Springlocked (Mike Shmidt x reader) DISCONTINUED

stay calm

       Thump. Thump. Thump. A knock sounded on the door.

I sighed knowing exactly why there was someone knocking on my door at 6 in the morning. I got up from my place on my couch, knocking over old and new alcohol bottles in the process. I stumbled to the door and swung it open, tipsy.

"Hey, you're early!" I slurred slightly.

"Y/n, this is the second time," the woman said.

Shit. My parole officer stood in uniform, clutching a file in her right arm. I rolled my eyes and stepped aside to let her inside.

"To be fair, you're early," I mumbled.
She smacked the bottle that I was holding out of my hand and flared her nostrils.

"I told you to stop this shit. Why don't you ever listen?!" She scolded.

"Listen, I don't know what you want from me anymore. I'm hopeless and honestly wish you would just give up," I explained plopping myself back into my couch.

"You can't keep doing this. You know the deal, Y/n. I know what happened but you can't keep doing shit like this. It's not healthy and this place is a complete wreck. When was the last time you ever cleaned?" She ranted while picking up empty bottles of vodka and throwing it into a trash bag that was lying around. Dumping my ash tray along with the empty packs of cigarettes that were scattered on the coffee table.

"Michelle, if you know what happened then you shouldn't be questioning why the hell I'm like this," I deadpanned while hoisting myself up, almost tripping over my own feet, and going to grab another bottle from the fridge. I opened it and reached in.

Suddenly, the fridge door slammed. Michelle stood with her hand grasping the fridge door holding it closed. I glared at her and hunched my shoulders in defeat.

"Listen to me," her stern voice rang out, "you can't change what happened. None of us can but you can't let it affect you. If you want custody of your sister, then you need to stop drinking, smoking, and being a fucking stoner."

I swiped my hand against a chair in the kitchen, clearing off the cigarette butts and empty cans off of it. I slumped over holding my stomach, ignoring her.

"Trash can." I murmured.

Michelle scooted a small trash can in front of me. The contents of my stomach spewed out with a sickening squelch, some missing the trash can and landing on the dirty floor.

I wiped my lips with the back of my hand and winced as my throat felt like it was on fire.

"Sorry," I stared blankly.

"You need to get a job. Today. So sober up because I got someone whose willing to get you a gig," Michelle cleaned up my mess and stood to leave.

"You've got 20 minutes. Go take a shower, you reek," she said while opening and shutting the door with a slam.

"I'm so fucked," I murmured to myself. I stood up and swayed my way over to the bathroom. Not wasting a minute, I stripped tossing articles of clothes wherever and turned the water to the shower on.

The steam from the water filled the room, fogging up my vision even more than it already was. I stepped in, the water scorching my skin and I washed myself.

The smell of alcohol was replaced with a nice lavender scent as I lathered my body and hair with the soap. I sighed, letting my thoughts be consumed by the heat of the water.