Salted Caramel Coffee (COMPLETED!)

Chapter Twenty Two} F¡ręfł¡ę$

     "Emma Wolfe?"

     The room is small, and it almost feels like the walls are closing in on me. Unlike the long hallway, everything here is painted pure white.

I don't think you understand. I nearly go blind from how white this room is. It's such an abrupt change from a deep, stormy gray, to the clean color of broken eggshells. And of course they have bright ass lights all along the ceiling, which doesn't help.

"Hello?" I squint to see through the light, shading my eyes with a hand. It doesn't help at all.

Once my vision somewhat adjusts to the room, I notice that it's divided in half by a layer of thick glass. A few tiny circles are cut out in the middle, as if someone used a toothpick to poke holes in a sheet of plastic wrap so that their fireflies wouldn't suffocate. On my side of the glass, there is nothing but a metal chair, (painted white, obviously) and the lights on the ceiling, which I couldn't reach even if I jumped as I as I can. On the other side, a woman sits calmly, watching me as if I'm her television program. She sits behind a white table and on a white chair, a white pen positioned over a clean sheet of paper, ready to write. But what exactly?

     "Take a seat," she says, her thin lips pressed into a straight line. She looks so nonchalant- how come her voice is so harsh?

I scoff. "No thanks."

I watch as the woman's nostrils flare, the tips of her ears turning a brilliant shade of red. I like seeing her mad. It gives me a pedestal in a way. I refuse to do anything for someone who doesn't say please, anyway. It's just manners.

"Ma'am, take a seat. Now."

I walk straight up to the chair, leaning on it, but not sitting down. "Maybe I would if you were more polite."

The woman sighs, glaring at me. "Sit down, please." She hisses.

I let out a breath of air, collapsing into the metal chair with clang. "Sheesh, that's all you had to say."

Why I wanted to piss her off is beyond me. I think I'm just overwhelmed by the bright lights and the six foot tall man who's probably still standing just outside the door. The whole situation is really stressing me out, and it feels like the only way to avoid it is to cause chaos.

     I hate chaos.

      The woman shuffles her sheets of paper until they're stacked neatly, one directly on top of each other. The redness in her ears is beginning to calm, which makes something twitch inside me. "My name is Molly J. Jansen, but please call me Investigator Jansen. I will be asking a few questions about your situation today. I genuinely suggest that you tell the truth- the full truth. It will only make the process longer and more difficult if you lie."

     Hmmm... more difficult? I wonder who's specialty is making things harder for themselves?

    I lick my lips, leaning back against the chair with my arms crossed over my chest. Investigator Jansen stares at me through the glass as if she's waiting for me to say something, but refuses to say what. I clear my throat loudly. "Proceed." I say, gesturing for her to start.

"Alright," Jansen mumbles under her breath. She runs a hand lightly over her slicked back hair, tracing it back to the bun that sits at the top of her head. There's not a single flyaway that I can see. I wonder how her scalp doesn't ache from how tightly her hair is pulled back; maybe it does. "Full name?"

I narrow my eyes. "Didn't you say it as I walked in?"

Jansen narrows her eyes right back. "How hard are you gonna make this?" She snaps through her teeth.