It happened at 6:35pm

"This could be over quick if you just tell us the truth" Detective Baker says staring at me with disgust in his eyes. I raise my head to look at him, through my bloodshot eye and my other swollen one. And spit some blood out of my mouth before I look back at him, both our eyes burning with anger and hate.

"I didn't do it" I say slowly and Baker laughs and starts to walk away before he comes back and punches me hard in the face, moving my face to the left with full force. He shakes his hand a bit likes he trying to shake the pain away while nodding his head at me. I spit blood out of my mouth again and look at the floor stained with bright crimson that they came straight from my body.

"Don't joke with me Maxwell, who did it? Who murdered Cynthia Monroe? Who murdered my daughter?"

"I DON'T EFFING KNOW. I DON'T. WHY IN THE WORLD DO YOU KEEP ASKING ME IF YOU'RE NOT GONNA EVEN FREAKING BELIEVE ME?" I say before I look down and tears start to stream down my cheeks, I shut my eyes close and bite my lower lip to ensure I don't cry. I can't cry now, I can't. I can't let them know, I can't let anyone know when they have brought my walls down, when they have brought the walls that help me stay strong, help me stay reasonable, help me feel less hurt.

"YOU SCREAMING AT ME MAXWELL" Baker says and raises his hand up to punch me making me close my eyes and turn away while expecting the strong impact of his fist to my face.

"That's enough Baker. You can't get answers from a dead body" I hear a voice which I presume is Detective Rockwell blurt out from the speakers. I open my eyes slowly and look at Baker who's angry eyes seem disappointed as to longer being able to bash my face to a pulp. I'm gonna have to remember to thank Rockwell later for helping me.

Baker groans and looks at the room camera before the door of the interrogation room and I hear the click clack of a shoe slowly approaching me. The sound stops and warm hands hold my shoulders and squeeze them, the heavy scent of cigarette cutting off my supply of fresh oxygen.

"Get out Baker, I'll take it from here. You've done enough damage today" Rockwell says and I hear Baker mumble inaudible curses before he walks out of the room and slams the door angrily.

"That man has serious anger issues. I do not even know how he entered the police force" Rockwell says sitting down with his legs crossed. Staring at me with interest.

"Yeah" is all I say while staring down at my feet. Rockwell let's out a deep exhale before he stuffs his hand inside his jacket and pulls out a carton of cigarette's. He places one of the cigarette's out of the carton in his mouth and brings out a lighter from his jacket as well and flicks it, igniting the stick he placed in his mouth. He takes a large puff from the cigarette before placing the lighter on the table separating both of us and leans down on the chair he's sitting on, all while staring at me.

"Are you alright kid?" He asks genuinely making me raise my head and look at him before I shake my head no and drop it back down. He scratches his white beard and takes another puff before adjusting himself on his seat.

"Wanna talk about..."

"I didn't kill Cynthia Monroe, I swear" I cut him off while trying my best not cry.

"I know kid, but..."

"You don't know, none of you know. Isn't that why I'm here in the first place? Isn't that why I'm being beaten to a bloody pulp? Isn't that why no one is listening to me?" I say before I start to cry no longer being able to hold the pain.

"Look kid. We just want answers. Baker is hurt and just wants to come to the bottom of this, we all do" Rockwell says.

"I don't know anything. I don't know who killed her, I don't know why they did it, I swear. Just please believe me, please. I just wanna go home" I say sobbing loudly making Rockwell sigh and stand up from his chair. He walks to me and takes a key out of his pocket and uses it to set me free from the table cuffs and I massage my wrist while looking at him in confusion.

"Get up and go home kid" He says as he drops his cigar and steps on it.

"But...I don't understand..."

"I and countless others might not believe you didn't do this but, I know for a fact you're going through a lot of pain and confusion right now. And if you aren't thinking straight we can't get any answers from you, so. Go home, eat, rest and we'll be back for you tomorrow" He says and every atom of hope of them believing me fades away.

Of course he doesn't believe me. No one does.

"Let's go"

I nod my head at him and start to walk away, following behind Rockwell who opens the interrogation room door for me and we both walk out. He leads me towards the exit of the precinct and on my way out I see Baker cleaning his bloody knuckles while staring at me angrily making me turn my gaze away from him.

