by Tijan
look up, eager, and tell them that I could call Denton. He'd give his account of that night. I was supposed to think he'd come in with support for me, but they'd use that to question him about my relationship with him.
Denton was a celebrity. We'd had sex, twice. One of those times was when I cheated on Bryce. Not a stellar reputation for me. They knew that, what they didn't know was that I wasn't stupid.
I knew how to play the game. I'd been doing it since I was a child.
People feared me, but it was because I spoke the truth and I went for the jugular. And I knew how to take anyone down; except for friends…well…I took Grace down that night. I lashed out at her and humiliated her in front of her sorority sisters. I had enjoyed it and had plans to do it again, but then she shook me. She apologized and seemed to mean it. Not many did that. It was always fake. People lied to cover their bases, but no one really changed.
That night, I thought Grace had changed.
Why would I want to harm someone for that?
They were wrong. It was a matter of time before they found the real killer. I had to believe that. I had to hope that, otherwise… I drew in another shuddering breath. What else could I hope in?
An awkward silence filled the room and I waited until the lady detective started to tap her pen again. It would happen—and it did.
Tap, tap.
It was more urgent this time. She was growing impatient. I could sense her anger. I hadn't fallen into their trap. I held my breath and waited again. What was the next move?
"Okay, fine." She shoved forward and I heard her voice grow in volume. She was closer to me now. "You're not stupid. We got it, but facts are facts. You were in Grace's house the night she was murdered. If you didn't do it, you saw who did. You know you were there. We have video footage from the street."
I looked up now and held her gaze. I didn't blink.
She stopped for a second. She had brown eyes with bags underneath them. Her mascara had been smudged. It looked like that had happened hours ago. And the tan complexion on her skin looked washed out. I asked in a quiet voice, "When'd you last sleep?"
She blinked.
"You look like you've been up for a couple days now."
A startled expression flashed over her, but she blinked again and shook it away. Her jaw hardened when she clipped out, "You want to psychoanalyze me? I've been up for 36 hours now because I've got a dead girl that shouldn't be dead. And you know what really pisses me off? I'm pretty sure the girl who killed her did it out of spite and because her daddy is rich enough to get her off. This girl has some high-powered friends, with lawyers that are already pounding our doors down. And I'm wondering which one of your rich boyfriends is paying their salary. So yeah, I've lost some sleep. Grace Barton was an innocent little girl who got caught up with the wrong, deadly, group. She was playing in a game with high stakes that she should've never been a part of and I feel bad for her. I feel bad that she ever considered you a friend."
She shot out of her chair and leaned across the table. Her face was against mine. Her breath was hot on my skin as she snapped, "So cut the bullshit and tell us what happened."
"I've got lawyers asking to see me?"
Her face twitched and her partner cursed under his breath.
"I want a lawyer." I said it so calmly, as if I always sat in that chair, on that side of the table, with my life held in question. I knew my eyes were flat. They always went flat when I was on the attack, but my insides were churning.
Someone killed Grace and they thought it was me.
Everything happened after that in a blur. They shot out of there with stiff shoulders and anger in their eyes. Three lawyers entered after that and I learned that Denton had sent them. They never questioned me, but they did instruct me. I wasn't supposed to say a word. I would be taken into holding and would have to wait until bail was set.
The lawyers told me that my mother was there, at the police station. She wanted to see me, but I shook my head. I had no desire to deal with her. I hadn't for the last four years, so why start now? The two, now three, people that I did want to see were advised against coming in. Their names needed to be kept out of the media frenzy.
My head popped up when they said that and a lawyer told me, as if he were speaking to a child that paparazzi were already outside. Grace Barton's death was linked back to Marcus's, and since Bryce was connected, along with Denton, the news would spread all over the country. A Hollywood celebrity and soccer's newest star, both in love with the same girl—I cringed when I heard that. It was gold for the tabloids.
Everyone would know my name.
That was when I stopped listening. I didn't want anyone to know.
Denton had been my neighbor growing up. Our parents had been best friends before all the divorces. I had tried to take his sister under my wing even. And Bryce—he'd been my childhood sweetheart since seventh grade. He'd been my first love, even when I hadn't been able to deal with those emotions or what they meant.
I let out a sigh.
Corrigan's shout ripped through me. I never looked at him. I didn't dare. I would've bolted for him and he would've fought for me. And then what would've happened? We would've both been in police custody. But then again, a small chuckle slipped out, it would've been like the old days. Except Corrigan was the one that always seemed to be calling us from the police station, and Bryce and I would come down to post his bail.
The humor left me then. It was me this time, but I wasn't in for a high school prank.
I was led through booking where I was fingerprinted and my picture taken. Then I was told to wait in an overcrowded cell. I wanted to wake up. I wanted all this to be a dream, a nightmare, but it wasn't. So I found a corner in the back and sat down against the cold wall. I shivered, but refrained from hugging myself.
A few girls were already sizing me up.
I wasn't weak. I wasn't about to start acting it now.
Then I lifted my chin up and stared back. Everything in me was numb now.
I was being charged with Grace's murder. What worse could happen?
