Virgin Sins | Harry Styles

Interrogation

The sadness flowed through her veins and deadened her mind. It was a poison to her spirit, tearing at her bones and ripping her heart to pieces. The pain was a flowing river, cold and unending. It washed all the goodness out of her and left her a mere shell of what she had once been.

Violent red stained both cloth and Nina's shaking hands. The blood has deepened in the folds of her knuckles making the usually pale creases dark. The congealed fluid had become silk caught in the webbing of her fingers, whereas the rest had been soaked into the fabric of her clothing; more brown than crimson. The colour had painted her skin in a permanent remembrance and the metallic smell, burned in her mind along with what had happened earlier today.

She wishes it was her own blood, and not her brother's.

Surrounded by four white walls, there was nothing else to do but stare at them. To look at the paint that had started to chip off as time passed, or gouged by other prisoners. The prison cell that she had been locked in, was a hollow cube of concrete, one way in and no windows.

She had no way to tell how long she had been in there. It was totally disorientating by design. Given enough time a person could even forget their own name in here. The isolation was total and the stimulation was zero. No sound, no light, only a desk and two chairs.

She was going mad sitting in the silent room. Her heart rang in her ears and constantly reminded her of the privilege with each beat. Looking around the walls she comes to a realisation. Foes don't just build prison cells, they pour every fibre of hatred into the design.

This box is more like a dark coffin and the only light is what creeps in under the door.

The nausea swirled unrestrained in her empty stomach and Nina's melancholy mood hung over her like a black cloud, raining personal sorrow down on her wherever she went.

Soon, the silence is broken by the door unlocking and heavy boots against the cement floor, echoing and bouncing off the thick walls. In walked, Sargent Martin.

She jerked upright, panicked, but her wrists refused to move, something sharp and cold dug into her skin. She looked down and saw there were handcuffs shackling her hands to the table.

The man sat himself into the chair opposite to her and a feeling of intimidation washed over her senses. She would rather sit in this empty room listening to her own sorrows than be interrogated by Sargent Martin. He assumed her to be guilty and Nina knew that there would be nothing she could say to change his mind.

Angry eyes were just the start, then out came the tape recorder and paperwork. Sargent Martin seemed to have come from a monochromatic world; even his skin was the colour of a gloomy sky. With eyes of pale grey, if they had ever been blue it must somehow leached out along with his humanity. It occurred to Nina that she could be judging him harshly, but isn't that what he is doing to her?

Perhaps, he was clouded by the expected control of this corporate world. Nina was guilty somewhat, but not at the level this man was accustomed to. Perhaps, she could tell him the truth, that monsters are indeed real and not always people, but inside she was already collapsing inward; she would be thought to be crazy; just like Mary.

Looking into his irritated eyes, Nina realised she was doomed. He was the poet, the visionary, he had already set the scene in his mind and on his paperwork; by day, she was the good girl who did homework and met deadlines, by night, she was a cold, ruthless killer.

She let her eyelids fall closed for a moment. Perhaps the good girl with measured words, actually was who she used to be, before all this evil came to consume her. She'd like to be her old self again, but she can't be without Grayson.