Innocent Until Proven Guilty
If you were to say your greatest fear right now, what would you say? The ocean? Heights? Dogs?
Well, have you ever thought about being the lead suspect in a case regarding the murder of your childhood best friend, Tonya? No? Well think about that for a moment. Pretty scary, right?
And what if, while being investigated you try and go to a hero for help only for said hero to turn around and form an unhealthy obsession?
~
TW: Talks of murder, descriptions of gore, panic attacks, this is a platonic yandere story
The day was clear, too sunny, too warm for the dread in your stomach as you walk down the street. Tonya Errestrate, your friend since preschool, had been found dead in her apartment after you two had a night out.
She'd been stabbed to death. A laceration in her throat, her left side of her chest, her stomach, and her eye. She was found on her kitchen floor, phone screen cracked from falling and tears dried against her rosy, bloody cheeks.
And to make matters worse police have turned to you as the main suspect. Which is just peachy for the grieving process...
The sidewalk is full of pedestrians, people with their own lives, own difficulties, own losses. You don't think any of them have gone through what you're going through now though.
A baby up ahead screams from it's stroller, a couple walks past arguing, the people in front of you are walking too slow, a bicyclist is ringing their bell as they try to ride through the pathways, cars honk in the distance and everyone is talking too loud for you to think.
Your hands instinctively move to your ears as you turn into the coffee shop, trying to seek a reprieve. You're running on two hours of sleep, a stale, unheated bagel you ate yesterday, and the looming paranoia that you're going to be wrongly jailed for Tonya's death.
Unluckily for you, because Lady Luck clearly has a dart board with your face in the center and impeccable aim, the coffee shop isn't much better.
In one corner is a group of middle aged women laughing and chatting up a storm, in another is a screaming child who's mother is blatantly ignoring the tantrum and scrolling on her phone, the father of said child shoots glares at the kid, growing more and more frustrated as the kid slams onto the floor. In another section - a more vacant one - there's a man in a pressed suit looking to be having a zoom meeting (why he's doing it in this horrific environment you can only assume masochism) and another man, this time in a police uniform, talking on the phone with someone loudly.
You resist the urge to crumple to the floor and scream like the child nearby. Everything is too much, you're too stressed, the air is moist yet humid, the smell of the cafe is like if someone left incense burning for too long and kept trying to cover the smell with expired Ferberize and baby powder.
But, you're an adult. You can't fall to the ground and call it a day. So, you head up to the counter. The barista doesn't seem to be doing much better than you. She looks grumpy, tired despite it being nine in the morning. Her pink hair is greasy, a solid two inches of undyed blonde roots slicked back into a bun, her face a fixed scowl. Yet, when she notices your approach she smooths it out to a blank look, like a lobotomy patient might have.
"Welcome to the Happy Hippo Cafe, what can I get for you today?" She hums out, readying her hand to tap on the ipad in front of her. You order, your voice a tired murmur that the lady seems to have trouble hearing but doesn't comment on. "Name for the order?" She asks after a minute. "Y/N." You give back, your eyes drifting elsewhere in an attempt to not appear too awkward or intense.
You pay and head off to the quieter section of the cafe. Passing the man on his work meeting and nearing the policeman on the phone. You catch a snippet of his conversation with the other person on the line. "-No, you aren't listening to me Bruce, you never listen-"
You don't hear any more, you don't care to, it's not your business. You just want some peace and quiet... You should have brought your headphones.
Why didn't you bring your headphones? Were they dead? They might have been.. Why didn't you charge them? What's wrong with you? Obviously you should have charged them, you had all night to put them on charge. Instead you laid in bed and scrolled on your overheating phone like disgusting lazy nuisance you are. How pathetic.
Actually.. Speaking of phone, is it overheating?
You pull it out of your pocket, feeling it against your palm. Luckily it's not right now, that's good. You think it'd tip you over the edge if it were too hot.
The man on the phone continues to talk, you make out a few words but honestly, the buzzing in your ears as you try to zone out make it difficult to make out any full sentences - not that you wanted to, you mind your own and stay safe... But it sounded interesting.
Your thoughts start to race - could you not be so nosy?! God, this is why you have no friends!
The corners of your vision starts to blur, the feeling of static envelops your brain and your eyes dart around frantically, trying to avoid light and oversaturated colours. A fail. Is it just you or is everyone louder? Their voices are all mixing together, it's grating, it makes you want to puke, you want to scream. Your fingers tremble, curling into your palms before uncurling and curling again.
Everything's getting louder, the static in your brain won't go, it makes your head feel like when your foot falls asleep. It's uncomfortable, borderline painful, you can't think straight. Tears pool your vision but they feel more like lava, your bottom lip trembles like jelly being poked and you can feel all the muscles in your face scrunching up into something you're sure looks ugly.
You can feel everything. You feel the clothes on you that are suddenly too restrictive, the fluffy socks on your feet are now making your feet sweat, causing the fluff to get stuck to your feet and between your toes. Your shoes are digging into your heels but you can't find it in yourself to move. It's just... Too much.
Your head feels heavier and before you know it your forehead collides with the metal table in front of you. The table is sticky, not cleaned properly, it makes you want to puke, to scream, to sob loudly, to yell for everyone to shut up.
Everything hurts, every touch feels like a shard of broken glass. In your haze you can feel the presence of something moving to sit in front of you, they don't seem to try and talk to you. Or maybe they do. You can't tell. It's like someone filled your ears with slime.
Then, something covers your ears. Your head snaps up, body on autopilot. The face of the man on the phone is sitting across from you. You find it difficult to process what he looks like up close though... Blue eyes... Tanned skin... Black hair... A beauty mark in the corner of his eye... And that's all you get.
Your clenched hands move up to your ears - he's placed ear muffs on them. How... Kind? Your hands move away from the earmuffs, situating themselves on the metal table.
The man glances down at your hands before gently reaching out and tapping both of them a few times - testing your reaction. When you don't seem to react he gently wriggles his fingers into your clenched fists and pries your fingers off your palm.
He calmly looks at you, his eyes studying your face before his hands move away. He grabs a pen out of his pocket alongside a napkin from the table and quickly writes something down before sliding it over to you to read.
His handwriting is messy, rushed, and you can barely read it due to the brain fog and bleary eyes. Still, you manage to make it out.
"Hi, I'm Dick. :)"
