Broken Home For The Broken Hearted ~ A Ben Bruce Love Story (2015 Reupload)

Donut-whore

I sat my drunken body down on a hard plastic chair while the donut-whore that arrested me spoke with another of the same type. Since when was being a bad bitch illegal? I looked around the mostly gray, mostly boring room, only to find a man sitting across from me with brown hair, brown eyes, and high cheekbones. He was already watching me intently before I looked at him, and he smirked when I met his eyes. He stood and approached me. He was obviously as drunk as I was, but didn't stumble. He sat down beside me and I smiled politely. "What are you in for?"

"Oh." I thought to myself. "Did you know that they call being fun, drunk and disorderly now?" I laughed.

"Just found out myself actually." He laughed. "Well, that, and drink driving." I forgot to notice he didn't have the same stupid American accent as everyone else on this god-forsaken continent. He had the same British accent as me. "That one looks rather donut-y." He pointed to the one that arrested me. I nodded. For a second I thought that perhaps I shouldn't be talking to someone who has obviously just been arrested, because that's probably not the type of friends I should be making, but who was I to judge. I had just been arrested as well.

"I can't argue with such sound science. Think if you buy him a box of Boston Cremes he'll let us out?"

"Can you run fast?" He asked curiously.

"You sir are looking at fifteen hundred meter junior track champion three years in a row. So yes, I'd like to think so."

"Do you like house parties?"

"Very much so." I nodded. I liked where the conversation was going.

"You're eighteen right?"

"Is twenty one any better?" He smirked. I didn't know what kind of question game we were playing but I was happy to oblige considering I hadn't much better to do.

"One..." He whispered, glancing at the police officers. "Two..." He grabbed my hand. "Three." And we bolted out of the police station and down the street. The sky was dark and only streetlights and headlights lit our path. I don't even think they noticed we were gone. When we - or, he - decided we had run far enough, we stopped. "I'm James." He opened a passenger door of a black car, wet with past rain. I got in and he got in the drivers side.

"Effy." He nodded as he checked for cars, rounding a street corner. It then occurred to me that I'd just gotten in the car with a drunk driver. I assured myself easily that things would be fine. He seemed like he was doing pretty good.

"Pretty name. Short for..?"

"Elizabeth. But no one calls me that other than my mother." I sighed

"Well, I like it. What do you do for a living? Or, do you have a job?" I relaxed into the black interior of the clearly expensive car. I thought. He didn't particularly seem like he was the type to drive me into the forest and shank me with a broken piece of his rear view mirror, but I probably should have thought better before getting into a drunk strangers car. My mother would have been disappointed. I laughed slightly. And I did have a job - a great one in fact. I was a full time piercer at my friends shop, where she said she did tattoos, but was never really present.

"I put new holes in people. Sometimes the face, but sometimes not."

"......So, you're an assassin?" We both burst out laughing.

"Piercer actually, but that's a good guess." I had only one piercing in then, a belly button ring. I wanted to do both my collarbones, and I used to have my septum done as well, but I had to take it out as it got infected.

"Piercer was my second guess." He nodded surely.

"So, Mister James. How do I know you're taking me to a party and not to a forest somewhere to murder me?"