Prologue: Walking Lines
Steady... Steady...
I chanted the words over and over again like I was possessed by them, pretending like the tips of my fingers weren't going blue as I somewhat desperately tried to keep my two feet within the taped line on the floor, small giggles seeping past my lips until I had no choice but to clasp a cold hand over my stupid mouth until I could shut the hell up.
Idiotically, I enjoyed the game I was playing — if it could even be called a game. I called it, through my hard work and experience, "Walk the Line."
Sure, to the uncultured and uncivilized, it might sound dumb and childish, but in my humble opinion, it was anything but. If fact, if I do say so myself, it's the best game ever made. It was simple, even to the poor uneducated brains of those reading (boom, roasted), which consisted of two basic directions. First, drugs are required — or alcohol, your preference — and you must diligently consume it until a tentative cop pulls you over on charges of intoxication. A DUI, mind you. Next, the self - righteous police officer must take you out of your car — stay with me here, the next part is crucial — and make you place a tape line on the floor before telling you in a strong overbearing voice, "Walk in a straight line with one foot in front of the other."
Though, admittedly, as great as it sounds, I wouldn't recommend it to those faint of heart. Or those with a felony record— police folk tend to be corrupt when it comes to turning in the self-imposed.
However, after multiple attempts at not swaying and completing the three-yard marathon course, the young cop seemed to have had enough of my meaningless shenanigans as he lifted me up with clammy hands, cooly flipping me around to place a pair of sleek handcuffs on me. Oo, kinky!
I think I'm drunk.
The thought hit me like a two-pound boulder, and the copper, who's name I would refuse to ask, pushed me into his car; crouching my head down with his hand to avoid a lawsuit if I clanked my head against the roof.
Panic flared through my veins, coursing down to my gut and into my wobbly feet, rocking me where I stood. Crap! He's taking me to the pound house!
And with the image of being chained in a small kennel with a collar around my neck and me pathetically going "woof woof", my intoxicated mind seemed to sober up within seconds, desperately trying to stop the word from spinning as my head fought with itself, accumulating the stray strand of strength within me to trash out of the man's weak hold, throwing a violent kick to his groin and shin. Ha, bastard.
Though the action had less effect than I had anticipated. Admittedly I was expecting a grand show of groans, a bit of drool and some vibrant cursing as he would fall to the ground, clutching his injuries like a child and beg for a bandaid— you know, like a normal fucking human being.
Oh. My. God. He probably wasn't even human.
That seems the only logical explanation here.
Instead however, the resilient man whipped out a gun— taser, mind me— and pointed it dead center on my chest, the accurate aim making my heart pitter-platter.
I watched a flicker of a grimace grace his features with a triumphant smirk, not saying a word as he shifted uncomfortably, average expressions vivid on his face.
With nimble hands, I quickly rummaged through my pants pocket, searching almost desperately for the dumb pocket knife I always kept stashed away. My intentions weren't on stabbing the poor fool— though, the green little cop seemed hardly scared of me, a young man in his late teens or early twenties, less than half his height and weight.
And for that reason alone, I had a devious smirk playing proudly at my lips. Except, the pocket knife I kept, was not there. My smirk wavered, and my eyes fell back on the cop with the shaking hands, fingers pressed readily at the trigger.
Where's my knife!? Did he take it? However I seriously doubted the glaring officer across from me had stripped me off my knife, he never searched me after all.
Though knowing me, I'd probably dropped it somewhere in the club I'd just left from.
Perhaps I forgot to bring it at all. It was a pretty little thing, with a black handle and an iridescent blade.
I hope I hadn't lost it.
Though now seemed hardly the time to be thinking about pretty weapons, certainly not while a man was waving a gun at me. I wouldn't have been worried, had the fresh copper's hand not been trembling like he was suffering some type of seizure. At this rate, he's going to pull the fucking trigger! Granted, it wouldn't be my first time getting tazed. And let me tell you— not fun.
"You know Jeff, we can talk this out." I opted on a calm gentle tone, my eyes never leaving the agitated man's own pair, ignoring the gun pointed at my face. I really fucking hope I don't get shot.
Inside my pocket, my hand had clutched my phone.
"Who the hell is Jeff?" The officer looked confused, eyebrows furrowing as he pressed his finger a little firmer against the trigger. Regaining some level of composure after hearing my voice speak up, the man barked out an order. "Put your hands over your head and kneel down on the ground!"
I blanched slightly, not enjoying being told what to do whilst simultaneously getting yelled at.
"Come on Jeff, I know there are some weird kinks out there, but I'm not comfortable with doing anything out here on the open." I was openly stalling to make up for my incompetence in serious situations, my voice steady and teasing in a way you wouldn't normally expect whilst having a gun pointed at the center of your forehead. What was this guy trying to do? Give me shock therapy? Brain damage? Probably.
However, Jeff clearly didn't appreciate my humor, looking a heartbeat away from slamming down on the trigger and hut-hut tackling me, but I was prepared.
I, as an independent piece of shit, thought fast as I threw the phone clutched in my hand straight at him, hitting him in the dead center of his big forehead.
Bullseye.
Seeing the man momentarily stunned, I took advantage of this odd situation and ran full speed at him, tackling him. With the element of surprise on my side, I ripped the gun out of his hands and paused briefly. With my finger on the trigger, I debated over firing the damn thing or not.
