Playing her

Run Bitch, Run.

Marc POV

"Okay, Mr. Bartra, let's go through this one more time."

With a moan, I lowered my head to the cool, steel table and rested my forehead against the smooth surface. I laced my fingers together and moved my clasped hands to rest atop my head, but before they were fully seated, i felt resistance. Oh right, i remembered mournfully, my hands were attached to the table and had a limited range of movement. Handcuffs would do that.

Lifting my forehead, i instead rested my chin against the table surface and moved my hands over my face. The chain attaching the handcuffs to the table clanked and clattered, metal scraping against metal. The sound was atrocious, and it gave me a headache, At least i had enough slack to rub my eyes and run my hands over his face in a desperate attempt to regain some alertness.

As i sat upright again, i felt a twinge in my lower spine and arched my back to get away from it. Instinctually, i moved my hand to massage the spot, but my wrist was yanked back by the cuff. Instead, i had to settle for wriggling my butt against the metal seat to change positions and hopefully alleviate some of the tension in my aching spine.

God, how long have I been sitting here? My eyes immediately dropped to my left wrist, but i found it bare. They took my watch, wallet, and cell phone upon arriving at the station.

"Mr. Bartra?"

"Can't you just get me some vodka, and let me out" I mumbled

"You want to know what time it is don't you?" He asked

"Nah not really After all, what did a silly little thing like the time of day matter while sitting in a windowless interrogation chamber?" I spat

"Talk, now."

I looked up to the detective who stood at the opposite corner of the table. His hands rested palms-flat against the table surface and his broad six-foot-plus frame hovered over Me as it had ever since he entered the well-lit room of questions. I presumed the detective's hawk-like position was meant to intimidate, but I felt no nerves, just exhaustion and, come to think of it, at little bit of hunger.

"Right," i said. I used my right hand to scoop up the plastic cup of water in front of me and drop the remaining few splashes into his mouth. "We were fooling around and she got crazy got a pocket knife and of-"

"No, Mr. Bartra, start at the beginning." The detective's tone was not impatient or annoyed or even exasperated; it was eerily even given the number of times I had explained this particular part of this stupid tale.

I told him everything.
He picked up his pad of paper and sifted through the several pages of notes he'd written during My initial run-through of the story. After a few minutes of page flipping, He asked, "Mr. Bartra, had you been drinking that night?"

"No."

"Not at all?"

"Not at all," I confirmed.

"You're sure?"

"I'm sure all I had to drink that day was redbull and water."

"That's interesting," the detective commented, writing down a few words.

I arched an eyebrow at him. "Why is that interesting?"

He locked eyes with Me, "Because, you told me you were at a party, and Blair confirmed you two were a little tipsy before going to the lake" he paused to glance at his notes, "that's pretty rare you know? a teenager who's at a party who claims he hadn't been drinking."

"I wasn't drinking!"

"You weren't drinking before you left your house."

"That's what I said."