I let out an annoyed exhale and my migraine begins to worsen. I swear to fucking god if this prick doesn't shut it within the next 30 seconds I'm giving him another black eye.
In hindsight, I know that I probably shouldn't have hit Sandy. He's about as threatening as a teddy bear and I know his intentions were good, but he should have shut the fuck up when I told him to, if he had we might not be sitting in this jail cell right now.
It didn't take long for chaos to breakout after the first hit. Fights broke out at Skeeters all the time and I've witnessed enough of them to know how it usually ends. Some bloke will throw a drunken punch and the other guy might manage to sneak one in before the bouncers inevitably cut in and kick them out.
Unfortunately for me, the guy trying to tear me off of Sandy just so happened to be a cop. I didn't know that when I socked him square in the nose of course, but it didn't take long after that before Sandy and I were cuffed, read our rights, and ducked into the back of a cruiser.
Shit luck I guess.
And since being detained and sacked by these fuckers, Sandy has been frantically pacing back and forth and bitching my ear off relentlessly.
"Look where you've gotten us, Harry."
"I try to be a good friend to you and this is the shit you pull?"
"My parents are going to kill me. I'm about to graduate!"
On and on and on.
I'm sat on a cold steel bench that's bolted to the back cement wall of the cell with my legs spread and my elbows propped on my knees while I fiddle with my bare and very sore fingers.
Fuckers took my rings, too. Pigs.
They stripped me as soon as I got to the station, and luckily I left my journal at home instead of tucking it into the inside pocket of my leather jacket as I normally did before I went to work.
I'd sooner be burned alive than have anyone that wasn't me read that journal. It was probably the most honest thing about me, containing glimpses of my most private thoughts and a written transcript of every dream I've ever had about the nameless girl who has been plaguing my consciousness for over a year.
As far as my wallet goes, I didn't have the same luck, and it was tossed in a transparent plastic bag and sealed away along with the rest of the possessions that were on my person. I knew exactly what that meant, and I was absolutely fucking dreading it.
I shoot a quick glance up at Sandy. I haven't said much since we got canned, which I know is only pissing him off more, but I really don't have much to say.
Hey man, sorry for socking you and getting us arrested. Drinks later?
Absolutely not.
"You've really done it this time, Harry. What the fuck am I supposed to tell my parents? Hey Mom, little bit of news for you! My old mate, Harry, you know the one, right? The one with the tattoos? Yeah the one that you said resembled a young Mick Jagger! Well the prick punched me in the face and gave me a real nasty shiner and now I'm shacked up in the big house. Mind bailing me out?" he spouts sarcastically and slightly out of breath.
He looks at me expectantly with raised brows, waiting for me to respond.
A few moments of silence pass before I speak.
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