A/N: Wassup, guys... Yeah, here's the next chapter... Yeah. Anyway, last chapter was kinda more like a prologue, something like that. I hope you like this chapter. Thanks for the reviews! They make me happy.

Chapter 2: Responsible

"I think of a hero as someone who understands the responsibility that comes with his freedom."
--Bob Dylan

I'm only fifteen, yet here I am, in a prison filled with woman way older than me. I don't really care where I am right now, though. I can only think of Tucker. Just Tucker. My best friend, my confidant. I want him back so badly... It hurts...

I stare blankly at the floor, clutching the cell bars with all my strength. I don't even realize my knuckles turning a ghostly white, as I hold on for my dear life.

"Why, look what we have hear," a deep, gravelly voice says in the cell next to mine. If I didn't know any better, I'd think it was a man. "what's a little girl like you doin' in a place like this? Were you arrested for stealing your brother's stuffed doggy?" she laughed at her own pathetic joke, as did others. I narrow my eyes. I may not be as developed as a regular fifteen year old yet, but I am still a young adult. "Better take could care of her, Becca." she addresses me roommate. "She might squeal on you!"

"Fuck off." I growl nastily. I won't take crap from anyone like that. I release the bars, and flip them off.

My roommate, clearly on their side, grabs me by my shirt, and comes nose to nose with me. I am scared, but my face remains unfazed. "Let me show you how things are handled here, shall I?"

Before I could even blink, I found my self lying on the floor. My cheek is on fire, pain suddenly explodes in my stomach, and I am coughing up blood. They laugh, aching for more.

I couldn't give them the pleasure of that. Something inside me snaps. When I finally come to my senses, I realize 'Becca' is on the floor, with my heavy combat boot on her back. Everyone stands in voluntary silence.

I picked up my boot, and took a step back. Still at a loss for words, I want to cry again. Don't cry, my darling. Don't cry. I relax, letting out a slow breath. The tears still fall slowly down my cheeks, for I am unable to hold them back any longer. I hear the cell door creak open. Whirling around, I see the policeman staring at me, a look of concern almost showing on his face as he watches me cry.

"Come on," he says gently, grabbing my arm.

"I... I'm not..." I'm not a monster. I want to tell him this, but I can't find the words.

"How old are you?" he asks, showing compassion for a reason I'm not sure of. "Twelve? Thirteen?" That's why. He sees me as a young girl.

I don't answer; I just stare at the floor in silence, as he takes me into a small room. "Your hearing is in about fifteen minutes."

I nod, not really listening. As he closes the door, I stare at the blank white wall. Nothing makes sense anymore, not anymore. I don't want to be a murderer, but I am. It's reality.

"Miss Manson, there's someone who wants to speak to you. His name is Danny. He claims he is your cousin."

I almost laugh. Just like Danny, to do anything he can to get what he wants. I don't say anything, as the gaurd allows Danny to walk in.

I slowly turn to look at him. He gasps, his bright blue eyes filled with concern. "Sam... What happened?" he asks. I know he's talking about my injuries. His look hardens. He is angry, I can tell. "Who did this to you?!" Nobody is my instant answer. It's not true, though... Nobody, everybody... You. I almost tell him this, but I keep my mouth shut. Seeing I don't want to talk about, he changes the subject. "Sam, I know your not a murderer. I'm not sure what happened to Tucker... But it can't be your fault, and you have a lawyer to prove it. Your aunt, Jessie, I think..."

I blink, a blank stare in my eyes. How can I tell him? "I don't..." I rasp, casting my eyes downward. "I don't want a lawyer." I tell him. "I just want to go to jail... It's my fault Tucker is dead..."

"Are you saying... That you're guilty?" asked Danny, furrowing his brows.

"I'm not guilty." I state firmly, narrowing my eyes at Danny. "But I am responsible."

"I don't understand." he says.

"Of course you don't." I spat. "You're too clueless to notice anything. I killed our best friend, Danny! You should hate me! Why don't you hate me?!"

"Because you didn't do it!" Danny cried, grasping my shoulders. "I don't know what happened, but I know you'd never do something like that!"

"You don't--" I begin, but the officer suddenly opens the door, interrupting me.

"Excuse me, Daniel, but you must leave." he tells Danny. Thank God.

Danny gives me a reassuring glance, before following the officer out.

--------------------------

"Damn shoes," Jessica hissed, picking herself off the ground. She carefully wobbled towards the phone. Her new boots were stylish; just not made for walking.

She snatched up the phone off the reciever, and held it to her ear. "Jessica Jamison here," she said in a buisness-like manner.

"Jessica?... This is your brother, Jeremy."

Jessica's face fell. "What is it now, Jeremy?" she groaned.

"Well, Jess..." Jeremy said, "I know you might have a lot of clients right now... But you have to take her, please..." Her? Who her? Another relative? Jessica sighed, rolling her eyes.

"Jeremy, I'm a big time lawyer. I haven't the time for insignificant things," Jessica replied, resting a hand on her dresser. "What is it now? Did mom try to escape from the retirenment home again?"

"No. It's Samantha." Samantha? As in, her fifteen year old niece Samantha? Well, how much trouble can one teenage girl cause? Probably just shoplifted a sweater, or something. "She's been accused of murder."

Jessica paled, nearly dropping the phone. Her niece, accused of murder? Unthinkable, inconcievable, to say the least! Despite her bold and daring nature, her niece was the friendliest girl she knew!

"Mommy..." she heard her son moan from the doorway. "Angie hit me!"

"I didn't hit you, stop trying to lie to mom!"

"DID TOO!"

"I... I've gotta go. Tell Samantha... Where ever she is... That I'll be there soon." she said, before hanging up the phone. Turning to her daughter of sixteen, and her son of four, she said, "Angie, I need to take care of business. Can you handle your brother for a few hours?"

"But mom--" Angie began protesting.

"Thanks, sweetie!" Jessica called, before grabbing her purse off her bed.

This time, she wasn't patching up something like a shoplift at some make-up store. Now, she was covering a dead body, while her young niece held a knife in her hands.

A/N: Reviews, please...?