clouds ; l.h/c.h

CHAPTER FOUR

As I sat in Police Questioning Room 3, it began to dawn on me that I was now going to develop a reputation as the bestie of the dead chick.

Fucking fantastic.

"How are you feeling, Miss Holly?"

And there it was. How are you feeling. Bit of a stupid question, really. It was obvious how I was feeling, yet everyone kept asking me that, like i'd churn out "Absolutely splendid," or something.

"I feel shit, thank you for asking."

The policeman seemed taken aback. Well what did he expect?

"Shall we talk about it?"

I took a good hard look at the pitying eyes of the man, almost shining under the harsh UV lights in the questioning room. His hairy hand held out the cup of water i'd obliged to, which I hesitantly took before answering.

"No. What's the point in talking about it? It sucks. There isn't anything else to say about it," I grumbled and sipped from the stirafoam cup, longing for it to be one of the fun red solo cups from a few hours beforehand.

"You know it's natural to feel this way, Miss Holly. May I call you by your name, Kaitlynn?"

Kaitlynn. My full name. The last people who even occasionally called me that were my parents and...

"It's just Kat."

"Kat. Kat, i'm afraid weather you want to or not, we're going to have to talk about the events of tonight."

It was midnight on the dot, and unfortunately, I was wide awake. Harry called an ambulance shortly after I broke down, which obviously signalled to the party-goers that something was very wrong. Our grand finale took place when the first responders proclaimed Darla dead at the scene, and I threw up for the second time that night.

The police arrived shortly after, and dragged me in for questioning.

And now we're here.

"Kat?"

"Hm? Yes! Sorry.... What was the question?"

"There wasn't one. Just tell us how the night started; play us through it."

There was a scrawny man in the corner taking notes of the entire conversation. He was balding, scruffy, and had the posture of a banana; he looked like how I felt. He jotted down every sorrowful word i said as i forced my recollection of the night out of me.

I told them everything I thought was useful; We arrived together, got into a fight in the kitchen, lost track of her for an hour or so and spent the rest of the party looking for her. My words got choked as I began to describe how I found her. Another man popped his head in to offer coffee; I thanked him and skulled the entire cup before I could finish the story.

The police dude questioning me rubbed his chin and flicked his eyes over to the man in the corner and his notepad filled with the story of my night.

"Tell me, Kat, what was this fight about? The one you and Darla had the last time you saw her?"

Oh christ. I think the sheer embarrassment at that moment was almost enough to kill me as well. The last time I ever saw my friend alive we were arguing about me being horny for a high school football star. How disgustingly cliche.

I adjusted in my seat, trying to find a bodily movement that would make the story look far less stupid. "Oh it was dumb. It was just about this boy..."

"Harry Styles? The boy who's party you attended?" The scrawny man from the corner had now scootched next to the officer so he could continue writing as the policeman flipped through notes.

"No, no. Another boy that goes to our school, his name's Luke, Luke Hemmings."

"And why were you arguing? Did you both like him?"

Something that could've been a laugh if I was in a better mood slipped out. "As if. Darla hated Luke, that's why we were fighting. I've sorta got a thing for him-" I don't know how many people out here have had to confess a high school crush to a room of men interviewing you about the mysterious death of your best friend, but it's pretty fucking embarrassing "-and I heard he would be at the party, so I wanted to go. Darla's got- ... had-" my chest hurt "-this grudge against him and insisted on coming and stopping me from talking to him, and I sorta told her off in the kitchen and stormed off."

"I see... Was this rivalry between Luke and Darla mutual? Because if so, we might have a potential suspe-"

"Nononononononononono!" I blurted/chuckled. The idea of Luke being able to hurt even a fly felt preposterous. "Luke barely knows me or Darla even exist, let alone have any reason to hold a grudge against one of us. Darla's grudge was one-sided, over some stolen pencil, it was nothing."

The two men kept flipping through the notes.

"I see... Well we'd still better bump him up the list of people to talk to," he said, and Scrawny Note Man made a note of it.

Police Dude turned back to me, his eyes, once sorrowful and kind, had turned narrow and hard. "What were you doing in the few hours you and Darla were separated? Did you see any suspicious activity? Did you talk to anyone?"

"I really just walked around with a beer bottle, ha, I didn't really know too many people at the party. Everything looked pretty normal to me, but then again I was like half drunk so i'm not really sure..." I started to twiddle my thumbs, realising I was probably the least helpful person in this case.

"Did you meet up with Luke, eventually?"

"I managed to find him about a half hour after I left Darla, but he was with his friends and I decided not to disturb him."

"And then you began to look for Darla?"

I searched my foggy drunk memories. Everything felt blurry. "No, not yet I don't think. I remember I went into the living room..." My conversation with Calum flashed into my mind. He was a nice guy. "I did talk to someone; Calum Hood. He's a friend of Luke's, actually."

"And what did you talk about?"

Fuck, I really was useless. All I remember is how sad he looked.

"I honestly can't remember. I don't think it was important."

A few more notes, and Police Dude leant back in his chair, hands clasped around his Santa Claus belly. "That will be all, Miss Holly. We'll call you if we have any further questions."

I didn't even say thank you, I was already out of my seat by the time he'd started talking, speeding out the room and passing the lineup of classmates sitting outside, waiting to be questioned. A few of them gave me sorry looks. I pretended I didn't see them.

I headed to a 7 eleven and grabbed a slushie on my way home.

Perhaps my most vivid memory of that night was not anything to do with the party, but the feeling of my converse groggily trudging along the sidewalk, the dried makeup on my cheeks, the sugary sweet raspberry slush as it coated my mouth, and the tiny army of lights glistening in the sky, guiding me home.

Maybe Darla was up there.