"You're really pretty" Dylan says.
I look up at him. He seems surprised by his own words. I smile a little.
"What?" I say and keep looking at him a little confused, but also amused by his face expression.
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When shooting Teen Wolf is...
(This chapter will only contain Hollands POV and lot's of convo)
Hollands POV
I wake up with an insane headache and salty dried tears all over my face. I sit up in the sofa.
"Hey.. you're awake." Dylan says and I sits beside me.
I don't look at him, even though I wanted to. I was just afraid I was going to cry again. I look out in the room.
"Was it.. all a nightmare?" I whisper.
He places his hands on mine in my lap. I know he won't answer me, because he knows I know the answer.
"They haven't called yet." Dylan says.
I snapped out of my dead-zone and looked up at Dylan. He looks awful. His eyes are puffy and red, like he has been crying.
"How long was I asleep?" I ask.
"3 hours." He answers, looking down in his lap.
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I lean back in the sofa and let my head rest. "Why would someone do this?... Who?" I say, still leaned back looking at the ceiling.
"Someone with issues." He answers blunt.
And then the phone rings and makes the both of us jump up in position in front of each other. Dylan looks at the phone in his hands.
"Well, take it!!" I shout at him.
"What if it's more bad news?" He says.
I grab the phone from his hands and answer it.
"Hello?" I say, with a nervous voice.
"Mrs. O'Brien. We have a lead on the anonymous person that sent you the text. We have the number and a address. Does Chris Foley say anything to you?" The officer says on the other end of the phone.
"No... I have no idea who that is." I answer and furrow my eyebrows.
Who in the world is that? I think to myself.
"We already have him in custody, can you come down to the station?" He asks.
"Yes. Yes we'll be there." I say and look at Dylan who nods his head and starts walking towards the entrance. I hang up.
—
The officer guides us into the other side of the interrogation room and there he is, sitting in front of a table which I can see through the glass window separating us. Chris Foley. The man who sent me the message.
His hair was messy and greasy, considering he probably was dragged out of bed by the police. He was also still wearing his pyjamas and had no shoes on. His face doesn't ring any bell to me, I don't know who this kid is. He is so young. He is just a boy.
