"what is a home if not the first place
you learn to run from."

NADIA DIDN'T REALISE HOW LONG she had actually spent in the shower until there was a fist banging against the door, a worried voice calling her name repeatedly until she shut the water off, pulling the door back and greeted with wide eyes and a very jittery Phoebe Sinclair.

"Sorry— I just— you were in there a long time," the red head mutters, falling back in her step to let the Kennedy girl move past her, towel scrunched up by her chest. "Sorry," she mumbles, pursing her lips when she notices the Sinclair girl had unpacked her suitcase for her.

Even after Nadia had disappeared back into the bathroom to change the Sinclair girl stayed hovering by the door, watching intently as Nadia reemerges to fumble with the clean bed sheets she laid for her on the bed. She was muttering to herself— something Phoebe could only make out as frustrated curses. "Sit down— let me do it," she says softly, nodding.

To say Phoebe Sinclair was worried for her was an understatement— but she was also curious now. She didn't mean to pry when she unpacked the Kennedy girls suitcase, but the photo had fallen from where it was tucked inside one of the brunette girls folded shirts. Nadia looked so happy in it, a real type of smile that didn't come all too often. She stared at the photo for what felt like hours until she tucked it back away inside the same shirt, sitting down on the edge of the bed with a shaky breath. Phoebe knew her aunt didn't have a child, and there was this knowing twist in her stomach— like she had really known all along but could never admit it to herself.

    But Nadia would never keep something like that from her— right?

    Nadia chews on the inside of her cheek, not having the energy to tell her she could do it, so she sits at the end of the bed, a palpable silence falling between the two girls. "Thanks," she murmurs.

    The Sinclair girl hums in response, smoothing out the bed sheet, glancing at her from the corner of her eye. She didn't have the willpower to ask about it then and there, frankly Phoebe wasn't sure she actually wanted to know. Or maybe she already did know the answer and was disappointed in herself for not putting two and two together sooner. Because then everything would just make sense.

    "Do you need anything else?" Phoebe asks quietly. Nadia shakes her head, "what time are we going to the station tomorrow?"

    "Gavin said early, i'll wake you," she nods, pursing her lips. There was another silence before Nadia suddenly moves to hug her, squeezing her tight, and it had the Sinclair girl freezing up for a moment.

"I'm sorry— i'm just— trying to wrap my head around all of this, I haven't been a good friend," Nadia whispers.

"Don't apologise," Phoebe says quietly, but she sounded pleading, pulling back to wipe some stray wet hairs from the Kennedy girls face. "Everyone grieves differently," she adds.

After the Sinclair disappeared she fumbled to find the photo she had tucked away in her clothing before tucking herself into bed, tears glazing over her eyes as she rubbed her thumb along the print. It was of Ada and her. Faye had taken it when they both had taken a day off to take the one year old to the beach. She stared at it until her eyes got heavy, pretending she couldn't hear Gavin and Phoebe arguing in hushed whispers from the room below her. "I miss you," was the last thing she whispered to herself before her hand went limp and her eyes closed and the photo fell onto the mattress beside her.

She had several people in mind when she said that.

Thursday. 7 days before.

     Phoebe woke her up just like she said she would that morning, a soft smile as she gently shakes her awake.

     The red head laughs lightly at the brunette girls scrunched up face. She was never a morning person. "Morning sleepy," she murmurs. The Kennedy girl rolls over, tapping her phone screen to reveal the time, 12.11pm.

"Oh. Did they not need to speak to me this morning?" she wonders, rolling herself from the duvet, wiping her eyes with lifeless hands. "They did," Phoebe trails, "— but you looked like you were enjoying your sleep, I couldn't wake you, I called the station and said we would be there at lunch," she smiles across at her.

"Thank you— i'll just get dressed," she says firmly.

She had wandered down the stairs after getting ready as quickly as she could— she had seen her younger brothers bedroom door slightly ajar— so she practically ran downstairs, not wanting to look at it for any longer than she had to.

