by Beck, J. L.
I don’t care. I don’t care. I tell myself as I stomp to the shower and lock the door behind me, refusing to let his words affect me. I turn on the shower, but I don’t get in. I just sit on the toilet hoping that he’ll leave and won’t want to talk to me again. The sound of the water drowns out the noises inside my head, and after awhile I hear nothing, nothing but the steady beat of my heart, and the inhaling of air into my lungs.
Don’t want to feel, think, I don’t want anything. I sit until I forget that he was even here at all and I’m back to being a ghost…a ghost, that’s how I feel. I’m in this world, with people carrying on with their lives around me. I can see them smiling and laughing, but the emotions can’t reach me, nothing can. I’m so cut off from reality that it’s like I’m here, but I’m not. Not completely anyway.
Part of me is just gone, floating in space, or maybe I’m just broken, so broken that there isn’t any fixing me, and strangely I like myself like this. I don’t know which one is true, maybe I’m a little bit of both, but all I know is that I can’t imagine ever being whole again.
Time will never heal my wounds.
21
Remington
Walking into the same office they questioned me in the last time, I feel a sliver of anxiety. When I enter the room and look up, I realize that there is a big change. There are actual police officers in here this time instead of just the campus security. They’re not wearing uniforms, but I can see the badge and gun attached to the belt from where I’m standing.
Most would be shitting their pants right now, but the constant guilt, grief, and anger consuming me leave little room for anything else. I don’t have the energy for any other feeling, and I don't really care what's going to happen to me anyway.
I deserve whatever punishment is served.
“Mr. Miller, please have a seat,” one of them greets me. “I’m Detective Garcia and this is my partner, Detective Stevens.” His voice is monotone and his face emotionless, unlike his partner who looks like he’s about to jump me. I take a seat in the hard metal chair and Detective Garcia starts talking again.
“I want to inform you that we have just opened up an investigation on you, Mr. Miller. Campus security contacted us this morning with some disturbing information and since there is overwhelming evidence compiled against you, we are taking this very seriously…”
My jaw flexes with tension. I fucked up, but I didn’t physically hurt Jules, surely they know that.
Before I can say anything, we are interrupted by a loud knock on the door. I look over my shoulder just as Sebastian enters the room, a confused look on his face.
“Why is he being questioned again? We’ve already discussed this at length, and why are you talking to him without a lawyer present?” He points at the two police officers, anger now seeping into his face.
This is your fault, Remington. All the frustration, my father’s anger toward me, Sebastian’s disappointment, the police being here, Jules hurting, it’s all on me.
“Mr. Miller has the right to an attorney, but he has not requested one and we are not arresting him at this moment, so legally I do not have to read him his rights. Now, may I ask who you are?”
“I’m his legal counsel for right now,” Seb growls and takes the seat beside me. A part of me wants to tell him to leave, to tell him that there is no point in trying to save me, but I know that the police wouldn’t be here if something hadn’t changed and I’m not dumb enough to make him leave me alone in here just to end up saying the wrong fucking thing.
“Well, let’s get straight to the point then,” Detective Garcia announces. He opens a folder, and takes out the first page, sliding it across the table, and all but shoves it into my face. My gut clenches as I glance over it. I don’t have to read every word to know it’s a manuscript of the recording. I’ll be reminded of my mistake for the rest of my life.
“Do you acknowledge that the male voice in this recording belongs to you?”
“Yes,” I answer. What’s the point in lying? I already admitted to campus security that it was me, plus I deserve whatever they plan to slap me with.
“Do you admit to being the one who recorded the interaction that took place between yourself and Ms. Peterson?”
“Yes,” I respond once again.
Both detectives nod and take the paper back. Then they pull out another paper from the folder and slide it over just like they did with the first. As soon as my eyes land on the photo, I freeze, time seems to stand still. My blood stops pumping through my veins and every ounce of oxygen in my lungs evaporates. I’m only vaguely aware that one of the two cops is asking me a question, but my brain just isn’t digesting what I’m seeing.
“Jesus fuck, Remmy!” Seb’s voice brings me back to reality. I look at him, his face holds nothing but disgust and hate for me. He stands up and turns away from the table, unable to look at the pictures any longer. I turn my attention back to what's laying on the table in front of me. I can’t believe what I’m seeing, and I have to stop myself from lashing out, from getting up to break something. The pictures show Jules passed out on a bed in nothing but her panties. I remember that night… I remember saving her, from him. Cole.
I’m going to kill him. I will fucking kill him even if it’s the last thing I ever do.
“Mr. Miller, do you admit to taking these pictures?”
“Fuck no! I didn't take these!” I jump from my chair, causing it to slam back against the wall. A snort comes from Detective Stevens, who hasn’t said anything until now.
“You think we are going to fucking believe you? We know you were at this party and we know you left with her, and we know you brought her back to your place and made her stay the night. We have witnesses and proof, you pervert, so do us all a favor and just admit to it so we can get this wrapped up.”
Dread hangs thickly in the air, making it hard for me to think, breathe, function. They want me to admit to a crime I didn’t commit. They want to put the blame on me because it’s easier than looking at the big fucking picture.
