“It wasn’t me,” I say quickly, the words breathless and garbled on my heavy tongue. I can barely manage a coherent thought beyond the pain and panic scrambling my brain.
“You’re under arrest,” the second officer barks, stomping toward me. “Get up.”
“Wait, no!” I gasp. “I didn’t—” A yelp interrupts my plea when he grabs my bicep and hauls me to my feet. The world around me spins, and vomit teases the back of my throat again.
“Charlotte D’Amour, you have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law…” The rest of his words get lost in my adrenaline and confusion.
“W-what? No, that's not even my name anymore! I-I didn't do this!”
“Then why is she in your room?” one retorts snidely, but I flounder, not having an answer.
Someone obviously called them, but did they already know the woman was in here? Maybe they finally caught my father, and he told them where to find the body. Fucking hell, did he tell them I did it?
It wouldn’t surprise me if my father framed me to avoid blame. I’ve ignored his letters since I walked out on him in that damn prison, and his penciled words have long since grown angry for turning my back on him when he‘needed me most.’
Typical fucking narcissist, somehow making himself the victim andmethe bad guy.
The officer forces my wrists to my back, clipping metal handcuffs around them before grabbing my bicep and roughly jerking me after him, sending another jolt of pain through my shoulder.
I stumble, struggling to stay in step as he drags me down the hallway. Several girls already have their heads peeking out of their rooms, likely having heard them practically kicking my door down, while others swing theirs open as I pass, brow furrowed and eyes wide. Whispers circulate around me, already tossing around misinformation and rumors.
“What did she do?”
“I dunno. Was anyone recording at least?”
“No, fuck! I forgot my damn phone.”
“Wait, I thought I heard them say something about a warrant for her arrest?”
“Oh my God, she’s a criminal, too?”
“I thought everyone knew she has a record.”
“Did one of them say something about a murder? Or am I insane?”
“What? She killed someone?”
“I don't know, maybe! Go check her dorm or something.”
“No, you! I don’t want to see that shit if she did.”
“You guys are such pussies. I’ll go look.”
I close my eyes in defeat, tears slipping through my eyelashes as I’m dragged down the stairs to the main floor. Someone yelps from down the hallway, presumably having seen the carnage in my room, followed by various people asking what she sees, only for them to gasp in horror.
“Why are you letting people in there?” I snap, glaring between the two men on either side of me. “That’s literally a crime scene!”
The one holding on to me jerks my arm, and barks, “Just keep walking.”
What the fuck?
They shouldn’t allow anyone to fucking see that. I don’t understand why there aren’t more officers flooding the dorms and taping off the room. At the very least, why haven’t they called anyone? Just as the questions tease my tongue, the second officer pushes open the exit, inviting a rush of freezing air to smack me in the face. It’s cold enough to turn the tears on my cheeks to ice if I stand out here long enough.
It’s the middle of January, and several inches of snow coat the ground. Fresh flurries dance through the air, stirred by an invasive breeze that worms beneath my winter coat.
“Can you at least listen to me for a fucking second?” I try again, hysteria heightening my voice as my head swivels back and forth, desperate for one of them to just listen to me. “It—it wasn’t me who did that!”
They promptly ignore me, leading me off the sidewalk directly into the courtyard ahead of the building. I frown and attempt to slow my steps as I process what exactly I’m seeing.
