Pessimistic [Completed]

25

He was stuck in the back seat of a police car like the criminal he was.

Keith was not there. Keith was in a different car. Or maybe at his mom's apartment.

That was probably worse.

His legs were becoming numb. Just what he needed; the weird demon infection to spread.

He didn't even know what happened when it fully covered him. Maybe he'd turn into a demon himself. Maybe he'd die. Cassandra never covered that.

The sirens had numbed his ears a while ago.

That didn't matter. There were much more important things.

He ended up at the police station. Of course. That's were the police go. And he was with the police.

Of course it would be hard to put together. He was just being stupid.

He was walked in, handcuffs chaffing his wrists. Any tighter and his fingers would turn purple.

They weren't taken off until he was in a dark room, the kind where you got a light shined in you eyes as a grown man yelled questions at you faster than you could answer.

It was still dark out. Not much time had passed. Everything was just going slow. Was this the first stage of grief or was he just overthinking? Didn't it have something to do with Cleopatra?

Where was Darnell? He hadn't even given him a second thought. Some friend he was.

He hoped he was being treated decently. Sure, he'd committed arson, but pyromania was hard to deal with. He'd done research on it for a school project once, when he was in sixth grade or something.

Maybe if he'd stayed in school none of this would have ever happened. He might have helped Darnell get treatment or something. Keith wouldn't be with his mom, he'd be out there, doing something big. Like rapping. That's what he'd always wanted to do, wasn't it?

Probably wishful thinking.

God, why was he such a pessimist? It was annoying listening to himself think.

A click came from near the door, and a yellowish light cast over the pastel teal walls. They were the color of those 'smooth and melty nonpareils', with the white sprinkles.

"You are Pico DeGallo, correct?" A tallish woman in a blue vest came over and sat in the chair across from him.

"Yeah." Pico's voice rasped.

"I'm Officer Tompston, but you can call me Becky if you'd like. I've got some questions for you regarding recent events at 749 Comberlin Road, as well as some other things." She pulled a strand of her straight blonde hair behind her ear. She had a weird birthmark or scar on her neck. It looked kind off like a platypus.

"How long have you taken residence there?" She held her pen in her right hand, the tip almost resting on the paper of her clipboard.

"Since March or April."

"It says on you file that you've been missing since the end of your seventh grade year, or otherwise for eleven years. Where were you?"

"Running."

"From what, might I ask?"

He thought for a moment. How was he supposed to answer this? "Not sure." Hopefully she wouldn't pry. He didn't have an answer.

"There must have been something. Few people, if not none, would drop their life for no reason. Were you in any immediate danger?"

"I thought I was, I think?"

"What caused you to stop running?"

"I found a friend." He wasn't sure if he was talking about Keith or Nene, both of them fit.

"Alright. Changing subject, what do you know about Keith B.F. Evans?"

He knew a lot about Keith.

He knew his hair was naturally brown and fluffy.
He knew he loved animals, and wanted a husky to cuddle when it was winter.
He knew he wanted to be a rapper and that his voice was more than angelic.
He knew that he bounced around when he was nervous and would squeeze the fabric of his pockets.
He knew his kiss tasted like grape soda, and that his lips were soft like the leaves on a milkweed plant.
He couldn't say any of that though.
"He's a cool guy."

"What's your relationship with him?"

His heartbeat echoed in his ears. He really didn't know at this point. He didn't even know if he would ever see him again.

It was so confusing, he wished he had an answer. Not for the officer, for himself. It was unfair.

"I don't know anymore." He felt like his heart was lodged in his throat, and there was that swelling feeling on the bottom of his tongue that came whenever he was going to be sick. He felt like he was going to cry. He was such a crybaby nowadays.

Feelings were so complicated, he wished he could just fall to the floor and stop breathing. Everything was such a problem.

"If you're feeling unwell, we can talk another time."
Pic couldn't let out any words. He was so powerless. He hated it. He just nodded frantically and hit his head on the table. It was going to leave a huge bruise, but there wasn't any reason to care.

He wanted to be done with everything. Why couldn't he just be fine for once? Why did everything have to be ruined?

• • •

He was taken home, barely able to muster the energy to walk through the door.

He practically fell on the couch and started crying. He didn't care who saw him anymore.

We're getting close to the ending, just a few more chapters >:)