"I'll make sure I tell our boss about what he did. It was very unnecessary and inappropriate" He says and I nod my head while mumbling a "thank you" at him. Even though Rockwell doesn't believe I don't have something to do with it, he has been pretty nice with me and right now, during this kind of period. A little affection goes a pretty long way.

He leads me outside and stops a taxi for me, using his head to gesture me inside which I immediately do. He tells the taxi driver my location and pays the fare before coming back to look at me.

"You know the footage had you committing the murder" He says

"I know" I nod my head letting him know I was aware.

"How are you gonna prove to us you didn't have something to do with it?"

"I don't know if there's anything I can do" I say honestly the truth stinging me hard. Rockwell nods his head before his bent down position and taps the car, making the driver change the gear and putting the car into motion.

"Take care kid, I'll be seeing you soon" He says and I wish he meant that any other way.

The death of one of Lockwood's most favorite students and my personal crush Cynthia Monroe took the whole school, and in fact the whole county by storm.

Cynthia Monroe was a dashing and elegant teenager, who loved reading and was always wearing a smile on her face. She was charming with her beautiful blonde hair, freckled spattered face and bright set of white teeth that made most people's smile look insignificant to me. She was everything a guy like me would ever want but nothing a guy like me would ever get.

Cynthia was popular so when many people heard of her murder they couldn't believe their ears and when they heard I had something to do with it, me, the weirdo and stranger in the school, that just made things worse.

From the viral footage of her murder. Cynthia Monroe was murdered in her car when she was about to leave her apartment's parking lot. The car was set ablaze while she was inside and the doors were pinned to ensure she didn't escape from the car. The car eventually got scorched in flames and exploded with Cynthia. Who set the fire?

Me.

The footage showed me, wearing a black Vikings hoodie before setting the car on fire from inside and pinning the doors to ensure Cynthia didn't escape. Until she died, but here's the funny thing. I didn't do it.

Cynthia was killed at 6:35pm and by that time I was not even home, I wasn't even in her block by that time but still no one believes me, how would they, the footage of me killing her is not only with the police, hell, its even on the internet, with my face clearly showing me do the deed.

And what makes it worse is I don't even know who did it.

Most times when I even go back to watching the video on the internet, sometimes I find it hard to believe I'm not even the one that did it. Everything about him just was me, but every time I see that Viking hoodie it reminds me that I'm not a murderer, I never was and I never will be. I never like the Viking's, in fact, I despise them. So, I was never going to be caught dead in their clothing, not now, not ever.

The taxi stops in front of my house and I thank the driver who only sneers at me before I come out of the car and he speeds away. I look at the car and sigh before I walk to my door, silently thanking God that none of my neighbors are outside. I take my house key out of the plant close to my door and push the key in the key hole and twist it, opening the door and welcoming me with warmth and darkness.

I take the key out and walk inside and my hands reach the light switch of the living room and I flip it, brightening the dark room only slightly. I walk towards one of the sofas and seat down and raise my squeeze myself before I start to cry, letting every emotion I tried holding back all out.

I need someone to.understand me.

I need someone, anyone to believe me.

But...

I raise my head and stare at my parents picture on the center table and I look at it while squirming like a child.

"Why did you leave me? You left me with no one? No one. I didn't do it, so why wouldn't they believe me? Why wouldn't they" I say before I continue crying like a child.

My parents didn't die or kick the bucket or anything. They literally left me all alone, alone to fend for myself, alone to suffer and struggle, alone to take care of myself. One night, they both came home and fought and each person went their separate ways. My dad married a new wife, my mum went back to London and well, they left me here, just like everyone else.

I guess no one has ever really had any faith in me or ever wanted me around anyways.

I lie on the sofa and clutch my leg to my chest. Small tears streaming down my bloodied and wounded face while I stare at nothing but a blank and unfavorable future. I carry the remote from the floor and decide against turning the TV on cause I already know what would be on.

Crazy teen kills gifted student.

And I'm not ready to keep screaming at the TV that I didn't do it.

But if I didn't.

Who did?