Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 31081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 31081 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 155(@200wpm)___ 124(@250wpm)___ 104(@300wpm)
I can’t be bothered waiting around another hour. Pulling out my cellphone, I shoot Amy a text.
Me: I don’t feel good. Meet you at home. Make sure Rocko walks you!!!!
The night has turned cold. The wind teases the trees, bristling the leaves as I begin the short ten-minute walk to our apartment. A pit forms in my stomach—and it has nothing to do with hunger or alcohol. I feel like I’m on a survival walk as shadows dance and the music from the party fades to silence. Every murmur of sound becomes a potential threat. Rocko made me paranoid.
The dead of night whispers to me, making chills break out over my skin. I pick up the pace, grateful I wore sneakers and not the heels Amy tried to get me to wear.
Hugging my arms to my body, I almost break into a jog. It’s so quiet for being near campus. There’s always people milling around, but tonight, there’s nothing but eerie silence.
I’m so eager to get home, I don’t check the road before I step out. A little squeak slips past my lips when I nearly collide with a car. Their lights aren’t on. I didn’t even hear the engine. Stepping back, I hold a hand to my heart, letting out a heavy breath when the familiar-looking vehicle houses a cop.
Rolling down the window, he looks me over. “Have you been drinking, ma’am?”
Shit.
“A little bit, officer,” I admit. “It’s why I’m walking home and not driving.”
Jerking his head, he gestures to the back of the car. “Get in. I’ll take you home.”
“It’s only around the corner, sir.” I smile, relieved he’ll no doubt still be cruising up this road by the time I make it home. No more stressing about being mugged.
“Get in. I can’t let you be on the streets drunk,” he grunts, his tone leaving no room for disobedience.
Pulling the handle, I open the door and slip into the back seat, jolting when the doors lock in place once I’m seated. He looks at me via the rearview mirror and the sickness returns. I’ve never been in trouble with the police before. Dark brown eyes assess me. He’s young for a cop, mid-twenties. Light brown hair neatly cut military-style. Square jaw that’s rigid tight. I can’t determine if he’s mad, but there’s something off with him. I can feel it.
“I’m not drunk, sir,” I assure him. “Just a little tipsy—if that. I haven’t eaten.”
“Do you live alone?”
“No. I have a roommate.”
He pulls off, making me squirm. I worry my lip, trying again to assure him I’m not drunk. “I was walking home. I live right there.” I point to the building he drives past, a nervous ache building in my chest. My eyes dart out the window as I watch us get farther away from my building.
I’m going to jail.
Shit.
Tears well and fall from my eyes. “What did I do?” I ask, my voice hoarse.
Silence.
And this is why I never let loose.
It’s never the Amys or Rockos of the world getting reamed for their consequences; it’s always the girl who messes up once.
God, life is so unfair sometimes.
He pulls down a gravel-paved road bordered by trees, making my worry intensify. Nowhere near the police station. Where the hell is he taking me? The car rolls to a stop, and he once again looks at me via the mirror. “You’re drunk and disorderly. You tried to damage my car.”
What?
I gape at him.
He gets out of the car and pulls my door open, grabbing my arm to help me out. His grip is firm and painful, making me whimper. I’ve had dreams of this sort of thing, but in my mind, I’m still in control and it’s safe. This is wrong. Something bad is going to happen. I feel it in my soul.
“You’re under arrest,” he barks, pushing me toward the hood of the car and pressing a hand into the middle of my back. “Hands on the hood.”
Tears burn my eyes, making the scenery blur. Should I run, or will that get me in more trouble? He’s a police officer. He can’t hurt me…right?
A sharp pain rips through my ankle when he kicks my feet to part them before grabbing my wrist as he forces my chest and face to hit the hood. Cold metal cuffs snap in place, holding my arms hostage behind me.
“Do you want to go to jail?”
“No,” I choke out.
“Maybe we can come to some arrangement.”
No. No. No.
His eagerness pushes against me, and a sob rips from my chest.
“Please, let me go,” I plead.
“Bad girls who break laws need to be punished.”
“Take me to jail.” I nod my head manically. I’ll t-take a fine—or whatever they want. “Please, I’m sorry. J-Just take m-me to jail.”
“Shhh,” he orders, rubbing his hands down my body.
No, this isn’t real.