Trying To Endure

Chapter Fourty-Two

SONG: Eminem - Leaving Heaven (ft. Skylar Grey)

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April Levesque

I crumble to the floor, next to the thank-God conscious woman. Sore tears burn my eyes. Fuck. My ears ring — a gut-wrenching pitch so high, the drums could bleed. Groaning, blinking and blinking, vision fuzzed. With a move of my jaw, I wince.

When you are anointed to a social role that ranks high in the social hierarchy, it certainly can boost your ego and mess with your head. It certainly can manipulate you into believing you are unstoppable. You can think you are humble. You can think you are good, but that is not entirely true — not if you haven't had a taste of authority.

I roll on my back, gawking at the man. "Fuck you. You don't deserve the badge."

His eye twitches, perturbed at the audacious truth. Just as I expect him to commit another horror, in a flash, Derek is in front of me and takes the second hit. I shriek his name, his face cracking to the side, floundering backward thrice. Stability maintained, swift moments elapse of his registration of what the fuck just happened. His amplified eyes ease into a clenched, aggravated tick, his figure rigidified.

The roars of the protestors drum the grounds like the vibrations of speakers. The people are too preoccupied objecting in the city heart. This road is vacant.

As calm as a panther, Derek focuses on the confused cop. "You are certainly a bastard."

"Excuse me?" the officer — the badge: Thompson — demands, bewildered and, again, shocked at the audacity.

Derek remarks, "You are immorally abusing your power."

Frustration flashing in Thompson's gaze, I yelped a gasp the second he lashed out a taser gun. "Move, kid."

Despite his face being covered, his frore darts to the weapon. He peeps over his shoulder at the fair woman, grimacing and cupping her impacted cheek. Finalising on me, a flicker of vehemence. Lazily and perilously, he fixates on the officer, and I have a sense that black face mask is enshrouding a savage, savage smirk.

I haul onto my arms, requesting if the fair woman is fine. She manages a nod.

The Dobermans reach us, growling at the officer, cords of drool suspending. Derek instructed something in German. The dogs stir backward, chivalrously before us, primed to pounce.

A tall, muscular man of tattooed arms and a red forming beard clamours, "What the hell do you think you are doing?" as a woman in a hijab kneels next to us.

"You okay?" She and Hamilton helped to lift us up. "Whoa." She stabilises me.

A quick observation of my light-headed state, Hamilton shouts at someone to get water.

"Who are you?" demands Thompson. "Get off of me! I'm a cop and I can fucking 'cuff you!"

The man in tattoos withdraws a badge from his side pocket. "I'm a fucking cop, too, lass."

"I haven't seen you in the department."

"I work for Madame Everston."

Thompson's mystification resides, his face paling at the utterance of the intimidating name. He stares at Hamilton ushering the injured woman to a Cadillac Escalade, flashing to me, concluding onto the power, and comprehends his doom, the amount of trouble he got into.

"Drop the taser," orders Derek.

Thompson whips at his voice.

At his hesitation, Derek removes his face-mask. The officer's colour drains further. "You're — you're the mayor's son."