It feels like I’m dying.

“Let me tell you what I think happened,” Detective Ward says, ignoring my tears. “I think this was a romantic entanglement that went sideways.” Her voice is matter-of-fact, almost soothing in its neutrality. “The only question in these situations is who played what role. We know Elise was the shooter. We know Jack was the victim. What were you?”

Her words coil around me. For a moment, I think the earth is quaking, but it’s just me shaking uncontrollably in my hard plastic chair.

“There’s no need for any aggression,” Vera intervenes. “We came in here to cooperate.”

Detective Ward takes a pause, looking down at her notes, giving me a moment to dry my eyes. My hands are coated in streaks of my mother’s foundation, my mask coming undone.

When I’ve quieted, she leans in even closer and changes the subject. “Tell me about Elise.”

“What do you want to know?” I say.

“Was she ever violent around you?”

“What?” I don’t like the way she’s talking to me. I don’t like what she’s implying.

“To your knowledge, has she ever hurt anyone before?”

“No!” My mind screams with panic. She’s asking leading questions, like she’s already decided what kind of person Elise is and what really happened last night.

“Has she ever hurt you?”

“No! Of course not,” I say.

She examines me and leans back, clasped hands resting on her lap now. “Sometimes we think we know someone and we think the world of them, but maybe they’re not always what they seem. You never really know what someone’s capable of.”

“Elise would never do something to hurt anyone. I know she didn’t murder Jack because I was there.” The words fly out of me before I can stop them.

The entire room quiets. There’s just the sound of the air-conditioning clicking on, the sharp cold hitting the back of my neck.

What did I just say?

“You were there,” Detective Ward repeats slowly.

What have I just done?

“Wait,” Vera says, confusion and panic in her eyes.

“Are you certain? Are you sure that’s the statement you want to give?” she says as Vera interjects again. She wants some time with me, alone.

“We’ll answer any questions you have but Remy just lost her boyfriend and hasn’t slept. She needs a minute.” Vera doesn’t wait for an answer. She takes me by the wrist and pulls me down the hall to the restroom.

Splashing cold water on my face, I watch as the rest of my makeup runs down the drain. War paint, that’s what Mom called it once, like going to work required battledress. She always looked perfect, not a hair out of place, face bright and never tired. Appearances always mattered more to her than anything else.

Looking up, I stare at the girl I see in the mirror. She looks wrecked, eyes swollen, skin patchy and rough. She looks like she went into battle and lost everything.

Why did I say I was there? I splash more water on my face, too ashamed to look at myself anymore.