A Courageous Young Woman

It was the first time I had to deal with something like that. I wasn't particularly nervous. Thoughts were swirling in my mind; about the great battle humans have to fight to tame their primitive animal instincts. I also made mental notes from the lessons we had taken on how to handle that kind of situation. "You'll be fine", Nassos told me. "Just think of how you'd want to be treated after something like this if you were in her shoes", he added. Empathy, I thought.

We had received a call from Areti's neighbor. Areti was a 20-year-old woman who lived alone but was frequently visited by her father. "A poorly insulated wall separates us. I couldn't help but hear what this helpless girl goes through now and then! Sins of parents fall on the children!", Mrs. Dora had told us when we arrived. I walked slowly into the living room of the apartment. Nassos checked the other two rooms to confirm that the perpetrator was gone, and walked away discreetly.

She was seated on an armchair, as if in a fetal position, with her knees on her chest and her head bowed over them. "Hi", I whispered as gently as I could. She lifted her head and I saw the tired look on her bruised face. One of her eyes was swollen, blood was dripping from her upper lip and her hair was tangled. She was wearing a white t-shirt and shorts.

 "Can I sit near you?", I continued. She nodded affirmatively after looking at me for a few seconds from head to toe. "My name is Ariadne and I'm a police officer", I said as my eyes fell on a cardigan curled up on the couch next to me. "I'd like to sit near you. Are you okay with that?". She nodded again, looking down.

I slowly took a chair that was further away, after filling a glass of water that was on the table. The bottle had fallen but it was plastic and hadn't broken. I approached and noticed that she shivered. I assumed she was cold. I handed her the water. Her hand tentatively extended, but her eyes met mine for the second time and I could see that she was probably not annoyed by my presence. "Can I put your jacket on you?", I asked, pointing to the couch. "Yes", she said. I covered her up and sat down across from her. I rested my elbows on my knees, trying to get closer to her lowered face. "Is there someone you'd like us to contact, Areti"? "My mother is dead. I can't think of anyone else right now". "OK. We can take care of that later", I said, while she wiped the blood from her lip with her hand and looked at it. I took a packet of tissues out of my pocket and gave her one.

"I understand that the moment is difficult and I don't want to make it harder. However, I am here to do my best to help. Would you like to tell me what happened? As you can see, it's just the two of us here right now."

"He comes when he runs out of money", she said, and her eyes darted to the left and upward as if she looked at the images that would help the narration.  "He knows I get paid at the end of every month and he comes to ask for money to drink. I give him every time, after yelling and fighting. Last month I told him not to come again and he slapped me. I am not surprised that he moved further this time". 

She rested her feet on the floor while holding the glass more firmly now. She looked at me. Her gaze and her voice had hardened somewhat as if some flash of realization and clarity had suddenly given her a sense of composure.

"You know, the signs are always there, but we often choose not to see them. I'm not angry with him. Only with me. I knew this would happen. He did the same thing to my mother. I didn't stand up for her or me back then. But now, I'm going to do something about it".

"Areti, the responsibility for someone else's behavior is not yours, but theirs. You did your best, and you are courageous just to be able to talk about it and observe it". 

We paused and I continued.

"From what I understand, this is something that happens frequently. How would you like to handle it"?

"I don't want it to happen again. I've made excuses for him many times in my mind, but his difficult childhood is not enough to hold me anymore. Neither does being my dad. I'm tired", she said, and tears began to roll from her eyes, with no external intensity. There was a strange co-existence of crying and calm willpower.

I dared to touch her hand, fearing it might not be …by the book, but that's how I felt at that moment. She welcomed it. She looked at me and wiped away the tears with her other hand. "If you're OK with that too, we'll need to go through a procedure, get you checked out by a specialist about the bruises you're carrying, and we can discuss later as much as you can remember of the incident. How do you feel about that?" "Will you be with me during these processes"? she asked, and I suddenly felt a sense of maternal responsibility electrify my entire 42-year-old body. "Yes, I'll be there, Areti", I told her, holding back a tear that I felt choking my eyes. "Fine. Give me some time to get dressed", she said and stood up, wrapping the cardigan tightly around her and scanning the room for a moment, possibly checking again if anyone else was there, as she walked slowly but steadily and determinedly towards the interior of the house.

I watched her walk away, amazed by her composure, seeing so differently a stupid incident that made me lose my temper the day before.

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Anthi Psomiadou — CC BY-NC-ND 4.0 International : Credit must be given to the creator/ Only noncommercial uses of the work are permitted/ No derivatives