The Runaways

The Questioning

IMPORTANT ANNOUNCEMENT HERE BC NO ONE READS THE END ONES... At least I don't. ANYWAYS -

I WILL BE CHANGING ERIN'S CHARACTER TO IMOGEN POOTS.

If you don't know who she is; she was in The Awkward Moment, Need for Speed, etc. She's super funny and gorgeous so yea.

BUT if you know her and don't like her- you're weird- okay just kidding but seriously. If you don't like her you can still think of her as WHOEVER YOU WANT.

Which reminds me - who do you imagine as Erin? As Nick? Michael? TELL ME PLEASE I WOULD LOVE TO HEAR.

And that concludes today's rant folks!

•

If I were to describe the police station in just a few words they would be somewhere along the lines of, stiff, dreary, uncomfortable, cold, or serious.

I sat awkwardly on a wooden bench with my parents on either side of me, waiting for the officer to call me in for questioning.

Everywhere I looked I saw unhappy people with scowls on their faces; walking with their shoulders slumped, drinking coffee, staring at a computer with their brows furrowed, wiping the exhaustion from their face with their hands. It made me depressed just looking at them.

When I offered a few a smile, they looked at me as if I were My Little Pony in the middle of a gory, horror film.

So much for trying to be polite.

"Ms. Clark?" I cringe hearing such a formal name for me that everyone has been calling me lately. Uncomfortable.

"Yes?"

"Officer Harrison will see you now," a young woman in a simple secretary-looking outfit smiled at me, waiting to lead the way. She was different from all the other people, much less dreary and more polite. She seemed friendly and I instantly felt comfortable with her warm, welcoming attitude that radiated from her.

I stood up, rolling my eyes when my parents mimicked me.

"Um, I'm sorry but Mrs. Harrison will see Ms. Clark alone," the woman directed at my parents.

"What?" There goes Mom again. "You can't do that-"

"She's nineteen, yes?" The short brunette woman raised a brow at my mother, daring her to speak up against her again.

Mom, tipping her chin up, huffed a breathe out of her lungs, sitting down with a prominent frown upon her face. My father stayed quiet and calm, as usual.

I felt as if I was headed into the principals office to be convicted as I trail behind the woman, walking down the hall. An unsettling nerve planted in my gut making me wary. Why must the police get involved? This is far too complicated for even me to comprehend, I couldn't explain it to someone else even if I wanted to. Which I don't.

"Here we are," she stops in front of a dark wooden door with an expected plaque attached to it. She opens the door kindly, ushering me in. "Don't be scared, sweetheart."

Her reassuring words do nothing to calm me.

The first thing I notice as I walk into the office is the woman sitting at the overly cluttered desk, her head buried in paperwork. She doesn't acknowledge me as I sit down. I look to the secretary in confusion, but she's already gone. I clear my throat multiple times in attempt to get the woman's attention. It doesn't work so I cough obnoxiously into my hand.

The lady groans leaning back in her chair, "fine, let's get on with it. You don't seem to want to be here and neither do I."

I'm taken back by her statement but glad she wants to get this over with as much as I do. Her expression is bored as she turns a recorder on, setting it on her desk, pointed at me.