She had nearly crashed into Gavin Kennedy when she reached the bottom, muttering out a quiet "sorry."

He didn't say anything else other than, "are you ready?" and she slightly narrowed her eyes, nodding.

That was the most he had said to her since she arrived the day before, she noticed, and it didn't make her feel guilty like it did yesterday— just angry. She had opened her mouth to speak when Phoebe shut the kitchen door, coat and car keys swinging from her hand.

    She felt fourteen again sitting in the backseat of the car they piled into. Fourteen and watching intently her parents screaming at each other in the front seat of the car. Only this time there was no screaming, or parents— just an unbearable silence that had her chewing down on her bottom lip until she blurted out a, "what are they going to ask me?"

    "Why you feeling guilty about somethin'" Gavin grumbles, and Phoebe shot him a look, shaking her head.

    "What's that supposed to mean?" she mutters.

    "Nothin' just wondering— must be holding onto a lot of guilt showing up like this."

    "Gavin," the Sinclair girl warns.

   Oh she was definitely fourteen again.

    "Showing up? Our brother is dead," she berates, leaning forward to get a better look at him.

    He scoffs, turning slightly to catch her eye, "yeah and that's what it took for you to show up huh?"

    She leans back at that, letting out an exhale, "you think this is how I wanted to come back here?" she murmurs.

    "Yeah well unfortunately Nadia it is, if that's what it took for you to come back then you shouldn't have come back," he grumbles.

    "Gavin enough," Phoebe huffs, slamming a hand down onto the steering wheel, gazing back at the brunette girl through the mirror, who was now staring out the window, chewing the inside of her cheek.

    She had never thought she would be grateful to be pulling up to a police station, slamming the car door behind her and leaving no time for the other two to say anything else, arms folded over her chest.

    She recognised only two faces when she pushed open the station doors, a blonde woman who was sobbing in the arms of a man she could recognise as the Summers family. They were speaking with two police officers. It gave her a lump in her throat.

   "Excuse me M'aam can I help you?" the receptionist says firmly, eyebrows furrowed at the girl who was evidently staring into the wide open interview room. "Sorry— i'm here about— they want to speak to me about my brother i'm—"

"Nadia Kennedy," a voice calls over at her, her eyes trailing to an officer in plain clothes she had never seen before, a hardened expression on his face. "Thanks for coming in Nadia," he speaks softly, a sympathetic look in his eye as he motions for her to follow him.

"My brother is here too he should be—" she trails, glancing back outside at the pair who were still in the car— evidently fighting like they had been the night previous. "It's okay, we want to just speak with you if that's alright?" he nods. He was Irish, and trailing her eyes over him again she realised he must be a detective, his badge sticking out from under the shirt he was wearing. She felt her cheeks heating up when he cleared his throat, and her eyes widen— she was shamelessly staring at him.

"I'm Detective McCloskey— lead investigator in your brother's case," he nods, holding the door open for her to an unoccupied interview room.

There was already another officer in there, and she felt almost relieved at the sight of him— relieved that it wouldn't just be a room of investigators that didn't even know her brother.

"Nadia," he murmurs. "Shoupe, I thought we would have sent you into retirement by now," she breaths out a shaky laugh, mentally cringing at herself. But she's glad when he mimics her, eyes creasing at her stupid attempt of a joke. "Believe me Nadia i'm just as surprised as you are," he chuckles, but his face falls slightly by the time he stands up to meet her, shaking his head. "I'm sorry for your loss," he says firmly.

She purses her lips, "yeah, me too," she breaths.

"I know this won't be easy— but we just have some questions," he nods, pulling out a chair for her, to which she takes with a quiet  "thank you."

She was fumbling with her fingers at the two of them staring right through her from across the metal table, eyes strained on the case folder sat in front of the younger Detective.

"Nadia— did you know if Eli was involved with anything? With anyone that might want to hurt him?" McCloskey says firmly, slowly opening the papers in front of him. She meets his gaze, shaking her head.

    "No— Eli was a good kid— he barely even left the house before," she trails, bringing her nails up to her lips, chewing down on the skin.