Figuring I had nothing to lose, I quickly fired the gun and watched him convulse for a few seconds before passing out cold.
Damn, that's it? I'd expected a better fight at least. What a shame. Though staring at the fainted cop sprawled out in the middle of the road, I didn't really feel anything, until-
Oh no, realization hit me like a dead slam of cold water, what have I done?
I tased a cop... sure nothing new, but the phone! My phone! I broke my phone! Scrambling to my knees, I dramatically cradled my shattered device gently in my hands, putting on theatrics for the birds and squirrels watching me with curiosity. No! A year worth of unlimited data and free-roaming, all gone to waste! All of it! Down the drain! Monthly payments of nearly a hundred, bills of paperwork, customer service, a waste of my goddamn precious time!
Laying down on the cold ground, in the middle of the road next to the unconscious officer, I cuddled my phone into my chest. My slow grieving breaths being the only sound besides the car engines as I struggled to hold back my battle-hardened tears.
Free-roaming... unlimited data... a waste of money!
I should probably leave, I figured after a while, glancing at Jeff beside me; who was now snoring peacefully. Besides, he didn't smell particular pleasant either. I think he pissed himself.
Grabbing my phone again, I nearly cried in relief when I saw the faded light on my phone slowly blink on. Though the battery was dying, I quickly scrolled to a familiar number and name, sending the brief text "pick me up, bitch."
Slowly standing up from the ground, I groaned loudly at the sudden spinning of my head, a small gag reflexing as bile rose up my throat. Though refusing to throw up, I brought a hand up to steady my head as though it were physically moving. Once everything stopped twirling, I straightened out my back and proceeded walking down the empty road, not bothering to retrieve that old piece of steel (some) people considered a car.
I hated silence, and so to ease the eeriness, I started singing loudly and obnoxiously, probably trying to make enemies with the birds. Fucking flying turds.
Happily humming, I didn't get very far when a black sports car pulled up next to me. Turning around with a flamboyant twirl, I made eye contact with a scowling black haired man.
"Hey Derreck!" I screamed like I hadn't just beat down a cop, my voice springy and full of life. This just made his scowl deepen.
"Get in the goddamn car Chris." His growl wasn't fun at all. I pouted childishly as I walked around the car to the passenger seat, getting inside the now opened door. He sighed at me before pulling into drive and speeding away. Staring out the window, I was disappointed with the lack of view. Everything was black outside. Pitch black... pitch perfect... hah. Get it? Cuz the movie? With the singing girls?... heh.
"Mind elaborating?" Derreck's annoyed voice spoke up, breaking off my line of thought.
"You see, I was having some fun with this policeman, but he was really boring. Like-" I was beginning to rant, but Derreck's eye roll distracted me.
"When will you start acting like you're nineteen and not three?" Derreck sounded so posh sometimes, it irritated me. But at his question, I only replied with a similar eye roll.
"When will you stop acting like an old man? You'll die soon at this rate." I threw back, and the twenty-three year old glared. I swear the guy didn't know how to smile. I gave him a closed eyed grin, not glancing at him as I continued staring out the window. We drove in silence, me happily humming a tune under my breath as Derreck quietly smoked a cigar, blowing the smoke out the open window.
Derreck, my absolute best friend in the whole wide world, had a little drug problem. Emphasize on the little, because it wasn't little at all! The guy was on his second cigarette in the past twenty minutes! A drug addict in denial, I ignored it, for now, sleep tugging as I rested my head on the window.
Friends beside Derreck were something I didn't have a surplus of. In fact, he was my only friend. It might sound lonely, but it's really not. You see, I may not look it... or act it, but I'm quite the accomplished conman.
Which is bullshit, by the way, I'm just kinda useless and a little fearless.
I'm hungry...
.
.
"Mom, I'm hungry." The small whine that left me in no way swayed the woman currently coddling a baby in her arms. She scowled down at me, momentarily pausing her cooing to look down at me with a familiar indifference.
"Then eat something." She growled with spite, as though talking to me brought bile to her mouth. I felt the tears prickle my eyes as I backed away, my stomach painfully growling.
Where's dad?
Though, I didn't question myself for long when I found the familiar man inside his office.
"Dad, I'm hungry. Mom doesn't give me food." I cried to him, clutching onto my starved stomach with a tear stricken face. I was opting for pity, but got none in return. Dad stopped what he was doing to scowl down at me, an angry look befalling his usually gentle eyes as he stood up and walked towards me. Grabbing a fistful of my hair, I cried out in alarm as he threw me back, slamming me to the floor.
"Don't blame her for putting her child before you." The words he barked out were cruel, stabbing at my young heart. Shoving me out of his office with a kick to the stomach, he slammed the door and locked it shut. Sitting up on my knees in disbelief, I stared at the door for what felt like hours, the sound of my growling stomach accompanying me.
Her child?
Aren't I her child too?
Tears streamed down my cheeks, staining my eyes red.
At six, I knew my parents hated me. The exact reason I didn't know, I just knew they wished me dead. They starved me, beat me, neglected me, the list just kept on going. They replaced me with my little brother, who was a better me in every aspect.
Years later, I ran away. Ran away swearing a better life.
I was really fucking stupid though.
_______
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