Playing With Fire || d.h

19. Into the Rabbit Hole

Your POV

Stlap. Stlap. Stlap.

Each footfall sticks to the linoleum floor, making an echoing slapping noise as it reluctantly disconnects. I need to wash this fucking cocktail off my shoes as soon as I can.

I know I must look like a nightmare. My eyes puffy, dried mascara-stained tears lining my face, bruises forming on my knees from being crouched in the hard floor for so long. After we had left the theatre, Dan and I had been checked by paramedics, then interviewed. Dan wouldn't let me more than three feet away from me at all times, no matter how long he'd have to argue with someone. Phil seemed unable to talk, and every time he opened his mouth, tears would start running again, and he'd close it. After two hours of trying to hold myself together, we're finally able to leave. The second I get on the sidewalk, I crumble onto the curb and let myself fall apart. I sit crisscross on the sidewalk, my head in my hands, sobs escaping me uncontrollably.

Abruptly, a large crowd of  people equipped with colossal cameras and microphones come rushing toward us, causing me to let out a gasp of panic.

"Hello, we're part of the Daily Star, can you tell us what happened tonight?" An intense looking lady asks me, shoving her microphone in my face. However, unable to comprehend what's happening, I only start sobbing harder, causing the reporter's brows to knit together in impatience. Realizing quickly she won't be able to get much information out of me, she turns to Dan.

"How about you, sir? Can you tell us what happened tonight?" She then pushes the microphone inches from Dan's face, which turns out to be a very, very big mistake.

"Are you fucking crazy?" He shouts into the microphone. "Can you not tell that we are not in the right place mentally to talk about this, nor will we ever be, probably?" He takes a second to catch his breath, then continues. "She's sobbing on the sidewalk. We were just part of a shooting less than three hours ago, and you think it's okay to get in our faces and question us about it? How the bloody hell can you even live with yourself?" He concludes. She raises her eyebrows, then turns to the camera.

"As you can see, many of the witnesses are still in utter distress. We can head inside, and see if there's anyone inside who can give us, er, more information." Dan rolls his eyes in utter discust as the newscaster and the camera crew head into the theatre.

"What the hell is wrong with people?" He says to no one in particular.

"Can we just head home?" I croak, and realize my vocal chords are numb, but I don't really know what from. Dan looks down at me, anger still etched in his face. But as he locks eyes with me, his expression softens, and he nods, offering his hand to help me up. I grab his hand, and lift myself to my feet. We walk silently to the subway, and head home, a bleak aura emitting from the three of us. The entire trek home is a complete blur, most likely because my mind has officially gone into numb mode.

We walk up the narrow steps to our apartment. As we get to the doors, I realize there's no way I'm going to be able to sleep in my apartment alone. Luckily, Dan seems to have read my mind.

"You can stay in our apartment," he suggests. "I mean, if you want," he adds quickly. I nod in appreciation.

"I'm just gonna grab some things from my place, then I'll be right over," I say, fumbling for my keys. I walk into my apartment, and immediately feel a creepy vibe. I rush to my room and change into leggings and an oversized crewneck sweater. I look at myself in the mirror, and instantly cringe. As I expected, my mascara has completely escaped my eyelashes and has dripped down my swollen face. I head to the bathroom and hastily wipe my face clean with a makeup wipe, run a brush through my hair, and throw it up into a messy bun.