Little White Lies | Klaus Mikaelson (1)

Tired of Being Alone

(OKAY yall. Emma is gonna do the stuttering thing "like I-I." I know it's like commonly made fun of (by me lol) but if you keep reading i think stuttering is appropriate.)

My knee bounced up and down. The interrogation room was completely silent. I sat alone, the horrible white light shining down on my face. My finger tapped on the metal table. My breaths were short. My eyes darted all around the room. I couldn't focus on anything for more then five seconds.

When were they gonna ship me off to Juvie? Hell, I'm 17, couldn't they opt for an adult sentence? How does one break out of prison? God, I'm definitely going to prison. I wonder if Dad got his 50k? My stomach is growling, I'm starving. Will I need to do schoolwork in jail? Holy fuck what are my friends going to think.

They're gonna hate me. God, I went from comedic relief to criminal mastermind. What are they gonna think about me? I really am so stupid. If I'd just left- never gotten him the money in the first place, I'd be fine. If I'd just called CPS at the first red flag, I wouldn't be here. If I'd just not given up, I wouldn't be here!

All these what if's, all these alternative universes, they wouldn't change the fact I was very nearly incarcerated. So it's fine. I might as well accept it.

"Emma Bertan," The door slammed open. My head shot up to a stuffy looking man, with a bit of a beer belly. He was clean shaven, dressed in a plain suit. His hair was combed back to perfection. Obviously to hide the fact he was half bald.

You know, I don't like cops for a number of reasons. One, they have never done anything to help me. They come over, ask if you're okay, you say yea, then they leave. Or when something terrible happens to you and you go to report it, and they say you don't have enough proof.

"Yeah," I responded, "I'm Emma."

He walked towards me, somehow out of breath from simply walking across the room. He took a seat across from me. He rested his hands, finger tip to finger tip, on the table. I glanced down at his hands, then up at him. Stop man spreading in front of me, old man.

"Hello, Miss Bertan," He greeted through yellowed teeth, "I'm Officer Kurtis Perry. You can call me Kurt, though. My friends call me Kurt."

What the fuck?

"I'll stick with Officer Perry, thanks," I responded. I watched his eyebrows quirk at my challenge. I'd prod him until he shedded his skin. Simple.

His lips pressed tightly together. "I say we skip the legal details, huh?" He questioned, "As you know, you're a suspect in a robbery. It would be best if you just confess now, we could see if we could lesser your sentence. Make a plea-."

"Why would I confess to a crime I didn't commit, Officer Perry?" I asked through a sweet smile.

He sighed. You can't crack me, old man. Give up now. And so he did. He sat back, adjusting his suit and grunting. "Alright. I'm gonna be frank with you. Can I be frank?" I nodded. "Things aren't looking good for you, Miss Bertan. Orphaned, wrong side of the track, foster kid. Crime is much more common among those who weren't raised... right." His words were dehumanizing. Like he thought I was less than because I didn't grow up with a loving family. His dismissive nature caused strikes of thunder in my brain.

"Anyone with common sense would suspect you. Not to mention your own father turned you in," He reasoned.

"Foster father," I corrected hotly, "And if your analysis of me is based solely off of my upbringing, then you might want to check your biases before speaking to me. And should you manage to check them, you should also refrain from talking to me like I'm brain dead. Are we clear, Kurt?"