Fatal Infatuation [18+] DISCONTINUED

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"Please, you have to listen to me, I didn't do anything!" I exclaimed, wrapping my fingers around the steel bars of the single jail cell, looking at the police officers that sat in front of me with a desperate expression. 

The taller police officer pinched the bridge of his nose, lifting his glasses slightly. "Ma'am, we told you already, you're not going to prison. You're here for questioning." He sighed. 

I scoffed and my eyes widened, "What about the other suspect? There is another suspect, right?" 

"Yes, but we haven't figured out his identity yet," He exhaled and continued, "The only description we have of him is that he's a white male in his early 20s." 

I froze when I remembered him. He was the one that saved me. Roman. I remembered his name, and I remembered his face. He had a memorable face, with dark, thick eyebrows, tired green eyes, a beauty mark on his right cheek. He had short, slightly curly dark hair, a sharp jawline, and I could see a tattoo on his arm under his sleeve. Could he have something to do with Micah's disappearance?

"You know, if you had any information about the other suspect, we could consider... expediting your interrogation process." The police officer suggested, approaching me. 

I considered my options. On one hand, I could go home and avoid being a suspect all together, but on the other hand, I would be ratting out the man who showed me kindness and saved me from a potentially dangerous situation. 

I let out a breathy sigh. "I didn't see him too well. Everything happened so fast." 

"Alright, then. We'll call on you when it's time to go in for questioning." He nodded, leaning back against the wall with his arms crossed. 

I listened to the police officers bicker and converse amongst themselves, trying not to eavesdrop. 

The shorter, older police officer looked up at the taller one with an annoyed expression. "What are we doing here, man? I have to get to my kids' piano recital. You seriously believe that this chick did something?" He murmured.

The taller one gestured towards me, "She could be a dangerous criminal. We're doing our job." 

"A dangerous criminal? Look at her, she's like a baby deer learning to walk for the first time." He scoffed, earning a hearty chuckle from his partner as they both looked towards me. The taller officer, who I learned was named 'Dean Iverson' by glancing at his golden name badge, was close friends with the shorter one, whose name was 'Cyrus Blanche'. Dean was considerably younger, appearing to be in his late-20s to early-30s, while Cyrus appeared to be in his mid-40s. Dean was more quiet and professional, while Cyrus had a habit of cracking jokes at inappropriate times. 

I watched as Dean brought the walkie-talkie to his mouth and whispered a few words into it, before straightening up and clearing his throat. "Alright, It's time." He announced, approaching my cell with a pair of keys. I backed away and watched him open the door. He pulled me closer and turned me around so my back was facing him, and he held my wrists together with handcuffs. 

We walked in a line. Cyrus in front of me leading us to the interrogation room, Dean behind me holding my wrists together behind my back, and me in the middle of them walking slowly. I had this growing feeling of dread in the pit of my stomach, and my hands were shaking and sweating. If I didn't look guilty before, I definitely look guilty now.

"You still sure you don't wanna' make a phone call?" Cyrus asked as we walked past the phone on the wall. 

"I don't have anyone to call." I muttered, keeping my head down. It was true, I couldn't call anybody. I couldn't call any of my family because I didn't want to make them worry, I couldn't call Kashvi because she was at work, and I only knew two other numbers. Mine, and my mother's. I got her phone number from my grandparents and I was holding onto it for a special occassion. The special occasion being when she wanted to talk to me. Whenever I spoke to my grandparents on the phone, I asked about her, and she always refused to talk to me. I didn't know why. 

We made it to the interrogation room, and I sat at the steel table, Dean and Cyrus sitting across from me. Cyrus sat back with his arms crossed and Dean sat straight and stiff. They both stared at me. 

Dean cleared his throat and began speaking, "What is your relationship with Mr. Hansley?" 

I regulated my breaths and closed my eyes. "We went on one date, it didn't work out, and that's it. Other than that, he was a regular at my workplace." 

"Where is your place of work?" Cyrus asked, narrowing his eyes at me. 

I told them everything about the cafe, about Micah, about me. I talked aimlessly for so long that I could feel my throat dry out with every word, and I'm almost entirely sure that they weren't listening to me for most of it, but I didn't care. In that moment, I did everything I could to clear things up. After a few more questions, followed by long answers, I could tell that night time was approaching. Cyrus looked more and more annoyed, and Dean never dropped his professional demeanor. 

"Look, I think that's enough for today. It is apparent that we know everything," He murmured and continued, "Especially the useless, unrelated things." 

He stood up and looked me in the eye, "You mentioned that you don't drive. Do you have anyone to call to take you home?" 

"I don't..." I trailed off, standing up slowly. Dean followed by, standing up and straightening out his uniform with his hands. 

"We'll drive you home." Dean chimed in, reaching to open the door.

Cyrus audibly groaned and rubbed his temples. "So, I guess that means we aren't getting drinks anymore, right?"

Dean chuckled and shook his head, "We were never getting drinks, dipshit." 

We walked back into the main room, the guys grabbed their keys and other belongings, and we made it outside. I was right, the sky was dark and the stars began appearing. Dean began uncuffing me, apologizing politely when he accidentally let his fingers linger around my wrists. He opened the car door and I hesitantly sat in the back seat, Cyrus sitting in the passenger seat, and Dean driving the car. The drive to my apartment building was quiet aside from the officers' incessant bickering, and I actually enjoyed the short ride. 

We made it after about ten minutes, and Dean got out of the car with me. "Here's my number. If you notice any suspicious activity, or have any other information about Micah, or just want to talk, call me or text me." 

I hesitantly took his number with a faint blush on my cheeks and rushed into the building, looking past my shoulder. It was extremely inappropriate considering the situation at hand, but I still felt giddy for some reason. It was curious.