Assault With a Deadly Weapon || N.H / 1D

28.

Song Recommendation: Smother by Daughter
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Today was my first day on the job.

I remember the last time I said that. I look fondly on the time almost ten months ago, when I first moved to Manhattan. My first day at the 17th precinct was one of the happiest days of my life. I'd been hired into my dream job, my bosses respected me, and it was the day where I met the closest things I had to friends. That was the day my life flipped for the better.

Today, it was taking a turn for the worse.

I stood in the foyer of the McBride Mansion, feeling threatened by the dark oak door in front of me. It seemed to have a power similar to that of a black hole. I could feel it pulling me in closer, begging me to twist the golden handle, though I knew very well that I wasn't allowed to. It instilled a fear, the type that's paralyzing, and inevitable.

The door seemed to be whispering to me.

You're not welcome here.

You're a fraud.

They'll kill you Ophelia.

Run away while you can.

The voice was warning me, but it was simultaneously pulling me in, the metaphorical contrasts were going to rip me in half.

Run away.

But don't leave me.

To anyone else in the room, I was standing in front of the basement door, waiting for Julian Hidalgo to call me in. A butler was watching me intently, with worried eyes. My hands were getting clammy, I wiped them down the sides of my light blue dress pants. My black turtleneck made me feel like I was suffocating. My heartbeat was louder than my thoughts, but I couldn't tell whether that was a positive thing or not. I tried to roll my shoulders back occasionally when I felt they were tense, but there were so many thoughts going through my head, so many neurotransmitters flashing across the synapse to make myself feel like I was in danger, that my shoulders would tense right back up, and I would forget about them.

Your body needs more air when it's panicking. That's because it's sending every ounce of oxygen power to your muscles, to your nervous system, to your heart, instead of your brain. That's why I felt light headed, that's why I felt like I could run a marathon, that's why I was yawning every thirty fucking seconds. The butler probably thought that I had gotten a terrible night's sleep.

But alas, that wasn't the case. I was just nervous about having to psychologically manipulate criminals.

This moment possibly could've been easier if I'd had at least a singular system of support. Just a crumb of encouragement maybe?

No.

Styles was gone. I had sworn to Julian that I wouldn't disclose the details of my position in the organization with anyone. Obviously I lied. I had told Styles everything beforehand. I trusted that man with my life, but according to Hidalgo, Alexander Reilly knew fuck all.  So there goes my physical support. The other channel was the boy behind the mic. He wasn't helping me at all whatsoever. I think sometimes Niall put a little too much trust in me. He'd never really seen me freak out before. Sure I've cried in front of him before, but have I sobbed? No. Have I panicked? Only once. To him, I was constantly cool under pressure. I was the girl who could take the wheel and drive one fifty down the interstate. That wasn't the real me. That was Fearless Philly Carter trying to impress the Detective that she unknowingly had a massive crush on. Regular old Detective Carter could very easily turn into a nervous wreck. Especially when she's undercover and her handler was being absolutely useless!