Chapter 47 - A torturous interrogation

The questions were endless. It was obvious that many of them were convinced that I was guilty, adamant about coercing me into giving a false confession. They were relentless, interrogating me for hours on end. Even though I hadn't done anything wrong, I could feel it all chipping away at me. All the glares and accusations were so effective in making me feel as though I was truly guilty. It was either that, or I felt like confessing would at least save me from this punishment I was currently facing. It would do it injustice to simply refer to it as an investigation. In reality, it was torture. Regardless of how serious the case was, or the fact that the victim was a princess, to carry out questioning for so long was inhumane. If I didn't already feel like passing out from my earlier lack of sleep, I definitely did now. Many times I found my eyes blurring as sleep was trying to overtake me but they would not allow me to rest. When it felt as though my breathing was beginning to slow into a steady pace, a loud bang on the table would wake me up from them slamming their hands on the table. I was repeating the same words over and over again, but despite me giving them the truth, they did not want it. They wanted something, anything, to implicate me and support their assumptions about what took place. Every word I said was disregarded as it didn't provide them with what they had wished for. With hysterical faces they yelled at me to be honest, as if honesty meant saying what would please them. 

I was upset beyond measure but I couldn't act on it. They were waiting for me to slip up, to show that I had any proper human emotions, because then they could bend me to their will. If I got angry, I would be blamed. If I got defensive I would be blamed, and if I was unresponsive or unfeeling I would be blamed. There was no way out because it would only happen the way those with power wanted it. That was the law of this world. On nothing else but a few words, I was already deemed guilty in the eyes of the public. Nothing I said held any value because they seemed to be lies from the mouth of a vicious girl who would harm even her closest of friends. I was the cunning one who would try to murder someone and then cry to them to feign innocence. Wasn't that how it was always meant to be? From the very moment I was born, I was destined to be here. It was unfair that they had spent so much time questioning me when I felt they could have done a better job at finding the real perpetrator. It was frustrating to think that the person who had harmed Elina was sitting comfortably thinking that I would take the fall for it. Most frustrating of all, was thinking about how Elina felt about this entire situation. She had full faith in me, that I knew. But how would she feel knowing that the real person who had harmed her would likely still be nearby and attack her again? Worse yet was the knowledge that there wouldn't be enough protection in place should that happen, because all of the focus and attention is being diverted elsewhere.

The entire interrogation was based on the premise that I was guilty. I couldn't even count how many times I had been asked why I would do this. Do what, I would ask only to be scorned. If looks could kill, I would have died a thousand times over. Their eyes were shooting daggers into my soul and though they didn't, if they could I felt as though they hated me enough to spit on me. At some point, I began to internalise all of the horrid things they were saying about me. An entire life of hardship could not have prepared me for this. In the space of hours that I couldn't even begin to count, I had heard possibly every insult to ever exist. After so long of repeatedly hearing them, it's easy to get swept up in everyone else's opinions. How can I be the only person that is right and everyone else be wrong? There must be something wrong with me, or else there is no reason for me to be having to deal with this. The easiest thing to do at times was to crumble and accept what others would say, rather than standing firm and retaliating. The self hatred and self contempt that I still carried within me definitely didn't help. All I could think was that perhaps they knew me better than I knew myself. Though I was innocent, maybe it was better for me to be taken away from society. Who's to say that I wouldn't actually be a threat to others? I no longer had the confidence and faith in myself to reject such notions. 

I wanted to be able to think properly and to protect myself, not just for me but also for Elina. I wanted to be able to help them with their investigation towards catching the correct person. But I never get what I want. Instead of being of any use at all, my depression was constantly busy with coming up with new forms of self deprecation. Rather than calling it a hobby, I would say it was a source of entertainment. My mind and I have never been one and the same, it was corrupted a long time ago. Since then my depression has made it so that belittling myself was a pass time. It's as though there were two parts of me that were sworn enemies. One would find enjoyment in harassing the other, whispering sweet nothings to drive the other over the edge. I was never in control of that part of me. There was someone other than myself living in my body, feasting on my soul. I could feel myself getting closer and closer to the steep drop and it was just waiting for that one final step, until it could take my body as its own. I was desperately trying to hold onto rationality, to not allow myself to sink deeper into my own grave but it was difficult. I was still too shaken, the sight and smell of blood still clear in my mind. It was me drowning and me holding my own head under the water. 

