsible, maybe even go as far as being tried with the maximum sentence. But, unfortunately, I see this as either a bail-payoff job or a hush-money deal with someone above my payroll. It's up to you."

"Yes," Chris stated, feeling his daughter nod into his shoulder, his hand patting softly on her head. "I want him to suffer like she has."