Not good for you

32;

Not even when a particular bald and chubby police officer investigated me could I tell him why I hit that man.

I was ashamed that I let myself lose my head like that while another part of me knew that it was either that or have the man removed from the restaurant and there was a high possibility that he would have followed us.

The only thing I remembered crystal clear was the anger that took over me. I didn't know where it came from but I had a feeling that it was most of the frustration that hit me like a wave during dinner.

I held my feelings back so much that they eventually made me break a glass against a man's head.

I have never been in jail before. And I felt like a rabbit thrown to the rabbits when the officer closed the cell after pushing me inside.

The man from the restaurant was nowhere near to be found in the station where I'd been brought.

I ran my fingers through my locks while I kept staring outside, not daring to turn around. I could just only hope that my cellmates weren't that many assholes like that jerk back there.

How did I end up here? I've never hit someone, not even if they deserved it. I always remembered those times when my father would beat me for the slightest accidental things and I just wasn't able to do it.

But tonight was different. I was different.

And I didn't like this wild side of me. That was nothing like me. I should have just walked away and I wouldn't have gotten into this situation.

"Nice dress." A voice spoke behind me.

I wiped my face and turned around. There were only two people beside me. An older woman covered in tattoos and wearing dirty clothes was sleeping on the bench. She looked like had one hell of a night like I did.

On the other side, there sat a boy who looked only a few years older than me. He was wearing jeans shorts and a white T-shirt that had blood splattered on it. His black hair was wet and his dimples were visible when he smiled at me. His knuckles were also torn open but he looked like everything was just fine.

Maybe coming to jail in a bloody shirt was his usual Tuesday program for the night.

My eyes kept roaming back to his bloody shirt which made my stomach turn into a knot.

The picture of the man's shocked face as he pressed his hand against his bloody head just kept replaying in my mind over and over.

When he noticed me staring, he glanced down at his shirt.

"Don't worry, it wasn't that serious." He tried to reassure me.

I crossed my arms and pressed my back against the cell.

"The blood tells me otherwise."

Only now did I notice that there was a scar on the side of his neck. It wasn't new, it looked mostly healed but the outline was still there and probably will be.

"It's my brother's so it's all cool." He moved his hand around. "Don't worry, he deserved it."

Oh, who didn't love a good relationship forming between two brothers? His casualty in the situation was a big surprise to me.

But again, I didn't know him and his life, so it might be a common thing for him to get arrested.

"And that's why he called the cops on you?" I asked pointedly.

He glanced down at his bloody knuckles and shrugged.

"He might be older than me but he is still just a sad little boy on the inside."