Dollhouses
02
“Think,” the agent ordered, his face dangerously close to falling off of his hands, which were intertwined. He’d been trying to get more than ‘I don’t know’ out of me for hours. “Was there anything missing?”
“You think it was a robber?” I asked, wondering what someone would want to steal from me and why they’d go ahead and kill something if that’s all they’d wanted.
The agent sighed, his shoulders deflating as he realized he still wasn’t getting anywhere. “No, we don’t think it was a robber, but you can’t rule anything out at this point,” he looked professional, but they way he spoke so openly made me want to believe it was fake. The suit was just a reassuring facade and was slowly loosing it’s appeal.
My head lowered itself and my knees pulled closer to my chest just the slightest. I wanted to curl myself into a ball somewhere safe, somewhere where I wouldn’t have to worry about boyfriends getting murdered. I burrowed into myself, wondering what it would be like to have a normal life. The agent sighed, “Has anything like this ever happened before?”
My eyes shot up to his, “Yeah, actually.”
“Well, that’s a start,” the words came out in a low, slurred sigh. He moved so that he wasn’t leaning his elbows on the table and instead his back was against the back of his chair in a slump. His fingers steepled below his jaw, “Tell me about this other time,” he lowered his hands in my direction; my cue to speak.
I kept my bad posture. “Times,” I corrected, ignoring the confused wrinkle that creased itself into his forehead. “When I was younger my best friend was spending the night and when I woke up in the morning she was just gone. No one ever found her, actually. When I first moved out of my parent’s house I got a cat and she died and then so did the dog I got a year ago,” I started rambling, trying to list all of the disturbances that riddled my life with a decent mindset. “It got to the point where I started to think I was cursed or something,” I mumbled in conclusion.
“So you think these things happened because of you?” the agent sounded befuddled as his hands crumpled themselves together again and he leaned his wrists against the desk. He was restless for such a professional.
I glared back at him, “What are you? My therapist?” My voice was venom, it shot straight out to slap him in the face but he took it all in stride, much to my disgust.
“Do you have a therapist?” he asked, a humored flame dancing in his eyes. This was so funny, he was given the task of interviewing an already damaged girl.
I reminded myself that I couldn’t lie, even though I really wanted to at this point. I wanted to get out of this room before it suffocated me, even the cold night air would be more welcoming than this tension filled hell. “No,” the word fell torturously from my traitor lips. Why couldn’t I have just lied?
This brought joy to the agent, I could tell he was trying not to laugh as he asked me for a name.
“You think it was a robber?” I asked, wondering what someone would want to steal from me and why they’d go ahead and kill something if that’s all they’d wanted.
The agent sighed, his shoulders deflating as he realized he still wasn’t getting anywhere. “No, we don’t think it was a robber, but you can’t rule anything out at this point,” he looked professional, but they way he spoke so openly made me want to believe it was fake. The suit was just a reassuring facade and was slowly loosing it’s appeal.
My head lowered itself and my knees pulled closer to my chest just the slightest. I wanted to curl myself into a ball somewhere safe, somewhere where I wouldn’t have to worry about boyfriends getting murdered. I burrowed into myself, wondering what it would be like to have a normal life. The agent sighed, “Has anything like this ever happened before?”
My eyes shot up to his, “Yeah, actually.”
“Well, that’s a start,” the words came out in a low, slurred sigh. He moved so that he wasn’t leaning his elbows on the table and instead his back was against the back of his chair in a slump. His fingers steepled below his jaw, “Tell me about this other time,” he lowered his hands in my direction; my cue to speak.
I kept my bad posture. “Times,” I corrected, ignoring the confused wrinkle that creased itself into his forehead. “When I was younger my best friend was spending the night and when I woke up in the morning she was just gone. No one ever found her, actually. When I first moved out of my parent’s house I got a cat and she died and then so did the dog I got a year ago,” I started rambling, trying to list all of the disturbances that riddled my life with a decent mindset. “It got to the point where I started to think I was cursed or something,” I mumbled in conclusion.
“So you think these things happened because of you?” the agent sounded befuddled as his hands crumpled themselves together again and he leaned his wrists against the desk. He was restless for such a professional.
I glared back at him, “What are you? My therapist?” My voice was venom, it shot straight out to slap him in the face but he took it all in stride, much to my disgust.
“Do you have a therapist?” he asked, a humored flame dancing in his eyes. This was so funny, he was given the task of interviewing an already damaged girl.
I reminded myself that I couldn’t lie, even though I really wanted to at this point. I wanted to get out of this room before it suffocated me, even the cold night air would be more welcoming than this tension filled hell. “No,” the word fell torturously from my traitor lips. Why couldn’t I have just lied?
This brought joy to the agent, I could tell he was trying not to laugh as he asked me for a name.