“The recording, yes that was me. I’ll admit to it, because I did it. And yes, I was at that party, but she was not there with me and I didn’t take the pictures.”
I take a deep breath, trying to figure out what I should say next. If I tell them the whole story, they will go straight to Jules and ask for her statement. She didn't want to tell anyone for this exact reason, she doesn't want to relive what happened and I more than respect that. If I tell them now, then I will betray her trust again. She will suffer because of me…just so I can clear my name, and I’ll be damned if I do that.
I can’t tell them, no matter the consequences.
“Look, this will go over with a judge way better if you just admit to taking the pictures.”
“I already told you I didn’t take those photos. I wouldn’t fucking do that to her.” I slam my fist down on the metal table, over and over again, willing them to fucking listen to me. Every time I see one of the photos my stomach churns and I have to hold back the need to vomit.
Cole. He’s the one who did this. He fucking did it, and still, I’m paying for it. I’m reaping the repercussions.
“This isn’t looking good for you, Mr. Miller, so I really advise you to come clean, it would be a better option for you.”
My lips pull into a thin line, and I cross my arms over my chest.
“I didn’t do it, and I won’t tell you that again.”
The questioning goes on for another twenty minutes with the same results. Each time they ask me a question I get angrier, the dread, the guilt, the fucking shame, pales in comparison to the hate I have for Cole, and myself. With a look between them, the detectives get up, one of them closing the folder and placing it under his arm.
“Am I under arrest?” I question.
Detective Stevens answers, “Not at this moment, but mark my words, I will find enough evidence to nail your ass to the wall. There are far enough assholes like you in this world, believe m
e when I say you won’t be missed. We’ll be in touch, Mr. Miller.”
They leave the room, leaving me and Seb to our own devices.
“Seb, I didn’t take the pictures.” I don’t know if he believes me or not and I can’t muster up the courage to look him in his eyes. I’m so angry at myself, so fucking pissed that I brought Jules into all of this.
He leaves the room, just as the detectives did, slamming the door shut behind him. I let my head fall into my hands, wishing this was all just a bad dream, one that I would be waking up from any minute now. I imagine I would roll over and she would be there, tucked into my side, but she's not and she never will be again, because I did this to us, turned this nightmare into a reality. Tears sting my eyes. I miss her so much, her touch, her smell, her fucking smile.
Closing my eyes, I remember her face, her blue eyes, soft blonde curls, adorable button nose, the way she whimpers and moans when she falls apart, her pink lips. A thousand memories rush through me flickering right before my eyes like an old style movie.
I sit there for a long moment, letting myself relive those things before I push the emotions aside and get up and walk back to my house like a robot. By the time I get home, my mind is still in disarray. I need to clear my head first, then I need to find Cole, but I don't know how, or even where to fucking start. I decide to go on a run, maybe that will help calm down the ever-growing storm inside of me.
When I reach my dresser, I pull open the top drawer and freeze. My knees buckle and I almost fall to the ground. I pick up the shirt that’s neatly folded on top and clutch it to my chest for a few minutes before returning it to the drawer. I get out my own stuff, but I leave the worn out cotton shirt with a faded Mickey Mouse logo laying on top.
I don’t think there is a chance that she will ever come back to me, but I can’t bring myself to think that she wouldn’t. I can’t let myself believe that there is no chance at all of her being mine again. We’re two pieces of the same soul, each other’s forevers and if I lose her, I might as well be dead.
Hope always dies last.
* * *
The days move slowly without Jules. I force myself to run every night just to stop myself from going to her. Sebastian hasn’t admitted it, but I know she’s staying with him, and it takes everything in me to give her time, space. Each day without her feels like an eternity. My reason to breathe starts and ends with her.
Gritting my teeth, I push harder, my lungs burn, a delicious ache forming in my muscles, as I round the block and sprint the rest of the way up to the house. As I get closer, I notice Sebastian and my father standing outside. They look as if they’re in a heated conversation, one that I don’t want to involve myself in. I’ve got enough going on inside my head. I don’t need to add more to it, that is unless it has something to do with Jules.
“Rem, you need to come with me,” Sebastian orders as soon as I reach the driveway. His jaw is clenched, and he looks pissed off.
“What’s going on?” I ask between breaths, sweat dripping down my forehead and chest, soaking my t-shirt. My father has a strange look in his eyes, one I’ve never seen before.
“The police are looking for you. They want you to come in right now.”
I roll my eyes. Fuck them, there is nothing to investigate or question. I didn’t do shit, not yet. They would have something to investigate if I could get my fucking hands on Cole, but thus far, I have no leads on where he is.
I lift my shirt, wiping at my brow with the fabric.
“Do I have time to change and shower?”
Seb shakes his head, and that only frustrates me more.
“Well, I guess let’s fucking go then,” I grumble, heading toward the SUV.
“Let them ask you their questions, son. You fucked up yes, but I know you didn’t hurt Jules like they’re saying you did.”
