Chapter 5 Wait, What?

Elena's Pov

We ended up in a cold, sterile room that I soon understood was the police station.

I sat on a hard plastic chair, feeling small and utterly lost in a world that no longer made any sense to me. An officer sat across the table, leaning close as he asked his questions. "Your name?"

The boy sighed with an exhaustion painful to witness. He looked at the man with weary eyes. "She cannot remember her name."

While we spoke with the first officer, another policeman walked over. He sat across from me with a friendly expression. "Now, don't be nervous, miss," he said gently. "We're just here to help you get home. It's been a while since we had a case like this, but I'm confident we can figure it out together."

I couldn't sit still, no matter how hard I tried. The walls felt like they were closing in. Fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, the sound drilling into my skull. I stood up, eyes darting around the room, searching for something, anything that could save me from the terrible trouble I had caused.

The boy quickly dragged me back down into my seat, his grip firm and unyielding. His phone rang. He spoke briefly, his voice hard and cold. "Come to the police station." Then he hung up without waiting for a response.

The new officer turned back to me, frustration starting to show on his face. "Do you remember your name at all?"

I looked down at the desk. A name had been scrawled on a piece of paper lying there. "Elena." The name felt heavy on my tongue, like a word I hadn't spoken in a very long time.

"What's your last name?" the officer asked.

I shook my head slowly and told the truth. "I cannot remember my last name."

The boy stared at me, mouth hanging open in complete shock. His jaw dropped. "Why couldn't you tell me that when I've been asking for you for your name this whole time? So you actually have a name after all?"

He stood and bowed quickly to both officers. "I'm leaving now. If you find any information about her, please call me." He wrote his phone number on a piece of paper and handed it to them with a nod.

He turned toward the door and started walking away.

I stared at his back, unbelieving. Where did he think he was going? Leaving me here with officers who looked like they might swallow me any moment?

"Hey!" I snapped at him.

He didn't stop.

I reached out and grabbed his waist from behind, holding on tight with all the strength I had. He tried to pull away, but I was much stronger than he expected. I refused to let him walk out that door, leaving me behind in this cold, strange place.

Just then, the heavy doors of the police station swung open with a loud creak. A woman walked inside, followed by a man who carried himself like a teacher—neat clothes, tired eyes. The boy saw the man and shouted with recognition. "Teacher!"

The woman was Mrs. Anthony. From the look on her face, she had not come for any friendly purpose. She ignored the police officers entirely and walked straight to where we stood without hesitation. She looked at the boy with pure hate burning in her eyes. She stood right in front of us, silent for a long, terrible moment.

Then she smiled. Her smile was cold enough to freeze the air between us.

"I want to sue this boy," she said to the officers.

She walked over to the men who had interrogated me. She didn't even glance my way. She turned to the police, her eyes brimming with fake, watery tears. "My daughter, Chloe, wanted to end her life because of his harassment. I need a lawyer. I need him arrested tonight."

Her performance was chilling. So dramatic. I sighed and turned to Liam. He stared at her dumbfounded, his mouth slightly open.

She kept going. She went on and on about proper steps, about how to handle a nineteen-year-old teenager, about the forms she needed to fill out. Her voice bounced off the walls like a screech. The teacher beside her nodded at everything she said, looking exhausted.

Then the door opened again.

An old woman stood there, her face pale with terror. She didn't look at anyone else. As if the officers and Mrs. Anthony were invisible, she ran straight to Liam. She grabbed his arms, touched his shoulders, checked his face to see if he was hurt.

"Liam! Are you alright? Are you hurt?" She sobbed, clutching his jacket.

The lead officer stepped between them, trying to calm the chaos. "Please, let's try to settle this amicably. There is no need to jump straight to a lawsuit."

Liam's Grandma turned on Mrs. Anthony. Her voice trembled with indignation. "Sue? Who are you to sue my grandson? What do you think you are doing?"

Mrs. Anthony stood up. A sharp, hysterical laugh echoed off the walls. "So the police are going to take the side of a criminal now?"

"We are not taking sides," the officer retorted, keeping his voice firm. "You cannot sue anyone without evidence. These are children. We need to hear both sides of the story before making any accusations."

What the hell really goes through a human's head? One moment they cry. The next moment they laugh. Then they point fingers and scream about lawyers. No one listens. Everyone just wants to be right. I just wanted this to end. Quickly.

But nothing ever ends quickly, does it?

I couldn't stop myself. I walked directly between Liam and Mrs. Anthony. "He saved your daughter." My voice came out clear and unwavering. "I saw the whole thing. He didn't hurt her. He was the only reason she is still alive."

Mrs. Anthony turned to me with pure disgust. She gave the teacher standing beside her a sharp side-eyed glance. "You saw it?" Her voice dripped with poison. "And who, exactly, are you supposed to be?”