Ambrosia

iv.

PRESENT TIME

In a span of 3 hours, you could be wrongly convinced that you committed a crime, seeing as memories are easy to manipulate.

It is also possible to feel certain about something without facts or reasoning.

That's all I could think of when I got shoved into the back of a cop car.

Running didn't do me any good because I ended up right where I didn't want to be. The fear of incarceration fucked with my mind so bad that I had thrown all sense of rationality out the window.

I mean, did I really think I could outrun the law?

That's the kind of insane person you become after being put behind bars, not before it. Now I'm sitting in a room with my hands clasped in handcuffs attached to a cold metal table.

The police had me surrounded from every way after cornering me at the park.

I hadn't planned to go down quietly – so I ran.

Mind you though, that didn't equate to me being guilty.

Even so, running doesn't make you look any better, said the nagging inner voice, making me shiver as the cops undoubtedly stared me down from behind the two-way mirror.

Each of them had their turn, each grilling me to confess my crimes – one I hadn't committed.

I stopped tapping my fingers against the table as the door swung open, revealing a short man with a crew cut. Swallowing, I examined his features for any clues, anything that would prepare me for what's about to come, but he gives nothing away. His expressions remain stoic, almost stern. Reading his eyes were out of the question, they hadn't softened since the moment he walked into the interrogation room.

"Ms. Khirad, I am Detective Vance." The man sets himself down on a chair opposite me. The detective doesn't waste any time, with both eyebrows raised, he asks, "Do you know why you're here?"

Although adamant about my innocence, I fail to look him in the eyes. We stay engulfed in the tense silence as he awaits my answer. The vehement beating of my heart against my ribs get louder as I stall, thinking of the right thing to say, to do. But will it even make a difference? They seem to have their minds made up about what happened.

Still, I have to at least try.

My voice finally finds itself echoing around the room, "I didn't do it." The walls of the tiny room feel like they're closing in around me. I try not to hyperventilate and control my shallow breathing.

They want to break you.

Well, maybe they should if it means ill get to find out who did this.

Detective Vance gets straight to the point, "I don't have the time nor patience to play games, Ms. Khirad. Just tell me why you killed him, and I'll tell the court you cooperated, maybe then they'll be lenient with you." He's off his chair now, hands slammed against the table, making a noise loud enough to make me flinch.

My chin started wobbling as tears threatened to spill from my eyes. I balled up my hands, handcuffs rattling as I shake in distress. I shook my head, my black hair spilling over my face, shoulders trembling.

The stern man exhales deeply, hesitation lacing his voice, "All the evidence points towards you."

"That's not possible. I haven't killed anybody, y-you have to believe me. Why does no one believe me?"

I was reaching hysterics, eyes wide and frantic. How can they have evidence pointing towards me when the only places I ever go to are college and the diner. And why me, I've never even thought of hurting anybody so how'd I end up here? It doesn't make sense, nothing adds up.

The pinging of a phone pulls me out of my thoughts. My head shoots up to find detective Vance glancing at his phone with an annoyed scowl on his face, lips slowly pursing in distaste.

"You're not goin' to make this easy, are you?"

I slump in my seat, my left leg bouncing up and down. My eyes haven't even dried yet and another wave starts to hit. "Please, detective. Bastien is – was, my friend. I didn't k-kill him. Why would I want to hurt someone I care about?" I bite my lip, tears still rolling down my cheeks relentlessly. The ache in my chest hasn't dulled down, fingers trembling beneath the baby blue sleeves of my jumper.

Detective Vance doesn't say another word to me as he gets up from his seat, straightening out his jacket. His eyebrows furrow, glowering at me with distrust. I notice this is the most emotion he's shown since he walked in here. Was it on purpose? He turns his back to me and walks out the door before I could conclude anything.

I wet my lips, anxiety gripping my throat in a chokehold. I can't get myself out of this mess, this moment is the only time I ever regretted being alone. With the little knowledge I have about the law, I know as much that I'm allowed a phone call. But what good is that when I have nobody to call?

I've always had to depend on myself, I couldn't keep people close, not because I didn't want to, but because I couldn't.

I wonder if this is what's always been written in my destiny — to suffer my entire life then suffer some more in jail and eventually die in there.

I hadn't noticed another person walk into the room until their tall figure blocked the light of the overhead lamp from shining on my sweaty forehead.

I looked up to meet a pair of light brown eyes.

This man was much younger than detective Vance. With the sincerest eyes I've ever seen, he was easily an attractive person. His brown tousled hair reached just below his ears, but not long enough to brush his broad shoulders. His towering height was even more prominent since I was seated, suddenly feeling small in my chair, becoming increasingly aware of the weight of the handcuffs around my wrists.

I feel a surge of heat creep up my neck, pooling right into my ears. I can just picture the red tint beneath my obsidian hair. Clearing my throat, I blink several times before gathering up the courage to speak.

"Who are you?"

——————

aaaaaa i'm excited for
u guys to meet the rest
of the characters !!
this chapter is definitely
shorter than the rest
but hopefully it's not too
disappointing :(

anyways if ur still following along the story the ily n it means the world to me

- L