The windows are rolled up , and I’m in the back seat, belts tightly wrapping around my body. I squint, and rub my eyes with both palms, head spinning in circles. The heated seat is warming up my spine, like a blanket hugging me tight—only till I end up chocking from the heat itself.

I turn my head to the side, and look around—confused. Small leaves are stuck up on the windows, with their tiny droplets reflecting a blurry image of my face.

“Where am I?”

I notice a passanger sitting motionless beside me, their dark hair curling up at the ends.

She looks at me with glossy eyes—glossy as her delicate lips shining in the dim light of the sun.

“You’ve passed out”

She simply replies, as if that was the most normal thing in the world.

“Passed out?”

I clear my throat, my back straightening up. I realize my chest is bare naked, my shirt no where in sight.

“Wheres my shirt?”

My voice cracks, and I put my hands over my cold skin, trying to cover up my shriveled, freckled body.

“Listen up kiddo, you’ve been at a party—drunk.“

Party?

What party?

“I wasn’t in any party”

I say, though hesitant with my own words.

I look up at her again, and realize a tiny silver badge hiding under her leather coat.

“Am I…am I getting arrested?”

I gulp.

She takes out her lipstick from her side pocket, and applies it with great care. Her long lashes twitch under the mirror she’s holding up, her long strands of hair falling onto her face.

“Yes.”

“For what??”

“For murder.”

My throat catches and suddenly I find it hard to swallow my saliva. My palms sweat against my own skin. I try to breathe, but the air inside the car tastes metallic, like I’ve bitten my tongue without realizing.

“Murder?” The word leaks out of me, thin, uncertain.

She doesn’t answer right away. She keeps painting her lips red, precise strokes, as if she’s got all the time in the world. The badge glints incessantly, catching the weak sun.

I press harder against the seatbelt, testing it. Tight. Too tight. Like it’s not keeping me safe, but keeping me in.

Finally, she snaps the mirror shut. Her eyes find mine in the reflection of glass.

“You don’t remember, do you?”

“I didn’t do anyrhing.” My voice is a whisper, swallowed up by the car’s stale air.

Her hand drifts to the door handle, fingers tapping. Tap. Tap. Each click of her nail feels like it’s marking seconds I dont have.

“You’ll remember soon enough,” she says. “They always do.”