Hoppla! Dieses Bild entspricht nicht unseren inhaltlichen Richtlinien. Um mit dem Veröffentlichen fortfahren zu können, entferne es bitte oder lade ein anderes Bild hoch.
𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐘, 𝟏𝟐:𝟑𝟖 𝐏𝐌
~~
I sit up lazily in my bedroom with the sun daring to peek through my curtains. Artifacts of clothing, makeup, and hair products are strewn everywhere from the week of contemplating which outfit to wear.
My blue tank top is twisted when I get up from my bed as I stroll into the bathroom, and my entire body stiff and sore. Looking at my reflection there are tiny clumps of crust pooling in the corners of my eyes, sleep marks dragging across my arms, and a cut the size of my pinky spreading across my face.
I sigh at the mark, praying it won't leave a scar. Castor oil. I wash my face with my usual cleanser and moisturize my skin, following with my minty toothpaste and a gargle of mouthwash.
I pull open my medicine cabinet connected to my mirror and pull out the bottle of castor oil, but with my luck the bottle is empty and nothing can be salvaged from it.
I pull my hair out from my bonnet, still stuck in place from the heaps of gel I've applied. I debated going to the beauty supply store in my short shorts, and tank top but I chose against it and changed into a pair of biker shorts and an oversized graphic t-shirt, and threw a baseball cap over my hair with some large sunglasses.
Mielle texted me that she was out spending the day with her Mom, and would be home sometime later in the day. She also agreed to braid my hair before the cookout this weekend. I decided once I came back from the store I'll clean up the place, and wash my hair.
I'm driving down the street, and somewhat feeling uneasy about yesterday's actions. Not towards Porco after what he had done to me, but more towards Jennifer.
My thoughts were interrupted by sirens blaring from behind me and the flash of red and blue filled my rearview mirror.
Panic. Even before last night's actions I've always hated getting pulled over so I would rarely get pulled over. I pulled over to the right of the road out of traffic and put my car in park. Before the officer made it to me I reached into my glove compartment and pulled out my brightly colored pocket containing my license and registration.
My window was already halfway rolled down and I lowered it some more once he made it to my car.
The officer was absolutely ripped, and tall. He wore a baby blue button-down t-shirt underneath his bulletproof vest and matching navy blue pants with a brown holster sitting at his waist. His arms were so big it looked like his shirt was going to burst at the seams. His badge on the right of his chest read "Daichi."
"Hi." I peeped.
"Good Afternoon ma'am." He kindly smiled, "Do you know what I pulled you over for?"
"No..."
"You had your blinkers on for the past two blocks."
"Oh! I must've flicked it on by accident. Sorry about that."
