Uncontrollable Trauma | Nakamoto Yuta

I. 2

heeeyyy~

I know I said I want this book to be the best quality and that I'd edit every chapter but... it's currently 2am and I want to publish this chapter but I'm too tired to edit it so.... Sorry for grammar and spelling mistakes

No edited.

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June 9, 2019

   "Do you know why you're here?"

   Tears still streaming down flushed cheeks, he stuttered, "N-no... I don't..." he answered the police officer sitting across the metal table.

   The woman looked through some papers before looking back up at him, "You're being arrested for the suspicion of drug trafficking, illegal drug trading, murder, and embezzlement." She listed off.

   Yuta looked at her with wide eyes, "What? I'm s-sorry I don't understand..." he said quietly, honestly. He's never heard these words before, not in korean.

   The officer rolled her eyes, "Murder. Killing. Drug. Trafficking. Selling and sneakily trading drugs illegally." She hissed.

   It took him a second to possess it. "... ah, murder? Drug trafficking?" He widened his eyes even more, how can he be accused of drug trafficking? Hell, he's never even smoked a cigarette in his life. And murder? He screams at a cockroaches and spiders. "How...?"

   He watched silently as she pulled out items from a bag, wearing latex gloves. She slid over a small clear bag with a few strands of hair alongside a paper, as well as some pictures. She pointed to the sheet of paper and hair. "We found your DNA at the site, and it matched up to you. Not only that, we have photo evidence of you and your fingerprints at the site."

Evidence? My DNA? Confused and slightly terrified, the woman in front of him was glaring him down, and he could eyes drilling into the back of his head from the other officer standing behind him, you know, in case he gets hostile. Because surely a half-naked, skinny, crying dude is able to fight. And surely the wall beside them is one of those oneway windows, like in the movies; the thought of other people watching him without him knowing makes him feels uneasy, hands slightly sweaty as he pulled his shirt farther down his thighs, they couldn't have let me put on some pants...

Through blurry eyes, he looked at the pictures, at 'him'. He only grew even more confused, recognizing pieces of clothing and jewelry that belonged to him. The figure looked like him from a distance, but still quite different; his waist is smaller and shoulders a bit more narrower compared to the figure's, and they looked a bit taller than him he'd guess. But the last photo, it was a zoomed in photo of the suspect's face, who wore a low hair and a mask, leaving his eyes exposed. And his eyes were creepily similar to his own. It made his blood run cold, w-who? I've never been anywhere near this place before—

"I-I'm sorry," he tried to keep his voice steady, hands still, "but that can not be me... I-I've never been, involved with drugs or, or, even, I could never kill a-anyone... I don't even know where this place is?" He's pretty sure he's crossed off every box for 'acting guilty', avoiding eye contact –this lady is scary–, fidgeting –anxiety–, stuttering and stumbling over words –anxiety-, sweating –I'm being accused of trading drugs and murder... while in my boxers, with probably at least five people looking at me.

"Don't try to deny it Yuta-ssi, we have the evidence and DNA sample from on site." She said sternly. "If you confess now and tell us your associates, your sentence will be shorter." She offered.