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After a hard week working the night shift at Mid-Wilshire, Lucy is enjoying her day off with Tim at his house. Kojo snoozes on his dog bed as they’re making dinner, with Lucy stealing kisses from her man every once in a while. After they sit down to eat, her phone buzzes in her pocket.
“Don’t tell me you got pulled into mandatory O.T.” Tim says and Lucy playfully slaps his shoulder before taking out her phone.
“No way, Tim, don’t jinx me like that,” she says as she reads the text.
It’s from Tamara letting her know she’s going to a party at some fraternity uptown, followed by her phone location. Lucy smiles at it.
“It’s just Tamara, she’s going to a party.” Tim puts his arms around Lucy’s waist, his hands resting on the small of her back.
“Make sure she checks in, yeah? Although, I’m just surprised she’s going out after…” He hesitates to even mention Seth, intending on keeping their evening as work and stress free as possible.
Lucy looks at him, “Already on it, sir.” She teases, “I always have Tamara check in at least every two hours. I know when I was in college, frat parties were total chaos. And besides, she’s made it perfectly clear that her dating life is none of my business after the whole Seth situation.”
Tim gives her a somber look as she continues. “But she sent me her phone location, and as long as she doesn’t miss her check in, then I know she can take care of herself.”
**Tamara’s POV**
There’s safety in a crowd. That’s what Tamara learned on the streets before she met Lucy. Whether it was sleeping on the ground under a highway or in one of the many skid rows Los Angeles has to offer, she always made sure to stay where other people could see and hear her.
Now, as she stands in a crowded frat house, with at least a dozen barely sober college students surrounding her, her life on the street is put out of her mind. She just wants to forget about the dumb mistakes she made with Seth the last few weeks, hang out with her friends, and maybe get a little tipsy.
After her brief exchange with Lucy, Tamara sets her two hour timer on her phone and starts looking around for her friend Emilia.
Not daring to go into any of the rooms with a closed door, she gives up and walks over to the drinks table, narrowly avoiding a pair of frat boys running past her with a keg between them.
On the table is a whole lot of chasers, soda, juice and the like, some hard liquors, but nothing appeals to her.
“Frat party on a Saturday night, and no beer?” She says to herself.
“I know, right?” A voice comes from behind her. Tamara turns, startled, and a tall boy with dark brown hair smiles down at her, holding two beers in his hands.
“You’d think they’d put it out with the rest, but the frat likes their beer cold, they keep ‘em in the fridge. Here.” He holds out one to Tamara, and she takes it.
“…Thanks,” Tamara says, taking the bottle but glancing down at it like she’s not entirely sure what to do next. She gives a small, half-smile, the kind she uses when she’s still reading someone. “Guess that explains why everyone’s hanging out in the kitchen.”
She twists the cap off, but doesn’t drink right away. “You a member here, or just one of the lucky few who knows where the good stuff’s hidden?” Her tone is teasing, but there’s that guarded curiosity in her eyes — the kind that comes from being used to figuring people out before letting her guard down.
“No, I’m just a friend of the frat president. The name’s Tom.” He says as he sips his own beer.
“Tamara.” She says, giving a small smile. Tom nods, his smile easy. “Nice to meet you, Tamara. You a freshman?”
“Yeah, technically,” she says, glancing around at the crowd. “Still figuring out if I like this whole scene. I thought college parties were supposed to be fun, not... sticky floors and loud remixes.”
He laughs. “That’s pretty much the starter pack. Give it a semester — you’ll get used to it.”
Tamara smirks. “That’s not exactly reassuring.”
“C’mon,” he gestures toward a couple of chairs tucked near the window. “Let’s sit before we get run over by one of those frat boys.” He chuckles as the keg carrying frat boys, presumably newbies that are rushing.
She follows him through the crowd, grateful for the excuse to get out of the noise. They sit, side by side, the thump of bass slightly muffled by the wall.
“So,” Tom says, leaning back. “What’s your major?”
Tamara turns her now-empty beer bottle between her fingers, watching the label peel. “Haven’t decided yet. I keep saying ‘undeclared’ like it’s a personality trait.”
He smiles. “It’s kind of refreshing, actually. Everyone else I meet already has their ten-year plan and LinkedIn ready to go.”
“Yeah, well, I’m more of a one-step-at-a-time person.” She shrugs, half-smiling. “Didn’t really expect to be here, so I’m just… seeing where it goes.”
“That’s fair,” he says softly, catching the weight behind her words. “You made it, though. That counts for a lot.”
Tamara looks up, meeting his eyes. There’s something genuine there — no pity, no judgment. Just kindness. Her guard slips a little. “Yeah. I guess it does.”
They fall into easy conversation — classes, music, terrible dining hall food. She laughs more than she means to, leaning forward at one point to emphasize some story about a disastrous group project.
When she glances down, she realizes her bottle’s empty. “Guess that’s my sign to hydrate,” she says, smiling.
Tom chuckles. “Or, you know, refill. Want another?”
She hesitates a moment, then nods. “Sure, why not?”
He gets up and heads toward the kitchen. But as he turns, one of the bulkier frat guys barrels past, bumping into Tom so hard that the beer in his hand flies — straight onto Tamara.
