♥♥♥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.
Yes, I had been living on my own, going from place to place, for two years, avoiding social services. I did not want another family, I did not want to live in a group home. I wanted to stay below the radar, avoid people, but no.
To answer your question, no, I was not homeless, for the most part. Me and my best friend had mostly been able to afford bombed out apartments under an alias. And no, we were not hookers. We just did odd jobs for people.
That is, until he was shot and killed by a local gang about a month ago.
But I’d rather not think about that.
The point is, I was being kept in the prison until they could find somewhere for me to go, because they wisely did not trust me enough to assume that I would just stay put in a group home until they found a family willing to take me.
So there I was, in a cell, by myself, eating crappy food and trying not to think about him.
I wasn’t entirely sure what time it was, but I guessed it was around noon, and I was feeling bored, twitchy, and extremely claustrophobic. See, I do not like being in places where I can’t get out. It’s my biggest fear. Well, maybe not my biggest, but more on that later.
I flopped back on my small, hard cot and stared at the cement ceiling, absently rubbing my sore rib that had been cracked in the scuffle right before…
I let the thought trail off and shut my eyes momentarily, running a hand through my long, thick, sandy blond hair, and wished more than anything, anything else in the world, that he was there with me.
Jake.
My best friend, shot dead. Because he was trying to protect me. He was dead because of me.
I squeezed my eyes shut, trying to squelch the memory. It was still so fresh….just a month ago, Jake and I had been doing what we did. Playing on the swings in the middle of the night in the park play ground like a couple of little kids, sneaking into the carnival that only came around once a year. We had never slept together, or made out, or even kissed. Our relationship wasn’t like that. He was just my best friend, the one I could depend on no matter what. He was my anchor to reality, my rock when everything else was all wishy washy.
And then he was gone.
With nothing to remember him by but a small, plain gravestone with his name, birth and death date, and the unconventional words “love is giving someone the power to destroy you, but trusting them not to.” They were words he had told me more than once.
“When I die,” he once said, “I want that on my gravestone. I know you’re gonna be all old and stuff by then, but try and remember.” He said in his teasing way, making me smile.
He was the only one that could make me smile, make me forget how sucky life was.
Without him I was….lost? Confused? Torn? I don’t know. The only feeling I could distinguish from the rest was anger.
Anger at everything. At the fact that my dad beat my mom senseless when I was little, at the fact that my mom cared more about keeping a good stock of cocaine than she did about me, at the fact that she died and left me nothing,at the fact that Jake just up and died me on. That he just left me. I know that sounds crazy. It’s not like he chose to be shot in the back and die.
And don’t pull that whole twelve stages of grief or whatever out, or I’m gonna break something. Or someone.
I jumped to my feet when the cell door opened again, feeling closed in and panicky. A different guard stood at the door. He looked surprised to see me, and checked the number on my cell before looking back at me. I guess he wasn’t expecting to a petite, seventeen year old girl in a solitary confinement cell. He quickly pulled himself together.
“We’re moving you.” He said in a stiff voice. I raised an eye brow.
“Oh? Where are you taking me?” I asked him, crossing my arms. He stepped aside a little and gestured for me to step out of the cell. When I didn’t, he sighed.
“There’s someone here to see you.” He said, and I raised my eyebrows.
“I don’t have anyone.”
“It’s someone willing to take you in.” he said, looking a little confused as to why I hadn’t leapt from the cell. It’s not that I didn’t want to, it’s just that I wanted to make sure I wasn’t about to step into a bear trap. Call me paranoid.
“Someone wants to what, adopt me?” I asked snarkily, stepping from the cell. I figured I could at least get a meal out of this little excursion. He shook his head and took a firm grip on my arm, making me flinch a little. Old habit. He honestly thought I could escape, as if I was gonna tunnel through the cement floor or something. Every single door in that place was locked. It’s not like I was going anywhere.