I don’t even care, there is nothing I can do to make them believe me, not without revealing what happened that night and I won’t do that to Jules. I’ll never hurt her again, ever.
Sebastian and my father get into the SUV, and we start off toward the police station I itch to ask him how she’s doing, if she still isn’t talking or eating, if she’s still having nightmares, but I worry that he wouldn’t tell me the truth, even if I did ask.
Dad’s the only one who’s told me of her current state. Sebastian is cold and aloof and doesn’t often mention Jules, if ever, when I see him.
“I know you think I did it, but I didn’t. I love her too much to do something so foolish.”
“You think because you tell me you love her that I’ll believe you?”
The tone of his voice catches me off guard, and before I can respond, he’s talking again.
“She refuses to eat, talk, shower, and sometimes I have to go into her bedroom at night because I worry that she might stop breathing… that she might just give up, might stop trying.”
There are no words, no response to what he just said. My heart literally fucking aches.
“You’re my brother Rem, and I love you, but you hurt her, you hurt her so badly, and I know you’re sorry, and that you didn’t mean for it to get this out of hand, but it did. It fucking did and now there are consequences for your actions.”
“I didn’t do it, Seb. I took the recording, but I didn’t take the photos. I saved her that night, from him…” The confession slips from my lips with ease.
“What? Who is him?”
“I can’t say. I don’t want Jules to have to relive that night. If I say something, they’ll ask more questions, they’ll go to her, they’ll bring her into all of this, and I don’t want to hurt her any more than I already have. I can’t fucking bear it.”
Sebastian sighs. “So you’ll take the downfall for the photos, to what? Protect her? They’re going to end up questioning her anyway.”
I shrug. “Then she can tell them whatever she wants. If she wants to tell them the truth, of what really happened that night, then she can. If she doesn’t, then I’ll take the fall.”
We pull up to the police station and park in the small parking lot out front. I open the door, but my dad grabs my arm and stops me from stepping out.
“Maybe we should get a lawyer before we talk to them.”
“Dad, I didn’t take the pictures,” I growl. I’m seriously getting tired of having to tell people that. I might have been fucking stupid enough to share that recording with the guys, but if I had photos of Jules, I wouldn’t be sharing them with the entire campus.
Those would be mine, all fucking mine.
“You heard what the lawyer you talked to said. There is nothing they can charge me with. The recording was fucked up but not illegal and I didn’t take those fucking pictures. I’ve denied it a million times and I’ll continue to deny it, because it wasn’t me.”
He sighs and lets go of my arm. I’m sure he thinks I’m being stubborn, but I won’t tell these assholes something just because they want to hear me say it. I get out of the car with my father following behind me.
“I’m going back to my place,” Seb announces. “Call me when you’re done, and I’ll come and get you. I don’t have the patience to sit through another session of questioning.”
We walk inside, all eyes snap up and land on me, like I’m some deranged criminal or something. It’s a small police department and it seems like everybody knows why I’m here. Detective Garcia comes around the corner and greets me in his usual emotionless way.
“Mr. Miller, would you please follow me.” He motions to the back and I start walking, my dad hot on my heels. “I’m sorry, sir, you will not be able to come with us into questioning today.”
“And why is that? Is my son under arrest?” My father’s voice bounces off the walls, filling the small space.
“Not at this moment, but I do, however, have a warrant to collect a DNA sample, which I will be doing.”
“DNA sample? For what? He didn’t fucking rape her.” My father expels anger coating his words.
�
��We have someone that’s come forward stating this isn’t the first time you’ve done something of this nature. The second girl has come out and said you sexually assaulted her. She went to a hospital for a rape kit which came back positive.”
My pulse quickens, my stomach twisting into a tight knot. I’m being set up...there is no other way to explain why this is all being put on me. I’ve never had sex with a woman more than once, and I never take from someone who isn’t willing. Never. I might have hurt Jules, but there is a fine fucking line between raping someone who doesn’t want you and recording something without their knowledge.
“What?” I growl. “That’s ridiculous. Why would you even accuse me of something so disgusting? I would never do that.”
The detective stares me straight in the eyes as he speaks, “Because the girl specifically named you. Miss Layla Hart, does her name happen to ring any bells, Mr. Miller?”
My lip curls, my veins fill with ice. “You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
For the next few hours, I’m questioned by the same two detectives that questioned me the first time. Someone comes in and swabs the inside of my cheek for DNA halfway through. I don’t know how many times they ask me the same questions over and over again. They want to break me down, get me to confess but there isn’t shit to confess to.
After a while, I just try to drown them out. I think about my father's face when they accused me of rape. I know he didn’t want to believe it, but when I looked into his eyes, I could see the doubt plaguing him. I want to be mad at him for not believing in me, but how can he after all of the things I’ve done. After the ways I’ve disappointed him. All evidence is pointing toward me so I can’t really blame him for doubting me. If I didn’t know for a fact that I wasn’t that kind of man, I would doubt myself.
I refused a lawyer hours ago. I didn’t see the point. They can’t make me confess to something I didn’t do and there is no evidence that I did anything, because it didn’t happen.