“Oh my God—” she gasps, looking down at her shirt, drenched and cold.
The guy just laughs and keeps walking. “Watch where you’re standing!”
Tom looks mortified. “Tamara, I’m so sorry—”
“It’s fine,” she says quickly, though her voice betrays a touch of annoyance. “Okay, not fine, but not your fault.”
He grabs some napkins, fumbling uselessly at wiping her front. “Here, come on, bathroom’s down the hall. Let’s get that cleaned up before it stains.”
They weave through the crowd to a small bathroom tucked near the back. Tamara stands in front of the mirror, dabbing at her shirt with paper towels while Tom runs some warm water.
“Seriously,” he says, handing her another towel. “That guy’s a jerk. You sure you’re okay?”
She laughs softly, shoulders dropping as the absurdity hits her. “Yeah. It’s just beer. I’ve been through worse.”
He ignores the last part, and he takes off his hoodie and offers it to Tamara, “Unless you want to smell like beer the rest of the night, I’d say ditch the shirt.” His voice suddenly shifts, deeper and more direct. Tamara senses the shift but knows he’s right.
Tom’s hands are suddenly on her shirt’s hem trying to pull it up and she resists the urge to freeze, instead her hands go to his and stop him. “Don’t.” She says, firmly, but her voice betrays fear.
“C’mon, don’t be that way, I know you want this.” He smirks as he leans forward. Just as his lips graze hers, Tamara’s phone alarm goes off. He pauses and pulls back, “What? What is that?”
“Um, it's my check in alarm. If I don’t call, my…mom will think something’s wrong and she’ll go feral…I don’t think anyone wants the cops to ruin the party, right?” Tamara says quickly.
Tom huffs and steps back. “Well…fine. Call her, then.” He turns and locks the door, which doesn’t go unnoticed by Tamara who fumbles with her phone as she calls Lucy.
Lucy’s POV
Lucy curled up beside Tim on the couch, half-watching Top Chef and half laughing at how seriously he took it.
“She’s plating before the sauce,” he muttered, shaking his head. “Why do they always mess up the timing?”
Lucy grinned. “You know you don’t actually have to coach them from here, right?”
Before he could answer, her phone lit up on the table: Tamara. Lucy smiled—then frowned a little. It was late, and Tamara usually texted, not called, especially for check-ins.
She answered. “Hey, Tam. Everything good?”
“Hi!” Tamara’s tone was bright, but there was something off about it. “Just wanted to check in like I promised. Everything’s… peachy.”
Lucy froze for half a second. Peachy. Their agreed-on word for I’m not safe, but I can’t talk.
Her eyes met Tim’s. He immediately caught the look—alert, serious.
Lucy’s heartbeat slowed into work-mode. She slipped off the cushion as she got up and went to her bag to get her gun and badge, Tim following suit. She kept her voice steady. “Okay. Listen carefully, Tamara. I’m going to ask you yes-or-no questions. Answer with our words — keep it casual.”
There was a quick inhale. “Yeah, I’m totally good with that.”
“Are you with someone who’s making you feel unsafe?”
“Yeah, I wish I brought my green jacket you hate, though. It’s pretty crowded and chilly here.” Tamara’s tone was casual as she spoke, and Lucy could hear someone in the background mumble something.
Lucy’s blood ran cold as she looked at Tim who grabbed his keys, rushing to get her shoes on. Green jacket meant she wasn’t able to get away, crowded meant Tamara doesn’t know the person well, and chilly meant she needed help now.
“Okay, stay calm, Tamara, Tim and I are coming. I want you to stay on the line, and I’m going to record this call, okay? Pretend like you hung up. But first, are you in a bedroom, bathroom? Which floor?”
She could hear Tamara’s breath hitch as she said, “I gotta go, mom, but first make sure you use the powder, yeah? I don’t want you to forget, okay? Bye, love you.”
“Okay, I understand Tam, we’re coming, we’re coming.” Lucy tried to stay calm, but her mama bear instincts set fear deep in her chest.
“First floor bathroom in the frat house on Alhambra, we need to get there now, Tim.” Lucy says fiercely.
Lucy and Tim rushed to get into his car, keeping Tamara on speaker with the mic muted on their end as Tim breaks damn near every L.A. traffic law to get there. What they heard next would never leave their mind, and made Tim step on the gas as Lucy used her station-issued phone to call for backup.
**Tamara POV**
She doesn’t hang up, but Tamara carefully places the phone on the counter as she looks at Tom. Tom is staring at her like a hungry lion, nothing like the sweet man she was talking with just an hour ago. As soon as she sets the phone down, Tom moves closer, his hot breath against Tamara’s face.
“Tom, please don’t do this.” She says loud enough for the mic to pick up on it, but hopefully for anyone standing outside to hear it as well.
“Don’t be like that, Tamara, you know you want this, just let me…” His hands move to her waist and he turns, pinning her against the wall. His right hand pins both of hers above her head and he moves to kiss her again.
