Chapter Five: "Well, That Worked Out Wonderfully."
I FINALLY got tired of running and stopped after a half hour.
I avoided roads, and kept to the bushes and the streets that weren't busy. Even though it's one in the morning and the roads were deserted, I didn't take chances. I just kept going. Nobody came after me, and I don't have my phone. All I have is the bottle of tequila in my hand.
I don't realize how far I've run until I look up and see the Hollywood sign above me. Not feeling far enough since I live like a 10 minute drive away from it. I keep going, heading for the beaches that are a long run from where I stand.
I get to the main road to the beach when I see very bright headlights pull out onto the dark road. I jump to the side, hiding in camouflage behind a couple buildings. Once the lights pass, I continue walking down the strip, until suddenly, I'm pulled into strong arms and a bulky chest. I squeal in fright and start squirming to get free.
"Let me go, you psycho! Help! Someone help me! Rape! Rape!" I scream out, and I stop once I see the same car from a minute ago, pull up beside us. Uh oh.
I stop fighting the man, and instead of a pin dropping, my bottle does, and shatters on the cement beneath my feet. I look down, and see the black pants with a navy blue stripe running down the middle of the pant legs. It's that minute exactly that I notice the nightstick, and gun attached to his hip.
I just got caught by cops.
I just got caught drunk by cops!
He spins me around, holding my shoulders firmly as his partner exits the car. I turn and see that the lights weren't on, but those large lights hanging near the side mirrors are on, like they were searching for someone.
"You wouldn't happen to be Brooklyn, would you?" He asks me in his deep voice. He's around his thirties, and what colour hair and eyes he has is beyond me. This street is pitch black.
"I don't know what you're talking about." I say in a jumbled rush. "Let me go!"
"English. Speak English." He says slowly.
"No." I hiss, and try to break free of him again, but to no ado, he holds me firmly easily.
He looks down at the shattered bottle that's running down the sidewalk, and looks over at his partner. A woman, I think to myself as I see the tiny figure with her hair in a bun. They exchange quiet conversation with their eyes, and he looks down at me again with a sigh. "Let's take her in."
"What?" I question. "No! No, let me go! Let me run away and never come back! I can't leave, I can't move to fucking Canada. Hey! Let me go you fat monkey! I command you to stand down!"
"I'm sure what you're saying is lovely. Now, come along." He says in monotone, spinning me around and putting my hands behind my back. Is he seriously arresting me?!
"Hey! Stop!" I exclaim. "You can't arrest me! I didn't do anything wrong."
He ignores me and tightens the cold metal around my wrists, and his partner opens the back of the cruiser, and the dude throws me inside, closing the door behind him.
"You are a very rude, mean, and selfish cop, you know that? Did your mother teach you to roughly handle women? Did she ever raise you like a gentleman?"
I'm ignored as I continue to complain the whole way to the police station. I wasn't read any rights, so I assume I'm not going to jail.
***
I was wrong.
I was so, so wrong.
I've been in this stupid cell for a while now. This cold and clammy bundle of trashed metal. It's like I'm being held prisoner. I'm pretty sure it's been at least a day, actually, since I got thrown in here.
I've sobered up, but I refuse to speak. My parents haven't even come by. Not even an officer has shown their face since that fat cow threw me in here. I have to admit, I am weak in the heart with emotion, but once I'm mad, I am mean and vicious!
But right now, I am scared.
No, cross that. I am abso-freaking-lutely terrified.
"One time. The one time I decide to get drunk at my own party and it backfires in my face like a damned jammed rifle. Motherfucker is better off just shooting me in the face than keeping me in there." I say to myself, fiddling around with my hands.
A door opens, and the man officer who captures me hours ago steps inside and comes face to face with me. "So it speaks American."
"It always could." I growl. "Like it fucking matters to you anyway."
"Now, now, is that anyway to speak to someone who's letting you go home?" He says in a stern voice.
"What if I don't want to go home?" I ask with a hostile tone.
"You have to go home. There's no reason to keep you here." He answers.
