“Come on darling. Show me. I'm the only thing you've got...”


1. 1.

A police officer hands me a cup of tea. It should be scalding my fingers; I am holding it so incredibly tightly. Instead, it is just the tiniest hint of warmth, the first I have felt for a few days. My mouth eagerly clamps around the rim, and I inhale the bitter scent. Bliss. But this, this whole situation itself, is not bliss.
With a gruff clear of his throat, the police officer sat down in front of me and said briskly, "You're not under arrest. We just need to ask you a few questions."

"Yeah, I figure you'd be questioning me in handcuffs if I were," I reply, raising my eyebrow at him. Something is telling me to take the situation seriously though, so I pipe down. "What do you need to know?"

He furrows his brow. "Everything. We'll need a full recollection of the events that took place. The correspondence between yourself and, as he calls himself, Zac Walters."

The mug in my hands begins to violently shake. I have to place it down on the table with an alarming thud. "Everything? Why everything?" After all, the truth, the whole truth, was something I'd kept hidden for so long. It would be horrible to have to let it all go to a bunch of strangers.

"Miss Sullivan, we need all the evidence we can get if you want to take this man in. We have your phone, and we are going through the messages right now. We just need to hear your view." Oh no. There are so many intimate conversations, full of facts and...and pictures, that I don't want these police officers to see. 

But I have no choice. All my choices are gone.

I meet the officer's eyes for the first time. I don't see the anger or the disgust that I feel like I deserve. Just a glazed look. After sighing heavily, I nod. "Okay. Okay, how should we do this?"

"Recorded or written, it's your choice. Though with written, we won't have to make it into a transcript, so that'd save us time." 

So I really don't have a choice. Of course I already knew that. We all think we have choices, but really, they're already decided for us. "Written it is." Silently I'm handed a sheet of paper. "It won't all fit on one sheet of paper, sir."

"Just how long did you had a relationship with Mr Walters?" Hearing the fact out loud is scary. It sounds like he's a forty year old, when he's not being called Zac. I suppose he still could be. I don't know. 

"Three years. And it hasn't ended yet anyway." He's still mine, mine. This may have happened, I may have gone through all this, but I'm still his. It sounds corny as hell, but my heart is still his, just as it has been these past few years. You don't stop loving someone instantly. If anyone claims to have done so, they couldn't have loved them at all. "Where do I begin?" I murmur.

It's more a rhetorical question, but the officer answers me anyway. "Your first conversation, probably."



No. None of this is probable.

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