7. 2022

EMMA

"Marone?" I question, my pen cracking against my solid grip. "As in…Ignacio Marone?" Nodding, Bunny smiles, a cynical, mocking smirk that barely lifts her lips.

"Yup. That's the one."

"Ignacio Marone? Multi-millionaire, Fortune 500, Business-mogul?"

"Him."

Leaning forward, pressing my sternum as deep into the metal table as I can, I enunciate one last time. "IgnacioMarone? The man currently running for New York Senate?"

"He's a little old for that, don't you think?"

Blood drains from my face as I take in her story so far. "You're telling me the man running for our state's office, he—" I can't even say the word. I can barely think of it. The notion makes my skin crawl and forces searing acid to find its way up my throat.

"Are you… Are you sure? Are you lying to me? Wha—What proof do you have?"

She doesn't dignify my question with a response. Instead, Bunny just looks at me with those dead…broken eyes. That same look is plastered on the faces of women across the nation. It's the same empty stare of the woman who lives across the hall from me. The woman whose husband is a little too angry, a little too quick with his words, and even faster with his fists.

I know that look, and it may not be enough, but what she says next has me a little more convinced.

At least for now.

"No. I have nothing for you but the scars ruining my body and the voices in my mind. But let me ask you something," she says. "Why, after all these years, bring back the death penalty for me? I'm not the worst. There have been hundreds before and after me that have done more damage, and yet, here we are, waiting for my death—my execution. Isn't that odd? To go through all this for one girl?"

I can't argue with that. It is strange. I said as much to Reese when that article was on her screen. "That's… I'm sorry. How, um. How did you know? You said that you passed out. So when did you, or how, did you realize what had happened?"

Bunny lets her head dangle over the edge of the chair, a pensive expression hardening between her brows. While the silence stretches on, I cast a look at Officer Cyrus, who seems to be as eager for her response as I am. Together, we watch her toy with the ends of her reddish-brown waves, swishing them around in the space above before sitting straight.

"Are you a virgin, Emma?"

The question catches me off guard, holding me hostage in my seat while my face flushes a crimson shade of red. I can see Officer Cyrus's eyes piercing into me from my peripheral, a smirk on his pursed lips.

Holy fuck. "N-no."

"So you know what it feels like to have a dick inside you? That slight burning that comes with being stretched?" Why does she have to ask me like that?

Sparing Cyrus another glance, I nod in response.

"Well, I want you to picture that, but doubled. I want you to close your eyes and imagine waking up feeling like a flaming rod was shoved up your crotch. Visualize how much it hurts to sit upright, to close your legs. Imagine what it's like breathing after that. Can you do that?"

I do my best to follow what she's painted in my mind, running through each visual until it turns my stomach, but that's it. That's as far as I get. "No."

"Well, you should count your blessings for that then, Emma. You're one of the lucky ones. I wasn't. Growing up where I did, in the homes I did, I encountered the occasional kiss, touch…sometimes more. But this was South Hampton, far, far from the tracks."

"You thought they'd be better."

"I thought they were better than pouring drinks down stupid little girl"s throats, lacing them with unknown shit, and pounding them unconscious in the middle of a dark room. I expected more." Staring off into the distance, seeing something untold in the two-way mirror, Bunny hisses, "But I was a stupid little girl, and I paid for that."