Stabbed 27 Times
By: Erika Sauter
Tags: Relationships, Work, Domestic Violence, Politics, Culture

The victim’s hand shakes as she picks up a glass of water and takes a sip. Lifting her head to drink exposes markings that resemble serrated edges of a knife across her neckline. It’s somewhere in between scab and scar with the faintest bit of fresh still lagging.

The bruises on her face are healing and now a faded shade of yellowish-green. Darkness from exhaustion sit beneath her swollen eyes. Her lower lip quivers.

It looks like you are set to be released from here within the next couple of days, I say to her, avoiding eye contact. Do you have a plan for where you will go?

Her eyes gaze down at the table. I feel helpless sitting across from her. I can help her now that it’s over, if she let’s me but there’s nothing I can do to help what’s been done to her before now.

She breaks down sobbing.

The room is suffocating from the dense swell of tension in the air. I need to go back. If I don’t he will find me. He will find us. I know he didn’t mean to do it. I realize now what I did wrong. I can change. I can make him forgive me. I can.

She pleads. The knot in my stomach tightens.

Her fear is palpable, her pain heavy. I reach my hand across the table to touch hers. She pulls away. I inhale deeply, attempting to compartmentalize my emotions. It’s imperative I have no emotion. I was sent here to do a job. I need to get that job done.

He’s in jail, I inform her. I’m here to talk to you about pressing charges.

She stands up from her chair and walks over to the wall, facing it as if she were a scolded child who is hiding from me, her body swaying slightly. I can’t press charges. If I do the Department of Child Safety will take my children. I won’t lose them. No! Her voice is escalating.

I shuffle through the pages of her case file scanning for facts. Ma’am, the state is filling charges against him whether you press charges or not. He stabbed you 27 times. He is going to prison. You can’t stop it from happening but you can increase the length of his sentence.

The Judge will find him guilty. There are witness accounts and forensic evidence.

You can prevent him from doing this to you or someone else again, but only if you press charges along with the state. It’s the difference of 36 months and 25 years.

Our eyes meet for the first time. A tear rolls down the shape of her cheek, pausing at a slice mark above her jawbone before making it’s final descent onto the hospital gown that conceals the remaining stab wounds.

I can’t do that to him. Her tone is muffled as she wipes the moisture from her face. He loves me. His children need him. This is just a misunderstanding.

She begins to rattle off rationale, justifying his actions. She is prepared like an old pro skilled at making excuses for him and spinning stories.

I cut her off mid sentence and redirect our conversation back to matter of fact.

The man you refer to as your husband, I refer to as your abuser. Your abuser is a known gang member. He murders people. He’s involved in a lot of illegal shit.

She puts on an annoyed face and looks away.

He is being held without bail but that does not guarantee your safety. Anyone he is affiliated with could potentially come after you. I will arrange for you and your children to be placed in police protection upon discharge.

She crosses her arms indicating she’s shutting down or shutting me out. I’m going to lose her.

Three hours ago my boss gave me a job I didn’t want to do. I’ve since changed my mind so please, let me do that job. I assure you going into a safe house will prevent any involvement from the Department of Child Safety but if you do not agree, I cannot protect you.

I can put the paperwork wheels in motion making the decision for her but I want her to choose to do so on her own. Her abuser has already taken her power from her and I will be no better than him if I do the same.

You have until discharge to make a decision, I say as I slide my business card across the table to her. I collect my belongings and stand up. I feel her presence following me as I walk toward the door. I turn around searching her face for an answer.

I will think it over, she says before closing the door behind me.