"How long do I stay in here for punching a cop in the face?"
"A few months." He replies.
"Great! Come here." I gesture. Though I obviously won't, because, hey, let's face it; I'm a good girl with a bad, bad attitude. Well, a good girl now.
And I am kind of scared of cops since my last encounter with them, but that's a story for another time.
"Too bad, you aren't staying. We just kept you here to sober you up enough to speak properly."
"I could speak 'properly.' And, for you information, Spanish is speaking properly, thank you very much. It's just when I'm drunk do I speak it the whole time. Like you care, anyway."
"Come on, I'm taking you home." He says, ignoring me and unlocks the door, gesturing me to exit.
"Home doesn't exist anymore. There is no 'home' for me." I snap.
"Just hush up and come." He orders, and I mimic him in Spanish before giving him a dirty look and exiting the cell.
It took me a couple minutes to realize that I was in a drunk tank. I wonder why my parents had the audacity to report me as a runaway child and leave me in jail for over 24 hours. Was that supposed to prove a point or something? Because if it was, I definitely didn't learn anything.
I'm silent as the cop drives me back to my house on the other side of town. He pulls into my driveway, and I don't hesitate in opening the door and slamming it closed. I storm up to my door and throw it open, stomping up to my room and ignoring the look my dad's giving me as I make my way upstairs. I barely look up to see the house is cleaned, but my mother is nowhere in sight.
I slam my bedroom door closed, hard enough where I hear a slight crack from my door. Must've cracked the wood, I think to myself, and shrug it off as I slip out of the dress I've been wearing for the past day and a half. They left me scared out of my mind behind bars, so I think a fair way of making them pay for that is to make them pay for the door I more than likely just broke.
I don't notice that my whole room is packed up until I throw open my closet to look for clothes but see nothing there. I angrily and confusedly turn around to see boxes stacked in the corner of my room. So they went through my things, too?!
I try my hardest not to scream. The fact that I literally just got out of jail and the added fact that I leave to the land of the giddy happy people tomorrow makes me want to rip my hair out. I barely get any notice, and I probably don't even get to say goodbye to my friends either.
My door is thrown open and I watch as my dad and the male officer step inside. "Go away."
"No." My father says sternly. I get taken aback, since it's rare that my father is so serious.
"You have no idea how angry I am at you. I suppose you leave before I purposely end up where you betrayers left me like that!"
"Watch your mouth." My dad growls. "You were in there for a reason."
"What, to know what prison feels like or to not be a hassle when I came home? Did you purposely not show up because you 'thought what was best' for me? Or did you not come to bail me out because no one truly cared?"
"You need to watch your tone with your father, Brooklyn. Your parents love you and only did what was best for you."
"Shut up, Santa. I wasn't talking to you." I snap at the cop. Maybe if I snap at him and cause issues, then I might be able to go to jail for obstructing an officer and my parents will have no choice but to stay until I get released.
Man, I am acting so bipolar right now.
Desperate times come for desperate measures.
In my case, it's my past attitude coming back.
"Brooklyn May!" My father yells. "You apologize right this instant."
"No. You apologize for not telling me you're shipping me to a crazy house in another fucking country tomorrow!"
My father's angry face turns into remorse and guilt, but it's gone just as quick as it appeared. "Apologize. Now."
"Go to hell." I exclaim. "Both of you!"
***
Needless to say, I guess it is okay for me to say Iâregretfullyâgot my way in the end.
Sort of.
Turns out, I am going to jail.
Bad thing?
It's in Canada.
So, not only am I still stuck moving, I'm also going to jail in another country tonight without any source of goodbyes. My things are already packed and ready, and the rest is getting flown in to my new place. Nobody told me where I was going to live once I get released, just that I'm going to live with some old time friends of my parents. I know nothing about them, just that they live up north in Ontario.
Where that is, I have no god damn idea.
Lucky me, I get my phone for the duration of the car and plane ride. Bad thing is, I never get to see it for a month.
Yep, you heard me. I'm spending a month behind bars.
