Prologue
“Thanks for coming on such short notice. I know how difficult this is for you and your sister. Do you need time to compose yourself?” A police officer, speaking softly to me, preaches, genuine look of sympathy on her face. “N-no…” I respond shakily, waving my hand in denial as I quiver, sad look on my face. “I- I’m ok enough to respond.” a sniffle in between statements “Whoever is responsible must be brought to justice. So my mum and best friend can get their well deserved justice. They were innocent. And yet they lost their lives yesterday.” I can no longer keep my jagged composure together, falling apart like glass shattering as I just start to sob violently, the officer hands me a tissue. My own mother… my crush/girlfriend. “They were gonna be there for my graduation. My mum clapping in the stands, while Mary stood between me and Connor. I was gonna ask her out to the formal.” My voice breaks with each line, eyes bloodshot red from crying, my heart sunk to my feet. I feel weak, shaky, can’t stand upright, I topple backwards onto my chair, a shell of a normally more confident man everyone had come to know. I blow into the tissue, snot all over the tissue paper. I just can’t seem to yet accept it. I can’t yet believe it. Even tho I saw their bodies get pulled out from underneath. Even though my car landed above them. Even tho I saw them get put in body bags. Even tho I heard it from the ambulance worker themselves.
I can’t help but believe they’ll come knocking on my door again.
“I just… can’t.”
I release a choked breath, sob, face and absolute mess, shirt a dripping darker orangery than it once was, losing to dampness that comes from tears.
The emptiness space of the interrogation room has my sounds echo across the room, being there only 2 chairs, a clipboard, tissue box beside the chair opposite to me, and the officer and me in the room. The wallpaper being blank grey cement, not at all comforting to my currently depressed, panicking mental state. There’s the occasional cracks that vary in depth tossed around, like a randomized/human error, that indicate previous people put in here have tried to escape from interrogation. Trying to cut open the wall with handmade improvised stone cutting tools. Well, too bad. You should face the consequences of your actions, you criminals. You can’t run from justice. The officer hands me a tissue, her sympathetic look only growing as I blow my red nose, she puts a gentle hand on my shoulder, as a way to say ‘I’m here’.
“Can you tell me what happened that day? Take as much time as you need, but I need as much detail as possible.” The officer utters to only me, expression unwavering now, yet still caring. Kinda like when loving mothers scold their children for doing something naughty. The ‘I’m not mad, just disappointed’ look, you could call it. Yeesh. When mum would pull off that look after I have used the game system for too long. What makes it worse is when she doesn’t even say anything, and it’s just a silent drive in the car. That awkward silence, the tension as thick as walls. You either crack under the pressure, crying out a broken, meaningful apology, or you just say nothing, just like mum. You don’t look at her, just staring out the window, avoiding all eye contact, knowing that speaking even a single word might make it worse later on. When mum is silent, sighing annoyed, clenching the wheel, then you know she’s peeved off. You know that sounds can cause her to trigger her anger and shout at you. She would then immediately apologise straight after tho, repeating something similar but in a kind, stern way, followed by a tonne of ‘I love you’ and kind words about how much you mean to her. “Y-yes… I can give you my statement, ma’am.” I still am shaking with emotion, but I can now keep my composure to a neutral. I relay my feelings behind a painting, a mask of confidence held in place by a neutral expression of seriousness and a sudden nod, eyes blank, wide, taking in the details of my surroundings, the feel of my clothes and how they tightly snuggle around my frame, muscles toned in the way that typical cisgender, straight women would try to flirt over. My hair an absolute mess, poking every direction, since I only planned a stop to get art supplies for my sister when… it happened. I haven’t been able to sleep. I’d turned and tossed all night, all to no avail. To the point I just started emotional eating a tub of ice cream. I had taken a shower, stared down as the blood on me turned pink as it fell down the drain, my hair soaking wet, dribbling water. I just broke down in there. Crying, punching, there is now a hole in the glass dor of the shower, and I doubt I’d ever bother to fix it. Especially since it’s a reminder of what happened that evening. I hope with eachmoment of the days, nights, that I wake up from this nightmare. That I find my mum and Mary next to me, having a glass of juice as they giggle like schoolgirls. I'm still waiting to wake up from this nightmare. I will never stop waiting to wake up. I will lie in bed, eyes closed each night, wating to wake up from this bad dream. Why is this happening, lord? To teach me something? I probably could have coped with mum after months of grieving but--
--No, I would have been this broken regardless.
I'm feeling a whirlwind of emotions internally, keeping a semi calm mask on for the sake of the officer. I wish the officer is a woman, and that sympathetic.
He's not bad, he's just doing his... Job. Leaving emotional support outside the hospital room.
I sit awake, feeling at the tip of cotton coverings over my body, where the stitchings criss crossed in a lattice, opening up for the doonah cover inside, a soft, warm feel as it hugs me. It contrasts with the sharp pain I feel lay dorment in my leg, truth of the accident hidden under the banket. I know it's bad, I can sense the sharp piercing from my left leg. Holding back tears, I give a heavy nod that takes more effort to perform than I’d admit. Muscles weak, icy bones frozen, head spinning ideas in circles, wind turbine of thoughts all around. No matter how varied the thought, it all comes back to wanting justice against the person responsible. Justice for my mum, best friends, me, and my sister.
“I can give you my statement, sir.”
