Her Dark Desire (In the Process of Being Edited)

20

Back and forth. Back and forth. It feels like the walls are closing in on me. Sweat continues to drip down my face, landing in huge droplets on the floor as I pace. I raise my hand to wipe the sweat away. It's a pointless gesture. More perspiration forms in its place. It's too quiet in this room. Each step I take thunders in my ear. My heart feels like it's ready to burst free of my rip cage and end this torture. I welcome it. Anything to end my nightmare. No clocks. No way to tell me how long I've been here. I know they're watching, waiting for me to crack but I wont.

A nervous chuckle erupts from my chapped lips. Who am I kidding? I'm two minutes from caving under the weight of this nightmare. Probably even less. I lick my lips and taste iron. With shaky fingers I touch my bottom lip. It's bleeding, it hurts to be touch yet I can stop pressing on it with the tips of aching fingers. I need to feel something. Pain is better than nothing. I want to scream. They've got the wrong person. There's a wall separating me from freedom. I smear blood on it and rest my throbbing head against the wall. It's so cool.

    I can still hear the rushing footsteps stopping outside my bedroom door. The hushed voices. My mother screams and the taunting remarks before the door slams open. No one can save me now, not even my father. That's what they said as they dragged me from my bed. I tripped, stumbling into the dresser. Not even that stopped them. The air was knocked from my lungs as they slammed me against the wall. Blood trickled from my nose. Sadistic laughs from the men in the room. That's what I get. They laughed even more twisting my arms to secure the handcuffs.

    Sobs followed me out of my room, the wailing only grew louder when the words were uttered. You're under arrest for the murder of Trudy Moore. My legs gave out at that moment. No one attempted to catch my falling body. The floor collided with my body causing an audible thud that echoed throughout the house. I awakened to the smell of rotten eggs being passed under my nose. I couldn't speak. The officers helped me to my feet with a quick jerk and escorted me out of the house. My foot hadn't touched the gravel before a man rushed to me. It was Trudy's Father. I had only met him once but I would recognize the baldy and chubby man.

The first connected with my mouth. More punches assaulted me. Over and over. Don't help me, they said. He deserves this beating. I deserve this. I turned my head and there my mother stood sobbing uncontrollably in her pink robe. Two officers held her back. I watched as she collapsed to the ground between them. She placed her head on her knees and pounded on the pavement.

Her cries of why haunted me as they threw my beaten body in the cruiser. By then our neighbors had shuffled from their homes out into the street. They watched the scene with critical eyes. An embarrassment to my family, an eyesore, I don't deserve to live. They whispered and applauded once they heard why I was being arrested. As the car drove away and the sun began to rise, my last thought was that I was glad he wasn't home.

    Now I stand here in this room, wondering why this is happening to me. If my father was here he'd blame Paisley. This wasn't her fault. This isn't even mine. They're looking for an scapegoat, my mind whispers. The door to my left opens. They walk in. A smug aura wraps itself around them and they smirk in my direction.

    "Have a seat," the detective says. I continue to stand as I was, head resting nicely on the wall. "Have a seat," he says again. This time he grabs my bruised shoulder and steer me in the direction of the metal table. I look up into his eyes and see no kindness in them. He watches, waiting for me to give him a reason to use force. I sit. He smiles. "Good boy."