You Don't Come Close.

12

"You're lucky we're not searching for your goddamn balls. Cause' you look like a girl, you fag!"

The other takes hold of my hair again, pulling at an earring.

"Nice jewelry. Ah don't worry, sweetheart. You'll get to suck some cock sooner then you'd wish for. Cause' you're going to jail."

A last, violent try to get free, but he's lunging out again and the last thing I feel is white, blinding pain that's letting my head explode.

---

When I wake up again I need a few seconds to understand where I am. I am laying on cold floor in just my jeans, my whole body hurting like hell. I groan, my hand coming up to touch my face, feeling dried blood everywhere.

"Fuck..."

My memories are slowly coming back, but I am fuckin' drunk. I let my fingertips stroke over my hurting rips, then sit up a little, finding cuts and bruises all over my chest, so they probably kicked me halfway to death. When I fall back there are tears in my eyes, from hurt and anger and frustration, but I manage to blink them away. What the fuck have I gotten myself into?

I am trying to count what I've done, wanting to know how long they can have me in here and the list is damn long. Drinking in public, scandalization by running around in just my pants, drug possession and probaly consumption, insulting officials and last but not least violence against cops. I am watching my bruised knuckles, hoping that I at least broke his goddamn nose, but even if I did- it's not helping me outta here at all.

"Fuckin' shit..."

My voice sounds all loud and strange in the empty drunk tank. At least it's empty, cause' long hair, golden earrings and black nail polish really aren't very advisable in a real cell, especially not when you're unconscious for god knows how long. Judged from the state of my drunkenness it must have been a few hours. I curse again, but there's nothing I can do now, so I just curl on my side, trying to find a position that's less painful.

Minutes gone by, hours.

My mouth is starting to get dry and fuzzy, my head pulsing with pain, my ribs hurting like hell every time I inhale and I end up puking all over the fucking floor, from the hangover but mostly from feeling all miserable.

It's stretched. It's endless.

Then finally I can hear the rustling of a key and the door opens with a click.

"Get up."

I am still laying, not able to move a single finger.

"Get up, I said!"

He's pushing me with the hard tip of his boot, the just grabs my arm and pulls me to my feet.

"You smell like a cesspit," he says, "I really don't know why someone would pay a single dollar for such a piece of shit you are."

I am showing my teeth, hissing and pulling my arm away, but he gets a grip of it again, pushing me towards the door. Another click and I am in handcuffs as he shoves me with him through the hallway. We are stopping as a barred office and they gave my clothes - surely without my drugs.

"Get dressed", that shit faced guy commands while removing the handcuffs again. Really fuckin' useful to chain me for 3 minutes, but I just obey. What else can I do? As soon as I'm done, I follow him through two gates, then into the front office. I give my best to not puke everywhere again, my head hanging down and hair all over my face.

"There he is."

"Good."

Fuck. I don't even wanna look up, I don't want to when hearing that annoyed sounding deep ass voice coming from the other side of the room. There are no more words, just Axl saying "C'mon.", and I follow him, still without looking up, until we are outside. He leads me to a car then, opening the door for me and I climb inside, hoping for him to just stay silent and fuckin' drive.