I’ve been moved to a cell. Names of former occupants and unimaginative insults have been scratched into the walls. It’s a waiting room, a holding pen. There’s a weird odour, a combination of piss and bleach, irritating my throat. I’ve been processed through the system and all evidence stripped from my body. Clothes were peeled away and dropped onto the sheet on which I stood to catch every fibre, every hair, every skin cell. Before moving to a shower, where they collected the diluted blood that ran off my skin. Photos were taken of my injuries, then fingerprints and a saliva swab before I got my phone call. The paper suit I have been given to replace my clothes does little to ward off the chill in the air. Although they let me keep the blanket. The suit crackles when I move, so I’m trying to remain still. I like the quiet.

Minutes feel like hours. The bench is hard, and my backside numb. I can add it to my list of complaints. My left eye is almost swollen shut now and my cheekbone feels like it’s pulsating, a constant internal thud, like the bang of a drum. I’m glad I took my contact lenses out before it got too painful to touch. I got rid of them before the ambulance arrived.

It’s impossible to get comfortable, my neck hurts in every position I try, the bruised skin tender. I curl my legs against my chest, with my chin on my knees, trying to keep the warmth in. I’m being watched. There’s a camera in the corner of the ceiling and I lower my head for a while, so my face is out of view. There’s no chance of sleep, not with fluorescent lights flickering and the noise. Shouting radiates through the walls. The custody suite is busy tonight as I guess they are every weekend; the drunk and disorderly, the domestics and assaults. I hear the banging of metal on metal and the constant clicking of viewing hatches.

I need to stay calm; if I tell the truth I’ll be fine. Part of the truth anyway. It must be about two in the morning by now, my eyes are stinging. Tears blur my vision, but I let them come. I am the victim here. They’ll want to speak to me soon. Make me go through the events of tonight. I don’t think they quite know what to do with me yet, but we’ll see how switched on they are. I’m not going to make it easy for them. How long will it be before someone connects the dots?

Sunday 24 September 2017