“Not necessarily, they may want to foster you, if you’re lucky.” He said, as if I should be thankful. He didn’t seem to get the whole “I was fine on my own” thing.
I was lead through many doors, all the while mapping the route and keeping an eye out for possible exits. Just in case. It was a habit, ok?
I was practically pushed into a small room with a metal table in it, a small window with bars covering it near the ceiling, and a guard by the door. Also, a woman sitting in a chair at the table. I watched her cautiously while I moved closer to the window, dying for some fresh air rather than the stale, dry air of the prison. She smiled at me.
“Hello, you must be Quinn.” She said, and I nodded, watching her warily. She stood up and came a little closer, extending her hand to me. I stared at it until she let it drop, but she powered through the awkwardness I was purposely creating in hopes of scaring her off so I could get some food.
“My name is Maria Carbonnet.” She said, then gestured to the metal chairs. “Would you like to take a seat?” she asked me. When I didn’t answer she sat down herself and turned to face me, then just sat there silently. I shifted my weight to my other foot, flicked my glance around once more, then sat down at the chair across from her. She smiled at me and folded her hands on the table.
“I don’t want a family.” I said in a flat tone. Her gaze barely flickered before she spoke.
“I’m not offering you one.” She said in a firm voice. I sized her up, wondering what she was angling at.
“Then I guess I’m free to go.” I said, beginning to stand up. She put her hand on my wrist and I jerked it back, my heart leaping into full pounding mode. She looked a little surprised at my reaction, but she quickly composed herself.
“I’m not offering you a family; I’m offering you a place to stay. Food, shelter, safety.” She said, her voice dripping sincerity. I narrowed my eyes. I was aware that things like this rarely came without a price, and in this case, it appeared I would be paying with my freedom. Call me stubborn, but I was not willing to give up so easily. It did sound tempting to have a flow of food, shelter. I didn’t buy into the whole thing, though. They would get tired of me and send me away. They would give up on me, just like everyone else. I was not willing to risk it.
“Thanks, but no thanks. I’ll take a pass.” I said, aware of the fact that I was being a huge bitch. I knocked on the door, signifying to the guard that we were done, and she sat there silently, though I could feel her eyes on my back.
Rather than just being taken back to my cell where I could sulk, I was taken to see the main guard guy, whatever they’re called. I got the feeling that he was the head honcho. The door was left open to his small office while a guard stood, waiting, outside of it. A metal nameplate on his desk said “Dean Martin”, and he gestured for me to sit down.
“Well, Quinn, what do you say?” he asked, as if we had been close friends for a long time. I leaned back in my chair and crossed my arms.
“I say I could use a couple of those things from McDonalds, you know, the McHeart Attack things.” I said coolly, watching him. He didnt take the bait, and just leveled his blue eyes at me.
“You can either go with Mrs. Carbonnet, or you can go to a group home.” He said flatly, and I felt my anger levels go up a couple notches. If there is one thing I hate, more than anything else in the world, it’s getting bossed around. Especially by people older than me.
‘I’m going to be 18 in eleven months.” I said in a steely voice. He just shrugged.
“That’s eleven months from now.” He said, as if I hadn’t just said it. I leaned forward and laced my fingers together, speaking in a slow tone, as if he were a child having a tantrum.
“Look, Dean- can I call you Dean? No? Well look, I’ve been on my own for a long time. I can take care of myself pretty well, and so far, I haven’t even had to break the law to do it.” I said, mostly truthful. This statement did not put him at ease the way you might have expected it to.
“I gave you your choices. Pick one.” He said in a monotone voice. I could this was not his first time at the rodeo.
“I’ll just stay here.” I said stubbornly, unwilling to choose one of the options he had so kindly supplied me with. He raised an eyebrow, waiting.
The fact that I breaking down and doing what he said was making my psyche split in two should be a good indication of how stubborn I am.