    "Before what?" he questions, leaning back in his chair, urging her to continue.

    "Before I left," she breaths.

     "Alright," he nods, "so you didn't know much about what he was up to after that?" McCloskey wonders.

    She knew they were just questions they had to ask. But they were bringing back that gut wrenching guilty feeling and it was turning her cold again. "No. Why is that important?" she narrows her eyes.

    "We're just trying to figure out why someone would want to do this," Shoupe speaks softly.

    "Nadia, did you speak to Eli much after you left?" McCloskey continues.

    Her face twists at that, "No."

    "He never told you what he was doing— talk to you about school or—"

     She huffs, shaking her head, "I never spoke to Eli okay— maybe once or twice I texted him but he didn't want to talk to me," she argues.

    Shoupe purses his lips, "never?"

    The two jump slightly when she suddenly stands up, beginning to pace the small room, "— it's— it's not my fault, you're making it sound like it's my fault."

     "That's not what we are implying Nadia," McCloskey sighs, watching her intently, eyebrows furrowed.

     It was clear to them both she was projecting her own thoughts. Her own guilt peeking through when she spoke next.  "—You're saying I left and Eli got involved in something bad?— and— and then that's why he was killed right?" her voice was shaking, eyes wide, nails still stuck between her teeth.

    "Okay— okay, let's just take a breath" Aidan murmurs, glancing at Shoupe before standing up to meet her figure, hands gently grazing her elbows, nodding, the gesture sent small goosebumps over her arms, eyes dropping to where his fingertips touched her skin. "Nobody's saying that— I know this is hard Nadia but we just need you to work with us here."

    "I never spoke to him," she whispers, expression twisted and eyes glazing over as the detective stares down at her. "And that's fine— it's not your fault. We're trying to help," and he speaks a lot softer than the bad cop act he was pursuing before. She hadn't even realised that she had grabbed onto him in her cloud of frustration, slowly unclenching the fabric of his shirt, taking a heavy breath. His small head nod was like a silent affirmation that nobody in that room had any malicious intent.

    So she regathers herself, using the same palms to smooth down her clothes. "I'm sorry," she murmurs, eyes widened at where his shirt was now creased from her hands.

    "You're all good," he breaths, clearing his throat once again, scratching the back of his neck.

    "Eli was a good kid— a great one— better than any of us anyways," she adds quietly.

    Shoupe nods, watching as she sits back down to face them both. "He was really private— he never really spoke about anything to anyone. He talked to me sometimes, but I guess he was mad when I left," she whispers.

     Aidan nods, jotting down on the pages in front of him.

    "Did you know Jess Summers, Nadia?" Shoupe frowns, turning around a photo of the blonde haired girl.

    She nods, sniffling, "Yes— well we went to school together, we didn't talk much, she was quiet too," she trails.

    "Are the cases related?" she frowns.

    "Well we don't know that yet," Shoupe sighs, "we have a lot more questioning to do."

    She leans back in her chair, eyebrows slightly furrowing at something that came to mind, eyes going back and forth as if she was searching for the memory. "Wait there was— there was one guy," she mutters, fingertips rubbing over her eyes. "He came by the house a few days before I left— I had never seen him before, he was angry— he never actually got to the door because somebody told him to leave," Nadia says firmly, nodding along with herself like she was recalling little details as she talked about it.

    "Yeah— yeah he was angry, he was shouting something, I don't know if it was about Eli I was watching from the window," she breaths.

     "That's really helpful Nadia, you say somebody— who told him to leave?" Shoupe murmurs.

    She grimaced, falling silent for a moment almost like she regretted bringing it up, glancing between them, eyes lingering on the younger officer who had been looking through her since she sat back down.

    She knew this meant he would be involved, and she wouldn't be able to silently come and go from the Outer Banks like she had planned to. She knew telling them would mean she would probably have to see him.

     But if it meant closure there was no room for any more lies.

    "Rafe, Rafe Cameron."

bellas thoughts/
not the sexual tension in a police interview room. help.