The Arcane

7

Nyx's pov

I sat in the back of the ambulance, wrapped up in a blanket.

The words of the police officer's blurring into the deafening sound of the wailing sirens. 

I watched as they carried the body away, her arm bloodied arm swinging idly as it fell out from the under the white sheet currently covering her body.

I watched as the teachers ushered the students back inside, telling them that everything was alright. Lies.

"...can you explain what happened?" I turned my head to face the officer at his question.

My empty eyes stared at him.

What had happened?

She had died infront of me,... just like how my dad had died in my arms.

I had tried my best to forget that memory but the sirens the ambulance, the whispers and the questions. They were all too much.

Flashes of that dreadful day played in my mind.

My hands cradling my father's head as he took his last breath, his cold hand caressing my face as he whispered his last words.

'I love you'..

'I love you.' 'I love you' 'I love you'

His voice rang through my head like a mantra. My hands flew up to my ears in a futile attempt to block them out.

If only I had listened, if only I hadn't gone into the water he would still be alive.

He died because of me, she died because of me, everybody dies because of me. It's all my fault.

My fault, My fault, My fault, My fault.

I began hyperventilating, my body rocking back and forth with my hands still covering my ears.

"...my fault, my fault, my fault.." the words mumbled from my chapped lips as I began pulling at my roots.

It's all because of me. "...it happened because of me. It's all my fault."

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

My incoherent mumbles were cut off by a hand grabbing my wrists and pulling my hands away from my hair.

I looked up to be met with a confused/worried police officer staring down at me with a frown.

My cheeks were wet as hot tears ran down my face.

"It's all my fault. It's my fault." I'm sorry dad, I'm really sorry.

___

My arms hugged by body as I sat in the interrogation room of the police station.

My hands found their way to my mouth as I chewed on my nails.

The tall grey walls were illuminated by a dim light that hung above the wooden table.

The iron door creaked loudly as an officer entered the room with a folder in hand.

The chair screeched uncomfortably as he pulled it back to sit on.

"Hi there," he spoke in a gravely voice, "I'm detective Reed."

I looked at this Detective Reed.

He wore a green bomber jacket over a white tee and black jeans. His eyes scanned the folder in hand before he scratched at his shaven beard and cleared his throat.

"So, Ms. Sinclair, mind telling me what happened?" he leaned back against the small metal chair and crossed his arms.

"I didn't do it." I simply answered.