“I don’t,” I snap and keep walking.
“What do you mean, you don’t?” He presses on the gas to keep up with my pace, which is close to a jog at this point. “Hey, I’m talking to you!”
“And I’m ignoring you.” I keep going, looking straight ahead.
He lets out a loud huff. “You can’t ignore me.”
“Watch me, asshole.” It didn’t come out quiet, but I didn’t mean for it to. Let him hear it.
“What did you just call me?” His voice drops an octave.
“You heard me,” I say louder so he can hear this time, since apparently his ears are filled with wax.
“I’m the officer of the law.” His voice rises to nearly a screech.
“You’re a shithead.”
“The fuck did you just say?” He slams on the brakes, making his shiny cop car visibly stutter.
I stop, turn toward him, and plant my hands on my hips. “You heard me: you’re a shithead and an asshole, you abuse your position of power, and oh—you’re a shitty fucking cop, too.”
“That’s it,” he barks, hauling himself out of the cruiser. “You’re coming to the station.”
I snort. “In your dreams.”
"Get in the car, or I'll cuff you and put you in there by force,” his voice booms over the quiet street. I notice a couple onlookers and know that in a few short minutes, the whole town will have heard that localtrailer trashKayla Adams was resisting arrest by the brave Officer Attleborough on the Main Street of our fine town.
“Fuck off, Jake. Last time I checked, calling someone a shithead isn’t illegal,” I point out, my voice pitched with shock and indignation at the realization that he’s serious. “I haven’t done anything to justify you arresting me.”
“Alright, then.” With that, he swiftly spins me around and snaps his pair of handcuffs over my wrists in one smooth movement. I didn’t even know he had it in him. I’d be impressed if I didn’t hate his guts.
“What the hell?” I try to yank on the cuffs, and the sickeningly familiar position of having my hands tied behind my back rings a bell of the worst kind in my head. He opens the back door of the cruiser and shoves me inside. “Ouch!” I yelp, hitting my forehead on the way in. That’ll bruise. He gets in himself and peels away from the curb.
“You’ve gone too far this time, Jake,” I hiss as I try to find a more comfortable position- not exactly an easy feat with my hands tied behind my back. It was something I learned weeks ago, a memory I try hard to shove down dragged to the surface now. "Ever heard of Miranda rights? Or, I don't know, unlawful arrest? They do teach you this shit, right?"
He doesn’t utter a word, which is eerily unlike him. I lean back and try to bring my racing pulse down—I haven’t been in the back seat of a cop car in years. That was back when I was a teenager, and for something I didn't do. Before Kenneth, Alex's brother, became the sheriff, we had a very old dude with very conservative views who believed that a woman’s place was barefoot in the kitchen with a swollen belly. He was also a strong believer in rich white people ruling the world. He took pleasure in blaming every single mishap in town on the closest available person of color or anyone under the poverty line. So yeah, I’ve been in the back seat of a cop cruiser quite a few times during my teenage years simply by being born poor rather than rich.
Pulling up to the station, he gets out and opens the door for me without a word. I climb out, nearly falling on my ass in the process, but he grabs my elbow, squeezing it hard. I clench my teeth to avoid showing how much it friggin' hurts. Once steady, I yank my arms away from him and start walking to the entrance.
The station is quiet. Besides Sheriff Kenneth Benson, there is one more deputy, Jennica, easily recognized by her glowing brown skin and wavy black hair, always pulled into a low ponytail when she’s on duty. I pray she’s here today so she can help me, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone else here. I’m on my own.
Jake grabs my cuffed wrists and walks me to the cell. Well, more like pushes me. He takes the cuffs off as he propels me inside.
“Really?” I snap at him.
“It will teach you how to talk to an officer of the law.”
“You’re noofficer,” I sneer, rubbing my wrists. “You’re a pathetic parody of one, and I will not let this one slide, Jake. Not this one.” Being tied-slash-cuffed twice in the span of only a handful of weeks is two times too many if you ask me.
The cell is standard, ten-by-ten maybe, with one cot. Look at me: placed into solitary on my first stint. I have no idea who's been here before and whether they sanitized the facility or not. I think I know the answer to that, and I cringe. Not having any choice, I plant my ass on the cot and stew in my desire to rip Jake’s tiny dick into teeny-tiny pieces. I’d feed them to him with a spoon. Maybe I’d save a couple shreds for Kenneth or Jennica when they show up. They’d support me. Anyone with two brain cells can see him abusing his position, and between Kenneth trying to clean up after his predecessor's corruption and set an example, and the realities of biased police misconduct that Jennica, as a person of color and a cop, knows better than anyone else, I can't see this getting past them.
Hours pass by, and neither of them show. Why? I thought someone always must be on call at the station. What if there’s a robbery? Or a murder? Who is going to respond to the call?
I hear Jake’s muffled rumbling, realizing he must be talking on his phone, and I yell at him to give me some water at least. It’s beenhours, and I can see the sun setting through the window. So today’s only Jake’s shift. Awesome. The one day Kenneth and Jennica just decide to take the day off at the same time and leave Little Hope in the hands of the idiot. They’d better be shagging somewhere because that would be the only reason I’d forgive them for abandoning the town to Jake.
“Hey!” A male baritone thunders through the station. Jake stops rambling. “Hey, anyone here?”
“What?” Jake comes out from behind his table and walks to the receptionist's desk, currently sitting empty. It's been vacant for a few months now. I don’t know if it’s because there isn’t enough funding for hiring another person, or they simply can't find anyone suitable. I look at Jake. The bar is pretty low, so I’d go with the funding issue.
