𝘛𝘩𝘦 𝘈𝘭𝘮𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘛𝘳𝘦𝘦

Chapter Seven: The Drunk Man

"Watch your head," He says.

"Thanks," I replied. I've gotten so sick of officers and detectives talking to me, that I just want this to be over as soon as possible. I already know that I am completely innocent, I just need them to believe that now.

"Right this way, your parents are waiting for you inside the lobby,"

I was kind of scared of what their reaction would be. Would they be mad? Sad? Happy I was okay? Only one way to find out, I guess.

I walk in through the long glass doors, and I can see my mom hysterically crying, dabbing her face with a tissue that had worn mascara and hints of foundation. My dad was crying right next to her, but trying to be the man he is, he tries to hold back on his tears. Once they heard the doors open, they ran over to me as soon as possible.

"Chantelle! Thank god you're ok!" My father exclaimed. He hugged me so tight I felt like I was going to throw up. My mother stood a couple feet behind him, observing.

"Chantelle, this is all your fault!" My mother shouts behind dad. "If you had been paying more attention, she would still be alive!" She took another tissue from the box that she had been raiding.

"Linda, now is not the time!" He screamed back at mom. "Either way, one of them would have been killed, or both. You should be glad that Chantelle wasn't hurt more than she was. Right, Chantelle? You're not hurt are you?" He turns to me.

"I-I'm okay, dad," I say.

"Officer, can we start? I need to see my precious baby, and say my final goodbyes," My mom says to Detective Scherbatsky.

"Right, I will open up the room, and get my co-worker to question your daughter," He says.

I sat down across from my parents. My mom was still crying hysterically and I didn't know how to handle her. So I didn't. My father had calmed down a little, but still had tears streaming from his eyes. I didn't want to talk to them, things were too awkward between us, because if the cops did happen to accuse me of being guilty, they would hate me.

We sat in the waiting room, which smelled like a hospital. I hated hospitals. It's not like I've had a bad experience there or anything, it's just the overall smell of chemicals. America is actually too clean, which is why we get sick all the time. We use too much hand sanitizer that it weakens our immune system. Compared to other countries, we may be strong, but the people that live here like us, are honestly just fat.

While still in my thoughts about hand sanitizer and America, the Detective walks through a white door.

"Come on back, Chantelle," He says. I stood up and walked to the door. He leaves the door open for me, and I walk into your basic movie set interrogation room. Now I knew where the chemical smell was coming from.

The room smelled like clorox, soap, and sanitation products. The room had two chairs with a cup of water on one side of the table. There were security cameras in every single corner of the room, and on one wall there was some double sided glass, where I assume Detective Scherbatsky would be observing.

I sat down, and another woman in a police uniform came in and sat on the side without the water. The detective closed the door and the woman brought out some files.

"Chantelle Willow, seventeen year old female, correct?" She says.

"Correct" I replied.

"I'm sorry for the smell, we had another man in here a little while go, he was drunk and threw up over there," She points to the corner, "I understand this is feels like the worst time ever, and we usually wouldn't do this interrogation this early, but we have no other time to do this,"