HURT

My name is Roseanne Martinez,but most people refer to me as Rose or Rosie. I was in love. Actually I still am. He never loved me back though. He was just another popstar,that likes to crush hearts. I should have seen through his perfect reputation. No one ever threw him hate. Even if he broke their hearts,they just pretended it was their fault. I don’t think I can do that. No,I won’t, I cannot! I will make a mess of his facade,I will make a mockery of him! He will not win this game. He picked the wrong player to knock down,now he WILL pay the price. I just wonder how long he will try to stay on top. I will be on top in the end. Or will I? Read on and find out!
A/N: This is sucky,sorry. I personally think the story is actually better. Please read it,it would mean a lot to me!

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7. Proucedure

  When I awoke I was perched across Liam's and Niall's laps. I attempted to sit up, but my head spun like a top. Harry steadied my swaying form and helped me sip some water.

   "Are you okay, love?" Harry asked, a worried tone in his low voice. His slow draw seemed distant today.

  I nodded, afraid to speak, for fear of my voice cracking.

  I heard Niall speak from under me. "You know he is fine, why did you faint?"

  I cleared my throat and shifted of their laps. "Well...uh....I may know who did it. Sorta!" I mumbled out in a rush.

  The boys gasped collectively, but before they could speak a woman's voice did. "Good. You can tell us all about it at the police station."

  I turned to see a woman that looked as if she was in her late twenties and a man in his late thirties. 

  "What do you mean?!" Zayn hissed as he threw his arms around my shoulders and slammed me into his chest.

  "I mean she is under arrest." She remarked bluntly.

  "What did she even do?" Niall spits out, his fists shaking in an attempt to hold back his evident  rage.

  "She was the last one with the victim when he was attacked." The man explained calmly, seeming much more kind than the other officer.

  I cringed, the shuddering image popping back into my mind, hiding behind my eyelids; inducing a shiver.

  "That isn't fair! She didn't do anything!" Niall shouted protectively.

   "It's just protocol. I am sorry." The male replied, walking over with the handcuffs out and ready to lock my wrists up.

  "I don't need handcuffs, I will go willingly." I insisted firmly. 

  He nodded and led me out. I threw one last glance at the panic-stricken boys, breath catching a bit at the concern etched on their normally exuberant faces.

  After a long, silent twenty minutes we arrived at the large, brick police station downtown. They led me in and in to a small interrogation room, the kind that can make anyone edgy and claustrophobic. An older guy, Head Detective Roberts he had introduced himself as, handed me a tall, cold glass of water, but I wasn't thirsty. I was terrified.

  "The detectives will be right in." He smiled soothingly as he walked out.

   The same detectives as earlier came in a minute later and sat, notepads and pens in hand. The male spoke first, voice gritty but somehow calming. "I am Detective Reynolds and this" He gestured to the woman. "Is Detective Samson."

  He held out his calloused hand and I shook it tenderly. I tried to smile, achieving it, although I know it was pitiful.

  "Ms....Martinez, how did you find Mr. Tomlinson?" Detective Reynolds inquired. 

  "In a pool of blood in his room...." I answered quietly, shakily. 

  "What is your relationship to the victim?" Detective Samson mused. 

   I broke, spilling every detail of what had happened since he broke up with me until now. The last sentence I could force out before the sobs cut me off was: "After that, he was in my dreams nearly every night, but always on the periphery, never within reach."

  

 

 

 

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