mk robinson wants to be a star. (hitjackpot) wrote in doorslogs, @ 2012-05-02 16:37:00 |
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It all began with a rapt knock on the door. It was early afternoon, no later than three, and MK moseyed around the suite at the Wynn with a sleepy ease. The suite was nothing compared to Wren's suite at Caesars, but then again, the redhead was currently in the business of removing herself as much as possible from anything resembling that place. She hadn't spoken to Wren since their argument or anyone else really, content to hole herself away in the nightclubs and bars the Strip had to offer. Justifying it as keeping her distance for their safety, of course, but the sting of Wren's words still licked at her wounds, if she was being honest with herself. (Which she wasn't.) The days following had not helped calm her down, but only fed more and more into the anger bubbling underneath her skin. Alexander's words, those had stung too, even when she assured herself and Simon that they hadn't. Everything hurt, and nothing was right, but she would never admit that to herself, let alone to others. Dressed casually in jeans and a green top, she was onto her second drink of the day, a strong whiskey from the mini-bar, when she heard the knock. Taking her time walking over, she opened the door without looking through the peephole. Maybe it was the concierge here to apologize about the latest run-in with the paparazzi in the lobby, or maybe it was the room service she ordered for lunch. She was expecting anything but a man in a cheap suit flanked by two uniformed cops. MK blinked a few times, staring silently as her fingers curled against the door for support, while the man flashed his badge. A detective. She vaguely recognized him from somewhere, as if from a dream, until things suddenly clicked into place. A detective. Two cops. The way they said Miss Robinson as they stepped closer to the threshold of the door. There was only one reason a couple of law enforcers would knock on her door on a Wednesday afternoon, and the realization knocked the wind out of her immediately. Fuck. While she managed to keep herself from swaying on her feet, she struggled to save face, and a flash of worry flickered over her expression before shooting them an amused look. “And how can I help you boys? I’ve been a good girl today, promise.” She leaned against the door and crossed her arms loosely, hoping this was just all a coincidence. All the bases were covered, weren’t they? Buying clothes for a four year old child hadn’t be the smartest move on her part, but that was like that thing they always talked about on Law & Order. Circumstantial evidence or whatever. It was all circumstantial evidence. But that didn’t seem to matter with the way the three men looked down at her, and when the detective spoke, it was with the firm enforcement of a man who was not fucking around. “Miss Robinson, I’ll need you to come with me.” MK opened her mouth to argue, but the fight died on her lips. This was it, wasn’t it? Nodding, she dared to finish her drink, which displeased the detective, and she just barely managed to slip on her shoes and grab her sunglasses before he snatched her by the crook of her arm. “We don’t have to do this the hard way,” the detective said as he let her go in the elevator. “We’ve got a couple questions to ask you down at the station.” But MK wasn’t listening at that point, the mounting fear turning into white noise in her brain. Or maybe that was the buzz of the whiskey. Whatever the case, she followed quietly behind, deftly ignoring the flashes and badgering of the shutterbugs so eager to get the scoop. As the detective closed the door of his car on her, she wondered what headline would be blaring over the late night editions of the local and national papers. If everyone would connect the dots, too. Hitched breaths and blank stares were all that the detectives got out of her in the interrogation room during the hours upon hours of questions. They flashed statements and pictures of Gus in front of her eyes and slammed their fists angrily against the metal table and demanded to know where the little boy was. She forgot about asking for a lawyer or for her phone call for the first couple of hours, letting them barrage her with questions and threats and rotate between detectives as she kept mum the entire time. Her red hair fell into her face like a curtain and she hid. Hid her answers, hid away from the consequences of it all, hid her welled up eyes. They called it ‘obstruction of justice’ when they snapped the handcuffs on her and transferred her to processing. The redhead moved through it all like a fog as they fingerprinted her, pushed through the paperwork, and threw her in a cell with other awaiting inmates. By the time the bars slid close, she was shaking visibly, and many of the people within eyed her with a great hunger. A pretty model with a history in the tabloids who looked scared shitless? Well, MK certainly would be easy prey in there for all the wolves within. A little red waiting for claws of the Big Bad to dig and rip her apart. She finally asked for her phone call, but they told her it would be some time, possibly an hour or two, and that was the final straw. She bit her lip hard not to burst into tears, but curled her arms around her torso to hug herself tightly. There was a way out, she knew, but she would never fess up for anything while she was there. No, Gus needed Wren outside more than MK Robinson needed to be outside. So, she waited for her chance for her call and weighed her best options all the while fighting the loud wail that was bubbling inside her. If things could get worse, she couldn’t see how. |