I guess I didn't totally think this through.
I just wanted a reason to stay in LA and not have to leave my friends. I've been here since I've been in diapers, and now they're just taking me away just like that.
I know what you're thinking. Probably.
Why not just move in with friends or family?
Tried that.
I have no family around here. Actually, I have no family here at all. All my relatives are still residing in Mexico, and I only see them a few times a year. As much as I'd love to go back to where I came from, my mother already made it clear that I wasn't going anywhere but up north.
Justin and Lacey's parents already said they'd take me in, but my stupid mother is too stubborn to accept the fact. After the little scene I caused with the LAPD, there was now a definite no way in hell that my parents were changing their minds.
I didn't say goodbye to my parents.
I literally left an hour after I returned home from the police station. I guess I can say that I haven't met anyone who managed to imprison themselves twice in one day. I came out, and not even a half hour later, I'm going back in.
We arrive at LAX, a few security guards waiting outside the drop-off station. The male officer, who I've now come to know as Officer Lane, speaks in quiet conversation with the guards before nodding. He ignores me as he grabs my things and hands them over, and I roll my eyes and head to the entrance, when my arm is suddenly tugged on.
I spin around and come face to face with Santa.
"I didn't want to have to do this, but you left me no choice." He says softly, but has a lot of meaning in his words. Whether he meant to do this or not, I really didn't care, but I guess he at least gave me something I wanted.
Just not where I wanted it to be.
"Whatever."
Officer Lane narrows his eyes at me, trying to figure me out, but I immediately realize I'm tearing up and make my face go stoic. My walls are up again, and I give him the cold shoulder to prevent him from digging into my soul and finding all the secrets I've kept hidden since last year.
Memory lane isn't a lane I want to travel down right now.
He lets go of me and I turn on my heel and walk up to the guards. There's two who are escorting me, and one behind me.
We don't pass through the drills you would usually do at airports. We skip everything and head right to the plane.
I've been angry since the night of the party.
Now, all that I've been covering over the past year is resurfacing, and I really don't want to give off any bad impressions when I meet my 'new family', I guess you could call it. After all, I'll be spending the next two years in their houseâunless my mom and dad decide to take me back. But with the outcome just now, and the fact that even my dadâmy best friendâdidn't even say goodbye to me, is meaning something.
Man, did I ever screw up big time or what?
Stupid past.
I get escorted to my seat, one guard sitting next to me, and a couple others occupying seats near me. I sat in a double seater instead of those longer aisles holding up to several people, but the shittiest part of this is the fact that the security man beside me is hovering like a hawk stalking and circling its meal.
"Must you really need to look over my shoulder like that?" I ask softly, though I don't know if it came out harsh or not. I hope it didn't, since I don't want anyone being mad at me.
Fail.
He ignores me and I groan, leaning back further into my seat and shoot a quick text to my friends that they won't be seeing me anytime soon. Man, is Justina and Lace going to be mad or what?
A small bit of me is bursting with excitement, though, because one realization that popped into my head makes me want to do a happy dance. What that is, you might ask?
There is no Stacy Collins in wherever I'm moving to.
Well, Brooke, at least you got that going for you.
But, then a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach forms at my even truer realization hits.
Jail.
What is it like?
Will I be a target for other women in there?
Will I fit in; even though I am a complete wimp at heart because of the walls I built forced me to be that way?
Will I even make it that long?
"How long until we get there?" I ask him, and he shrugs.
"I don't know. I'll say twelve hours."
Twelve hours until I'
Stop overreacting, Brooklyn. It's only a month; you'll be fine. There are women in there doing time until they die. You have it easy. Besides, it's not your first time.
Pfft, just wait until I have to explain to them why I'm in here. Surely I'll become a target of bullying once I tell them that I'm doing a month for obstructing a damn police officer because I ran away after my mother selfishly announced in front of my friends and my drunken self that I was moving in two days to Canada.
Well. . . maybe they don't need to know that last part.
God, I am going to get laughed at, beat, and probably tormented.
One month, Brooklyn.
One month.