—I swear on my life that it is tied up.
How do you do this?
Nobody cared.
My mom yelled:
—Don’t even say his name. Don’t talk to him.
Someone, I think my uncle, called the police. By the time the officer arrived, I was sitting on the porch, bleeding from the mouth. One of them asked my dad if I was the suspect, and he nodded without looking at me.
They didn’t even handcuff me roughly. I could see that I was just a kid who looked half dead. But even so, going into that back seat with the snorting mermaids felt like being buried alive.
At the police station they asked me questions I could barely understand. When did it happen? What were you doing that night? Did she say that? I kept repeating what happened.
None of that. They didn’t sign me up. There was no evidence, nothing. They let me go in the morning. I remember one of them muttered the words “statutory case” under his breath.
Бппe teпía 16, yo 17, apeпas Ѕп año de diereпcia, pero auп así tυvieroп qυe hacer todas las pres хпtas del manпЅal. Tomaroп estados, llamaroп a Ѕп reseпstaпte de servicios sociales, iпtlυso revisaoп los tiempos eп пυestros téléfoпos.
