Chapter Seven: The One With The Police Station

"Ten, nine, eight, seven-." I evenly spaced each number counting back, sparing Rachel just the tiniest bit of time, but more because I wanted to watch her beg and cry right before me after all that she's done. It wasn't much to ask for compared to what she's caused. Is it a sin to want someone to hurt how they hurt you, even if it's much less than they did to you?

Behind me, police men were busy at work in whatever cases were opened recently and I had placed myself right smack in the middle of the staircase leading to the front doors of the station to get a good view of Rachel's face if she ever decided to show up. Her failure to only showed she was careless, and she didn't even attempt to defend herself or to apologize; to at least say something. It's been 15 minutes and nothing, but I've made myself clear about what I would do if she didn't show, and there wasn't any way I'd find reason to change my mind. She has to be punished.

"Six, five, four-." I mumbled on. The sky was starting to finally darken and give up for the day. As beautiful as the transition has always been, and though it's true it's never failed me or anyone, watching it while sitting in front of a building that was full of people responsible for fighting crime that couldn't get Mew's case right was penetrating. I couldn't feel more uneasy. On that feeling alone, I would've fled a long time ago, but that wasn't the only thing I was working with here.

"Shang, wait." The pleading sound from the figure's mouth could force out those two words but nothing else, as it doubled over to catch its breath. With its index finger out for me to see, desperately signaling for me to give them a moment, I recognized the perfectly manicured nails Rachel always went for. What was different was she was covered in a hoodie, oversized that it only showed the end of her shorts, and her shoes were mismatched - a condition she's never allowed anyone to see her in.

"Did you already report me? Please tell me you didn't, Shang, please! It's not what it looks like. It really isn't." She postured herself back to the standard position for the first time since her arrival, letting me see her bare face. Still panting, she struggled, but fought to get ahold of herself. It did improve, but wasn't fully stable.

"If you're this worked up you must've found Mew and I's note-passing. I admit, I've been looking for that notebook every time I came to your house to destroy it because I knew people would get the wrong idea if they found it first, but I couldn't find it anywhere. I was worried that you'd have these second thoughts about even looking at my face because you'd randomly find it. Mew wouldn't throw something like that away, so it had to be somewhere, but believe me, the timing was just wrong. I didn't do anything. I could never! It's just a phrase! Humans exaggerate all the time and i was just angry. 'I'm gonna kill you' or 'I'm gonna kill myself'. You've said it yourself at some point in your life, haven't you?"

I felt the need to gasp for air to get it into my lungs, but I tried to make it look as subtle as possible - to make it look like I was strong, fearless, and capable of destructing. I had to when I was in front of her, because I had no idea what she's done, what she could do, or the difference between the truth and a lie when she spoke. She's terrifying standing in a position like that because it can become powerful in all the wrong ways.

"Where were you on the day Mew passed?" I asked, changing the topic. This wasn't about me, but she was making it that way, and I needed the focus to be on her. Standing up, I avoided looking at her eyes like I'm the one that had guilt on my shoulders, so I wouldn't shed a single tear, but I could tell she was looking right into mine, blinking a little too much. Her eyes swelled and dabbed her cheeks with droplets, exactly what I didn't want to come out of myself.

"Shang. I'm really sorry that she's gone. I would've never wanted it to be that way, but what I regret the most is that we ended on bad terms. We were in a fight when she passed, and I've lived everyday feeling terrible that we didn't have a chance to apologize and start over again. We've fought so many times before. It's what friends do." She dodged the question I asked, not touching on it or skimming the surface at all, but from my perspective it was making her more and more drenched in sin. Her logic behind her passing was always different than mine, or at least she said so, but according to her belief in what she said now, that didn't match up well either.

"Do you think that Mew committed suicide because you both fought?" It was my turn to give her steady eye contact instead of the other way around, and that one sentence put the whole battle onto my turf, no doubt. As I looked at her, I could the sweat building up on either side of her face. She felt pressured, and with as much as she tried to focus all her energy on keeping a neutral or if not, empathetic look on her face, she wasn't doing very well.

"What? No, Crish. I didn't cause her death. I'm actually certain that she didn't commit suicide. I think someone killed her."

"So now you decide to change your story? Your whole perspective changes out of nowhere? The same perspective that you've stuck to for the last two years without wavering? Without believing anyone else's viewpoints or even considering it? It benefits you now so you change your mind? What the heck, Rachel?" I clicked my tongue three times, more as a reaction of confusion than feeling like I caught her red handed. I felt that way too, but even though the way she talked drowned herself in fault, it was too much to click right away in me. It was a lot to take in. "The one thing that baffled police is why such a seemingly happy girl would kill herself. That baffled the entire neighborhood, actually. Everyone knew her as such a content young woman and suddenly she's gone. It seems you knew why all along. It might be useless but it also might not. I'm gonna report it and maybe you'll get what you deserve out it. It fills in a lot of blanks in the story they already have. I don't think they'll hate me too much for bringing in this information. It's not necessarily a waste of their time now, is it?"

I turned around, heading toward the building I've been outside of for what feels like much too long. Rachel was calling after me, using my name several times to get me to at least look back, and when I wouldn't, she'd block me from the front, which would stop me only for a few seconds until I could get around her. The door, as daunting as it seemed, was getting closer, and after coming this far I wasn't going to let her get in my way. Not after she put herself in a bad light all by herself, willingly, though accidentally, or that's what I thought.

"I was at my mom's funeral." Rachel suddenly called out, and because of the sentence, my feet stopped on the top stair, failing my ability to continue heading forward. It didn't make sense, what she said, not even one percent, but the unsteadiness of her voice and the grieve in her that bawled so loudly the people turned their heads from wherever they were standing - it was too genuine and real, and it's a pain that I knew and understood too well.

It was hard to accept that this girl that was so careless about life and that made me feel mocked for mourning had this feeling shooting out of her. I hated her for what mess she's created, but this emotion - I felt for it too. I don't know which I hated more. When she tried getting over her tears and calming her tone to prepare herself to speak, I was afraid of what more would come, or if she was really going to confirm whatever this nonsense was she was bringing out into the open. "On the day that Camille passed," Rachel trailed off, exhaling shakily, but determined to make herself clear. "I was at my mom's funeral."

I found her behind me, letting the doors, that have been the finish line to this race, out of my focus, and I gave her my full attention. She was only a few stairs below me. As I looked down at her, seeing this helpless, scarred and weak version of her I couldn't believe it was the same Rachel I've known for so long, there's so much that was going through my head.

The feeling I could fathom. I've been there in that zone for what's been so many days, weeks, and months, that my brain didn't recognize it as pain anymore, but seeing her in this condition was over my head. She's like Mew. There's a side to her that I've never known; one that she didn't show to me and one that barely started to unfold. It made me wonder if this is what Mew was so afraid of. If she didn't express other sides of herself to me because she didn't know if I'd get it, or if I'd support her. It made me wonder if I should be feeling some level of guilt myself, instead of trying to find the sole person who had the physical proof of such a word.

There's so many questions to ask. So much that doesn't make sense, and all these ideas that made my head spin, but the first priority for what the moment is might just be to figure out what this girl right in front of me is going through and what she's been carrying all by herself. At the same time, it might not be. Maybe it was a dangerous route to take, but that didn't change that seeing her made me curious over what similarities and differences there are when it comes to who she is and who I know her as.

I couldn't help but to say it directly. There isn't and there won't be any other way around it. Clearing my throat, and wiping away the tears that must've been contagious I stared as kindly as I could at her, talking to her softly.

"But I thought your mom was alive."