lovesick criminal • brallon

eighteen

"So, on Friday of last week, did you see Mr. Weekes?" The man asks, leaning back in his chair. The room is bleak. Gray. Sad.

"Yes. He came over around 10." I respond, focusing on keeping my voice steady. Actually, he came over at 11:30, after probably murdering someone. "He was at my place all night. During the day he was at work." 

"How long have you known him?"

"Uh.. about a year, a believe." At least that one's true.

"And he talks to you? About his life, and such?"

"Yes, quite often." Sort of.

"Has Mr. Weekes ever expressed to you a desire to physically harm, or kill people?" I look up at him.

"No, no never. Dallon wouldn't hurt a fly. He's a sweetheart." I lay it on thick, widening my eyes a little and sounding as emotional as possible. Ha! That's funny.

The interrogater writes something down on his pad of paper. "And he's never come home, seeming in shock, or acting strange?"

"Huh-uh." I shake my head. Also true.

"How was his childhood?" he asks.

"It was fine, as far as I know." I shrug. "His parents are still together, uh, no home troubles." I left out the part where he killed animals as a child and was disconnected from society.

"Alright. He's never hurt you, or anyone close to him?" The interrogater asks.

"Nope." Not anyone close to him. So technically, that was true.

"Have you ever felt in danger, or scared that he might harm you?"

"Never. I feel very safe around Dallon, and I've got a good sense of these kinds of things." I reply. Sure, I feel safe around Dallon. But then again, I felt safe around Ryan at first.

"Okay. That'll be all. Thank you Mr. Urie." The man nods. "Yeah, no problem." I nod, standing up. The metal legs of the chair scrapes against the floor. "Oh, and by the way, you do know that he picked up a hooker, right?" the guy asks. I give him an exaggerated sigh. "Yes. I do." My lawyer and I walk out of the room. I'm calm on the outside, but internally, the guilt is chewing away at my insides.