“Love? You want my opinion on love? Why does this correlate with anything that happened?”

        I say that as if I don’t have the perfect answer. Love is simply fake. Everything is fake. Nothing is real. Agree with me or not, it’s fake. Let’s say a girl and boy get into a relationship, they progress to saying “I love you” like they know what it means. The relationship continues for about 6 months or so and they start having problems. The boy isn’t paying attention, he’s always out with his quote-on-quote friends, and the girl just wants it to be like how it was at the beginning. They break up but the girl is still obviously “in love” with the boy. While he is already saying stuff like “I never loved her” or “I already have 5 chicks going after me. I never needed her.” Then proceeds to do it over and over again until he realizes that the first girl he was with is the “only one” for him. While she’s thriving, not have one singular thought about him. I suppose all relationships aren’t like that but my guess would be at least 85% are like that.

            “It correlates to what happened because you are our number one suspect at this moment.” Number one suspect? Hah. Lies. I saw another person walk into this place who goes to my school who knows just about the same as I do.

        “Fine. Are you married? Bet that marriage won’t last long due to some addiction you or your wife may carry. Is that enough for my opinion on love?”

        Bonehead cop. That was such a pathetic question. It had nothing to do with what happened. He’s perverted in the head, isn’t he? He probably wanted me to say “Oh but love is such a wonderful feeling. It doesn’t matter how old or young you are. Love is love.” Ew, that’s so disgusting.

      “Uh-huh. Onto the last few questions ma’am. I need your focus at all time. This is not the time to be making jokes.”

       Yawn. He’s so dull. “Okay then. Continue. I’ll keep my ‘jokes’ to myself.” He does realize I’m definitely a lot smarter than him. I have a brighter future than he has and he’s a damn cop. Whatever, I’m too tired to continue this mess of a conversation with this cop.

      “Alright continuing on. You and the victim were quite close, right? As I have heard, you guys had been friends since the third grade. Isn’t that correct?” He says it as if I didn’t know who my own best friend was and how long the friendship was.

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       “Yes, we were. Known them since I started remembering.”

      This is getting boring. I had nothing to do with what happened and they still want to question me. “Going off of what I have heard, you guys were having problems the last few weeks. You weren’t talking to her and she wasn’t talking to you. If I am correct, it was over a boy. Is that right ma’am?”

      This weird feeling came across my body. It was a kind of anxious sensation but along with anger. I don’t want to answer the question but I have to. The anger part is just me wanting to punch him due to asking that. That odd feeling went away and I finally spoke after a few minutes of stuttering.

      “I— uhm. Yes. That is what happened. We, uhm, we got into an argument over a boy and it caused us to stop talking because we thought we both equally needed a small break from each other.” That sounds horrible hearing it out loud. It sounds awful. My body feels like it’s shaking but I can’t tell if it’s from how freezing this room is and the fact I don’t have my jacket, or because of the anxiety that was building and finally came out because of what he asked. It’s probably both though, mainly the anxiety.

     “Okay. Can we have the name of this boy?” He started getting ready to write in his little notepad. “Then afterward, can you tell me why exactly you two were arguing over this specific guy?”

     The shaking starts getting worse to the point I’m stuttering almost everything I say. “I, uhm, yes. H— His name? It, uhm, it’s Noah, Noah, uhm, Noah Jones.” Crap. I sound like a moron. “C-can I, uhm, can I get a chance to breathe please? I- uhm, I just need a moment.” Crap. I can’t think. What’s wrong with me? Why did that question bother me?

     That bonehead cop writes the name down then starts to stand up. “That’s alright. Five minutes, max. I will be back around,” he started to check his watch and stared at it intensely. Can he not read a watch? “I’ll be back to continue the questions around 1:15. Like I said, five minutes is the maximum time. If you’re ready, just knock on the window.”

     He starts to walk to the door so he can leave. He opens the door, exits, and leaves. Five minutes? Really? That’s not enough time. Whatever, I have to make the most of what I got.  Why can’t I talk? My body is still shaking, badly, and I don’t know how to stop. Only if… she was here. She’d know what to do. After all, she is my best friend, or I guess in this case, was my best friend. Hard to face the fact she’s gone now. What if we still talked? What if we hung out that one day? What if we never stopped talking? She would still be here. I know she would’ve been. It’s in my guts that she would. I never hated her. Why would I? There’s nothing to hate.

      Crap, crap, crap, I’m starting to cry. I can’t. I have to be strong. Just take deep breaths and I’ll be fine. Inhale, exhale. Just breathe. Finally, the tears are gone. The shaking has calmed down. I’m alright. I’m okay, or well technically, I will be okay. I’m not okay right now. My best friend is dead.