✧ ೃ༄*ੈ✩ 𝘼𝙎 𝙏𝙃𝙀 𝙒𝙊𝙍𝙇𝘿 𝘾𝘼𝙑𝙀𝙎 𝙄𝙉 ───
❛❛ 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘩𝘦𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘵 𝘪𝘴
𝘰𝘶𝘳 𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭 𝘯𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘭𝘪𝘷𝘦 ❜❜
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Beckham Santos was happy with her life. She was the head cheerleader, living up to her senior year, and had the b...
━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━ chapter 7: ( ghost of you )
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❝ it's you that i lie with ❞ ━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━
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When the tears weren't even halfway done, Beckham was empty. She couldn't have cried even if she wanted to. She hadn't experienced this feeling before. The sadness was still there, but not raw anymore— now it was an empty unhappiness— the kind she didn't think would easily lift. She stared around her as if she was in a pit. Her surroundings were exactly the same, but they gave her no emotion. How could that be? She needed emotion to feel alive, to feel love. But how could she when her love slipped through her fingers. Both of them.
She was taken to the police station to make a statement. Her parents told her she could wait, but she wanted to get it over with. So, there she sat on the cold metal chair, Sheriff Goode staring back at her. His finger moved to start the tape recorder and her rehearsed lines came to use.
"Interview with Beckham Santos. Sunday, October 2nd, 1994. Wanna tell me what happened?"
No.
"We were picking up Sam's prescription." Her voice was hoarse and she didn't look him in the eye. She couldn't. "And the lights went out. It was pitch black. I couldn't see anything. We ducked behind a counter. We hid until it was over."
"How'd you get that?" He gestured to the cut on the side of her neck.
"I fell on some glass."
He nodded, not believing her or the what the other victims told him. "I'll tell you what the facts tell me. The junkies—"
"Don't say that. Don't you dare fucking say that." Her head finally lifted as she stared at him with animosity, her eyes almost looking black. "Their names were Kate Schmidt and Simon Kalivoda. And I swear to God, if you don't put any respect on their goddamn names. They were heros, more than you've ever been in this fucking town! In this fucking state!" She slammed her hands on the table while standing up. "Don't you fucking put labels on them because you didn't know them like we did. You don't deserve to say shit about them." Sitting back down, she stopped the recorder and pushed it to the floor, leaning in close.
