Trust Me

♥♥♥Hi, fellow Wattpadians! This is my latest story, Trust Me! Though I usually don't start uploads before I have actually finished writing it, I have a good feeling about this one, and it's almost done, anyways. So until it is done, the uploads may be a little slow! However, the more feedback I get, the faster I update! So I hope you guys like it!!♥♥♥

Oh, and this is dedicated to my best friend, @Emily592, my Emibuns! We've been friends forever, and even when she doesn't know it, she's always helping me become a better writer. You guys have her to thank for this story♥

See, the thing is, I have a really bad attitude.

Not a lot of people can get past that, which is the way I like it. It’s a habit. I don’t play well with others. See, I rarely forgive, and I never, ever forget. Unfortunately, there are down sides to having such an advanced sense of sarcasm as my own. It tends to get you in trouble. Especially in situations like my own.

Meaning when you are already in a holding cell, right then is not the time to start being a smart ass. Who knew? As it turns out, cops don’t like it when you back talk them. They aren’t sporting about it, and take things very personally.

Which is how I ended up in the solitary confinement cell.

That, and probably because I decked my cell mate the day before.

I regretted nothing.

I groaned when the door of my cell squeaked open and pit bull of a man came in, one hand on his tazer and the other holding a tray of food precariously. I opened one eye, then shut it again. He either didn’t notice or pretended not to.

“Quit your moaning, this is your own fault. You know, all you kids are all the same. You all think you’re such bad asses, but in reality, you’re just spineless wimps.” He snarled meanly. I didn’t take it to personally. Being a jerk was probably in the job description when it came to guarding the cell of the seventeen year old in solitary confinement.

He fell silent, and I guessed he was staring at me. I didn’t care.

“I see you’re still sleeping.” he said rudely.

“I see you still let your mother dress you.” I said, opening one eye before and pulling myself up into a sitting position. Her cheeks flushed bright red and she glowered at me before stalking out of the cell and slamming the door behind him. I chuckled as I heard the locks slide into place. I grabbed my tray and slowly opened it, wincing at the horror show they called food. I stared at it for a moment, then shrugged and dug in. I’d gone dumpster diving too many times to be picky.

What is going on here, you ask?

Why was I in prison, you ask?

Why had I ever gone dumpster diving, you ask?

All reasonable questions. I wasn’t actually incarcerated or anything, they just had nothing else to do with me at that point. I had been brought in the day before for supposedly defacing public property. That had ticked me off. I had just been spending the night, and some guy decided he wanted to spray paint one of the supports holding the bridge I was sleeping under. No big deal. Until the sirens started wailing and he took off, leaving me, confused and half asleep, for the cops to haul in. They were sure it was me. So they brought me in, sat me down for some questioning, and quickly discovered that the word “uncooperative” did  not even begin to describe me. I was irritated, tired, hungry, sore, and certainly not in the mood.

Things got bad when they had asked me who to contact. See, the hitch in that plan arose when they discovered that I had no family. Then they realized they had no record of me anywhere for the past couple of years, after my mother had died.