The Story of How Everything went Downhill

1.

They have sat me down. Me. With a bunch of papers​ and a pen. To write a statement. My statement.

It actually feels​ like a joke.

You know why? Of course you don't, but I'll tell you. Because I don't do this writing business, okay? I, as it is, barely dot my i's and cross my t's. Mrs Tangen can bear witness to that. And that is simply because she has to take a bloody gruelling hour just to make out what my writing means!

But do these idiots here understand that? No, they do not. And so, I'm stuck writing.

I'm thirsty, sleepy and horrendously tired of sitting on this annoyingly hard blue plastic chair. My butt is numb, and I can't feel my feet anymore. Of all the days of my life, why was today the day I picked to get caught?

Not that I was doing anything wrong, or whatever. Because I wasn't. And also, because if i was, I wouldn't be here in this boringly calm and deafeningly quiet room. A confession room, they called it.

Just for the record, I don't like it. It's all gray. Ceiling to floor. And the tiles are grey too! I know, I didn't believe it either when I first saw it. And no, I'm not one to tell lies. Look, not telling my parents about what happened to the roof when they were out of town last month does not count as a lie, okay? It's withholding of information, which I'm pretty sure is legal.

It is, right? And anyway, what they don't know will certainly not hurt them

Anyway, back to the point, and the point is that I wasn't doing anything wrong, and if i had been, I would be huddled up whimpering in a cell like Aaron Becket, not in this super creepy room with a pen and paper.

Maybe that is where I should start, with Aaron Becket. Because if that shithead had not gone and opened his ten kilometer wide hole of a mouth, i would be curled in my quilt right now with a bowl of popcorn, just netflix and chilling. Yes, I know it's a school night. And no, you are not my mother, but thanks for the concern.

Yes, both my parents are alive, and yes they both care. I think.

But anyway, this is about why in the Good Lord's name I am here, inside a Las freaking Vegas police station, looking like a hooker, eyeliner running down my caked face, with no knowledge of where the rest of my gang, other than Aaron, is. And why Aaron is in that cell bawling his eyes out.

So, simply put, it started with Aaron Becket.

***

Thoughts?