Interrogation #3

The interrogation room is too familiar.

Officer Daniels sits in a chair across from me, as if we're friends. The table is scooted off to the side this time, I guess to give a more intimate atmosphere.

But it's all fake.

My skin itches and burns, leaving me shifting restlessly in my seat, even as I chide myself to stop. All that movement's going to make me look guilty.

But it's frustrating. Why should someone innocent ever have to worry about looking guilty?

Maybe it's being a little too much poor me, but seriously—it's ridiculous. I'm a victim, too. I might be alive, but I seriously need to spend a solid month on a therapist's couch with a gallon of ice cream daily and some soft squishy stuffed animals to cuddle with.

Biting back the hysterical giggle bubbling up at that thought, I focus instead on Officer Daniels' words.

"And what is the nature of your relationship with Officer Everett, Ms. d'Armand?"