Mixtapes & Polaroids | Sam x Deena

33

Deena thinks she's going crazy.

No, Deena is sure she's going crazy. Eight hours sitting on hard concrete floor, staring at the wall across her, going over every scratch, every carving, every little writing because it was all that accompanied her. It might just have been the worst time to be so alone in that cold, barred room, head hung back and every time she closed her eyes, she can feel the wisps on painful memory flash in her mind like a strobe light. Head spinning, gut wrenching in the form of teary blue eyes and a silver dress walking away from her.

She doesn't even know what time it is when one of the officers came in, key's jangling and belly protruding, the sound of the lock in her cell clicking open flew threw her head. She just kept staring, kept repeating the events of the night like some sort of self-punishment.

"Hey!" The officer says, a little louder, standing by the open cell and peering upon Deena who jolts into reality.

"Get up. Your father is here."

Deena doesn't think she'd ever be on the other side of the situation. Usually it was her picking him up from the station for something hazy like public disturbance. It almost makes her want to laugh, the irony, how her life seems to keep turning under her feet, knocking her down with force just when she thinks she's found stable ground.

Lo and behold, when Deena steps out there he sat, her father. Clad in his usual white shirt and faded green flannel, donning his worn out jeans and work boots as they lock eyes. Deena can feel the disappointment, she knew it so well because she used to be the one wearing that look, sitting in that chair. All other conversations go through her head like white noise, and the walk to the car was deafeningly silent, the ride too.

She can tell he didn't know what to say, like he was still stringing the words together in his head which Deena was thankful for. She doesn't think she could hold a conversation without falling apart, but peace never lasts for a girl like her and the moment they pull into the driveway, he finally speaks.

"Underage drinking? Seriously Deena?" Is what he comes up with, frustrated and in disbelief as Deena stops in her tracks. She's just a few steps away from the stairs that led up their porch, ears ringing and limbs numb as she sighs.

"Can we not do this right now?" It's soft and tired, but she's begging with whatever she's got left for him not to push. She's been walking the precipice for what felt like forever, the last thing she needed was another shattering fall.

"When? When do we talk about this? You were in jail!" He exclaims, and just like that, with nothing left, Deena snaps.

"It was one night! One fucking night!" She whips around to look at him, meeting his disappointed eyes with just as much pain. She's pleading for it not to go on, because if it did she knew she'd set it all on fire. She was so, so close.

"One night is all it takes! Do you know how much it cost to bail you out?"

"I'll pay you back." Deena tries to calm herself down again, taking a shaky breath that her father doesn't read, no, not at all, because he doesn't stop.

"That's not the point!" He slams his hand down onto the roof of the car, the impact not even fazing the young girl in front of him as she stares him down.

"Then what? What the goddamn point?" She says through gritted teeth, almost as if to challenge him.

"The point is my fourteen year old son came home wasted out of his mind and my seventeen year old daughter spent the night in jail! In fucking jail! Do you not get how serious this is?" He's screaming at her, Deena doesn't remember the last time he sounded so whole. The last time she didn't just get half meant words and drunken mumbles, and it bubbles the pit of her stomach in so much agony. So she decides to walk away, hearing the ticking in her mind begin to get louder and louder, but she was afraid to explode.