“Wait, no-” Tamara starts, but is cut off by his mouth on hers, she tries to bite, to fight and resist, but he bites her lip back even harder, and she tastes blood, tears forming in her eyes as she thrashes uselessly.
His other hand wanders down her body. Feeling, pinching, squeezing her chest until he reaches her waistband, ripping off the button on her jeans, and breaking the zipper. Tom’s mouth moves to her neck and bites, causing her to freeze and let out a small scream.
“Tom, no, please!” She cries, tears running in streams down her cheeks. His hand moves from her wrists to her throat and squeezes.
“Shut up, you hear me?! Shut. Up!” He punctuates each word with pressing Tamara harder against the wall, and her head slams against it, causing her head to spin.
Her hands come up to claw at his hand, but it doesn’t move, even as she scratches enough to bleed. He hisses and squeezes her throat tighter, enough to bruise and deprive her of her breath even more, but not enough for her to lose consciousness, yet.
Tom’s unoccupied hand goes back to her jeans, his hand slipping inside her underwear as he gropes her, tearing her undergarment in the process. Tamara tries to kick him away, but he presses his thigh between her legs and hisses, “You’re wet, you like this, don’t you, slut? Playing hard to get when we both know you want this so bad.”
Tamara thrashes, trying to get him away as he unzips his pants, but she’s weakened by oxygen deprivation. *‘Lucy, where are you?’* She thinks, desperately as her mind gets foggy from not being able to breathe.
Just then, the door swings open.
*Minutes earlier.*
Tim and Lucy drive in tense silence, the only sounds they hear come from the phone occasionally. Every word and sound that comes from the phone makes Tim angrier and Lucy more ready to kill the son of a bitch that is on the other line.
After what feels like an eternity, they finally arrive at the frat house. Tim arrives at the door first, gun and badge visible as he opens the door. Tim pushes through the crowd, making a pathway for Lucy.
“Where is the first floor bathroom?” Tim demands of a very confused frat boy, clearly drunk as hell. He points to a hallway just off of the entry room and Lucy runs there, to the first door she sees, Tim following closely right behind her. Lucy tries the handle but it’s locked.
“Tamara, are you in there?” Just over the loud party music and drunk college students, they can hear crying and harsh whispers.
“Police, we’re coming in!” Lucy shouts and Tim kicks down the door.
The scene in front of them makes Tim see red, but Lucy moves first. A man, “Tom” they heard Tamara say, has their girl pressed up against the wall by her neck, Tamara is sobbing and her clothes are a mess.
Lucy lunges towards the man, and uses his startled state against him, kicking him hard in the stomach to get him away from Tamara. Tom trips backward and falls through the glass shower door, but somehow, he’s not out for the count. Lucy gets between him and Tamara, pulling the younger girl away from her attacker, as Tim steps forward.
This only seems to infuriate Tom as he, bloody and bruised, clambers to his feet. “Whatever she says, she’s lying, I’m telling you, she came on to me!” He says, moving towards Tamara.
Tim puts an end to it immediately, grabbing hold of Tom’s arm and turning on his heel, slamming him into the adjacent wall. Tom’s groin hits into a towel rack and he screams in pain. Tim moves to press Tom against the bathroom floor, digging a knee into his waist while holding his arms behind his back.
“You are under arrest for sexual assault.” Tim says, fiercely.
As if on cue, backup rushes in and clears out the entryway and hallway of the frat house, isolating the trio and placing Tom in cuffs and half dragging him out of the house. All the while, Lucy holds Tamara close as the girl sobs into her shoulder. Tim instructs the backup to call for two RAs before standing guard outside the bathroom to give the two women privacy.
“Lucy, I was so scared.” Tamara cries, and Lucy can only hold her, resisting the tears forming in her own eyes.
“Tamara,” Lucy starts, “Tamara, look at me, baby.” Tamara slowly pulls back enough to look at her, her whole form trembling in Lucy’s arms.
“We have to get you to the hospital, okay? Everything else can wait, but we need to get those injuries looked at. Can you stand?” Lucy speaks gently, her voice grounding yet soft.
Tamara nods shakily, and Lucy helps her to her feet. Lucy sees the torn pants and shirt and takes off her own jacket. She suppresses the rage and sadness building in her chest, and says, “I’m going to cover you up, okay?” Tamara nods, unable to speak as she chokes on her tears. Lucy ties the jacket around Tamara’s waist, covering everything that’s exposed.
The RA arrives, and Lucy half carries, half walks with Tamara to the ambulance, Tim acting as a silent bodyguard as they go.
Lucy climbs into the ambulance with Tamara on the gurney, and Tim says gently, “I’ll follow behind. You should stay with her, Lu.” Lucy nods wordlessly, but her eyes express her gratefulness.
The long ride to the hospital is occupied only by Tamara’s sniffles and gasps of pain, Lucy’s quiet, comforting words, and the occasional beeping from the monitors checking Tamara’s vitals.
The weight of everything hits Lucy as Tamara eventually falls asleep in the ambulance.
She knows very intimately what Tamara just went through, and even worse, she knows the road ahead will be long and hard, and Lucy won’t leave Tamara alone for any of it.
Because maybe even at a party, even in a crowd, there is no such thing as safety.