Surrounding me were far too many men, an unnecessary number even. There were probably just under 10 men encircling me while a select few conducted the actual interrogation. The rest did naught but stand by with faces full of fury. It felt like the walls were closing in on me as I was trapped between these strangers. Breathing wasn't even able to come naturally to me as my mind was swirling with the overstimulation from the voices overlapping. It was hard to tell them all apart as they were speaking over each other, some more quietly whispering to one other while some where directed at me. All of them had one similarity though, contempt. It would have been naive of me to think that everyone would believe me right away, that I could prove my innocence with nothing but my active declaration of it. But wasn't having everyone against me a bit too much? These men who were all relatively similar to my father's age were taking pride in breaking me down slowly. The ignorant way of viewing people as either all good or all bad was extremely popular. Why wouldn't it be, wasn't it the easier way to live? Some people struggled to understand that good people can do bad things, and vice versa. They could've live with such juxtaposition so they closed themselves off to reality. In such situations, who is it that benefits the most? Well, that would be those with a high reputation. They would be seen as saints who could do no harm. On the other hand, people like me were the bottom of the barrel scums who should be exterminated.

I was bad in all my entirely in the eyes of others and I couldn't change that. Too much had been made up or exaggerated about me, and they began to accumulate until there was no way to deny them all. To the rest of the world, I was someone constantly surrounded by bad rumours. How would such a thing happen if not a single one was true? If one was true, how would you differentiate the truth from falsehoods? And like that, in the simplest of ways, I was hated for my very existence. Every single thing I had ever done would be regarded as a sin. Though I understand the logic behind it, I couldn't understand not being professional enough to separate work from private life. Such prejudice would not do anyone good if it obscured true justice. It was irritating. A few times I felt myself wanting to grab one of them by the shoulders and yell at them to do their job right. But I restrained myself, as I always had. 

When I had finally lost the will to fight back and gave up on responding, I put my head down and closed my eyes. They were talking to me but I continued to avoid it, unwilling to continue running in circles for absolutely no reason at all. I didn't want to keep trying hard only to get nowhere. Eventually I heard exasperated sighs all around me and the sound of footsteps receding out of the room. I was finally left in silence that was so loud it was deafening. Thankfully it didn't take long until I heard only one pair of footsteps entering the room again. That was better than a hoard of people. 

"Persephone? It's me." Helios called out quietly. I quickly raised my head to look at him, to make sure that I wasn't somehow imagining it. His voice was soft in a way that I didn't think was still possible. It had been so long since I'd heard it that I thought it had disappeared forever. I was thrown back in time to when we were younger and able to confide in one another, when we didn't have this strange tension between us. It was silly how something so small could affect me to such an extent but I couldn't help it. I act unaffected but I missed what we once had. Due to that, I was concerned that I was hallucinating his voice in my time of need, to try and provide myself with some comfort where there was none. But in reality, he was here. He was still a young adult but his gaze was just like that of years ago. 

"What are you doing here?" I asked warily. I was unaware of how to approach him. Did his current attitude towards me mean that he believed me? Does that mean that I can allow myself to have some hope for the future? Or was it simply a ploy to strike when I least suspected it and make me spill the beans about everything? I was stuck between the person I spoke to a few days ago and the nostalgia that he was bringing with him right now. My neediness might be forcing me to see him in the same light as I had done previously; I might be moulding him into someone he was not for my own satisfaction. It definitely did not help that I was still drowsy and struggling to differentiate the real from unreal. A part of me was afraid that if I reached out to touch him right now, there would be nothing there. So, without adding anything else, I sat and waited for his response.

"I'm sorry for doubting you." The second he apologised with genuine remorse in his eyes, I felt a weight lift off my shoulder. It felt like I was light enough to be taken away by the wind. In that moment, it didn't matter to me what he did or said in the past, right now he believed in me. I had spent so many hours with men who only distrusted me, that the mere sound of those 5 words were unbelievably freeing. It would be no exaggeration to say that it felt as though I had been saved, not from the others but at least from myself. If he could have faith in me, perhaps I could too.

Time remaining: 6 days