In Your Head

one

Hey guys! Thank you for reading another one of my stories, I really appreciate it! I know it's been a bit since I published a story, but I'm trying to get back at it. I wrote this story a few years ago, but unpublished it for a bit to edit some parts, and now it's all ready to go and I'm so excited to publish it again!

Anyways, I really hope you guys enjoy this story, and feel free to like and comment on whatever parts you like, or if there's some parts you think I could improve on! Thank you! :)

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October 1999...

Something like a hot panic crawls along my skin, burrowing under my veins. I shouldn't be nervous but I am. I shouldn't act guilty because I'm not.

I'm not.

Please believe me, I'm not.

"Where were you on the night of July 23rd, 1997?" the detective with the hoarse voice and greying hair asks me again. The room falls dark as the dim light above us flickers with my silence. His stare is a demon as he sits along one side of the cracked wooden table, shooting glares between me and the paper between us. A paper I can't see through, a mockery of my unawareness. Leaving me to do nothing but squirm along the opposite side of the table while the dreary walls with the one-way window caves in. The air becomes scarce as my heart tries to break free, like I'm the evil thing keeping it hostage. My hands clam up then freeze in my lap, my nails biting the layers of skin along my fingertips like a punishment, like they know something I don't. Or maybe I do, I don't know.

"What? What do you mean where was I?" I ask in an unsure voice, wanting to hide behind the heavy strands of dark hair that fall in front of my eyes.

What is this about? He knows where I was on that night, they all do.

I can't stop these racing, repetitive thoughts as one bleeds into another, swirling around each other in this never ending pit of darkness that is my mind. Question after question. Thought after thought. Can't they ever just leave me alone?

"Exactly that. Where were you that night? What were you doing?" the detective asks, but it's useless. My mouth wants to say something but the words aren't here. They've gone out to lunch with my mind, like I'm suddenly stuck in an empty void craving to suck the life I've tried so hard to rebuild away from me. Maybe I'm too easy a target now. Maybe there isn't much life to suck.

I want out.

I need out of here.

But my body isn't listening to my wants, I don't think I can control it anymore. I'm stuck here as an observer of this life, watching my leg bounce under the table, trying to run away from me as well. But I'm trying. I'm trying so hard to keep calm, settle down, mask the fear, the nerves I shouldn't be feeling.

Calm.

It's a funny word, it has no meaning to me. Because, really, I don't think I've ever been calm in my life. There's no calm before the hurricane, everything just hits me at once. And I'm left with this, picking up the damaged pieces of myself.

"You....you know where I was, you know what I was doing. I-I was locked up in that cabin. I was down in that cellar. Why are you asking me this? What is this?" I ask Detective Morgan in a shaky tone, still trying to read the expression plastered to his wide face, but there's nothing to read. I'm good now at reading expressions, I had to be, ever since the incident. That's the only way I could survive some days, knowing what kind of mood he was in. Figuring out what to say and what to do so I could make the situation better, if that was even possible.