tabloid junkie (Michael Jackson)

January 19ᵗʰ ─ 2:43 ᵃᵐ

I was sitting in the interrogation room, it was so cold and lonely and I would like to never be in here again.

My eyes were slowly shutting, my body weak and in need of sleep, I sighed and placed my arms on the cold table to lay my head on them.

"Don't do that." Said gorgeous Det. Rodgers as she reentered the room again carrying two cups of steaming coffee. She slid into the chair across from me and placed my drink in front of me.

I felt blessed, picking up the coffee and taking a sip.

I winced in disgust, because it tasted plain.

I sat the cup back down. "Okay, so did we go over everything?" I asked her. "About, you know-"

"Michael Jackson?" Detective Rodgers hadn't touched her coffee yet. "I'm pretty sure we have."

I nodded with a small smile on my face, I knew coming had been the right thing to do.

"I know you're not being honest with me." She said suddenly in a small voice. "I'm going to prove it, Diana, and you're going to jail."

My eyes slowly widened. "What-what are you talking about? I-I told you...I told you everything."

"No, you haven't, Ms. Cartwright. I know you're lying. I don't know why...maybe you killed him, dumped his body."

I shook my head, hiding the fear in my body. "I would never do that to him..." I said low.

"So, you know 'him'?"

I wanted slam my fist on the table as hard as possible. "Of-of course not, I...I'm leaving."

Standing from my seat at the table, I headed for the door as quickly as possible, my hand closing on the knob.

"I'm sorry Diana, but you're not going anywhere."

I was confused, turning to face the detective. "What the hell do you mean, 'I'm not going anywhere'?"

"I just got sent a report that you are guilty of stealing jewelry from your mother."

I squinched my eyebrows, a laugh escaping my lips before I could stop it. "What jewelry have I supposedly stolen from that bitch now?"

"The necklace on your neck."

I looked down at the red diamond at my throat, my hand clutched the clasp and I breathed out. "My mother gave this to me when I was 17." I whispered. "It's mine."

"Well that's not what she says."

"No! I didn't steal this! Move!" I shouted angrily and fearful, I shoved Detective Rodgers aside and raced out of the interrogation room, my heart thumping as I watched the door loom ahead of me.

Before I could reach out and grab the knob, I felt a pressure on my back, someone had pushed me roughly enough that I slammed my head against the glass door and then banged my now-bleeding head on the marble ground. It made the thwack sound. I didn't even have time to scream, I was already unconscious.