Insane - Who Are You To Judge? (Gripping Psychological Thriller)

Chapter 67 - Avery

"Fucking shoe," I moan to myself as the tip of my heel wedges itself in the unkempt concrete of the walkway leading up to the station doors.

Once I yank my ankle free, I stare at the old, broken down building. This is it. I'm finally going to do it.

My legs are nervous and are whining for me not to go through the doors – that's probably why my heel got stuck. A final attempt at making me spin myself around, drive home and never come within a hundred metres of this place again.

I don't listen to them. I stomp my feet forward, forcing them to shut up.

My heartbeat increases as each step draws me closer to the dreaded truth.

It's warmer than I thought it would be. From its outer appearance, I assumed the term central heating would be completely foreign, but to my surprise my hair doesn't actually stand up on end as soon as I cross the threshold.

I stand in the doorway for a few seconds, scanning the small reception for someone who looks like they have some authority. I'm out of luck.

Although, I do catch sight of a fragile woman typing frantically behind a desk in the centre. I approach her.

"Hi," I say softly.

Still, she is startled by my presence. "Oh, hello. I'm sorry, give me one moment and I'll be with you." She continues tapping away at her keyboard. There is a frailty in her voice that makes me feel like if I breathe too heavy, she'll shatter. "There we go. Now," She turns her attention back to me. "What can I help you with?"

My breath breaks as the words form in my mind. It all seems too real now, it has only just hit me that I'm actually going to do it. "Um," I struggle to form words. "I was wondering who I need to speak to, to, um, file a harassment report?"

She offers me a warm smile. "Yes, absolutely. If you take a seat over there and I will go find an officer for you."

I walk over to the stiff, cheap plastic chairs she pointed at and hover over them. They are so uncomfortable, I can immediately feel the pins and needles planning their attack.

Thankfully, she is quick to reappear and with her is a tall, clean-shaven man. Through all my observation of this place, I have never seen him before, and he isn't the sort of face I'd forget. He has military cut, jet black hair, the bluest eyes I think I've ever seen, and a jawline that should be covered for safety.

He flashes me a smile. And white teeth. Very white teeth. "Hi there, I'm DC White. Karen has informed me that you would like me to file a harassment report? Is that right?"

I stumble to my feet and extend my hand which he shakes firmly. "Yes, that's right. And a restraining order would be great."

He bobs his head. "Absolutely, if you would like to come through to my office, I'll ask you a few questions and I'll see what we can do."

He then turns and heads down the corridor and I trail along behind him. He leads me down some stairs that are so narrow and steep that I have the rusty bannister in a deadlock, trying to distract myself from thinking about all the dirt and grime that is attaching itself to my skin as I do so.

We reach the bottom. Thank God. And he ushers me into the office to the left.

It's a simple office, it doesn't have much of a personality. The walls are painted white, although they are stained with a grey tinge from the dust that has gathered over the years. At the back of the office is a metal table with an old-fashioned computer in the corner, an array of unorganised documents and a standard, unpleasant-looking swivel chair behind it.