“I guess I’m going to a foster home then.” I said, cold fury making my voice quiet and steady. He nodded sharply, wrote something down, and stood up.
“I’ll be telling Mrs. Carbonnet. Peregrine, take her back to her cell.’ He said, quickly striding past me and out the door. I turned and raised an eyebrow at the guard.
“Peregrine?” I repeated, allowing him to lead me down the hall despite the sudden jump in my heart beat at his touch. He barely looked at me and nodded.
“That’s a bird.” I felt compelled to point out, and he sighed.
“Yes, I am aware.”
I smirked at him, but he wouldn’t look at me. I made a squawking noise like a hawk, feeling better all ready at my new found source of entertainment. Hawkeye gave me a weird look.
“Sorry, I’m hungry. Can we stop at the cafeteria?” I asked subtly trying to wriggle my wrist free from his grasp. He shook his head.
“No.”
“Aw, c’mon.”
“Nope.”
“Please?”
He sighed and shook his head. “Puh-lease?” I begged him. “I’ll be real quick, you can even follow me, then we can go right back to the accommodations you fine folks provided me with.” I said, and he sighed.
“Fine.”
So that’s how I ended up in the somewhat crowded prison cafeteria, loading up a green tray with weird foods. Most of the scattered, orange topped tables at had a few inmates sitting at them.
“Do not go anywhere.” Peregrine said suddenly. I rolled my eyes as he quickly strode off towards a group of guards, no doubt gossiping about the latest soap. I shrugged and stepped up the grab a fork, then turned around and immediately slammed into a very large women who appeared to be in her late forties with grotesquely thin blond hair and dim blue eyes. She was about the same height as me, but probably had one hundred and fifty pounds on me.
“Watch it!” she snarled, pushing me backwards by my shoulders and causing gravy to spill on me. I looked at her.
“You spilt my gravy.” I said calmly, and she sneered at me.
“Maybe next time you’ll watch your damn step, you clumsy little bitch.” She said angrily, moving to step around me. I once again stepped into her path, and pure hatred popped into her eyes.
“You spilt my gravy.” I said in a steely voice. If there is one thing you do not mess with, it’s a girl’s gravy. Seriously, off limits. I set my tray down as she snarled at me.
“I said, move.” She barked, trying to push me out of the way. Now I was mad. I hated bullies. I pushed her back, and surprise sprang up on her face, but was quickly replaced by fury. She took a large swing at my head with a ham sized fist, but I nimbly ducked and sprang up behind her, pushing her again. She caught herself and spun around, already swinging at me again. I ducked again, trying to stifle a giggle. It didn’t work, and it made her angrier. She was a lot bigger than me, and clearly had been in many fights before. She was not completely clueless, and I had to pay more attention. I heard one of the guards yell, and knew it was only a matter of time. But see, I really wanted to hit something right then.
The thing about a fight is you have to expect pain. If you’re surprised by the pain, then you just lost. So when she swung and missed, I thought I was home free, until I spun right into a strong punch, right in my eye. Pain shot through my skull, but I still hit her hard in the stomach with both fists, causing her to double over.
That’s when the guards hauled me away, leaving my tray of food on the counter.
Peregrine and one of his buddies pushed me roughly into my cell, Peregrine shooting me a frustrated glare, then my door was slammed. I cackled a little, feeling a little better after having hit something, but then I realized I had a major head ache, no doubt a nice shiner, and I still had no food.
I laid down on my bed, carefully resting my head on a pillow with my bruised side facing up. A few minutes later my door was opened and an icepack was thrown in. I quickly pressed it to my face and shut my eyes, hoping the headache would end soon.
TELL ME WHAT YOU THOUGHT AND WE CAN BE FRIENDS FOREVER!!!!♥♥ Also, if any of you have read either of my other two stories, then you are going to see similarities. Not because I'm an unimaginative idiot, but because I'm trying to perfect my skills(haha) so taking things from other things I have written is an....exercise of sorts.