Dead By Night Time - [ENGLISH]

36. Calling.

Pov Asher Wilson
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I maybe slept deep but I slept horrible as well. The bed was hard, harder than me every morning, and I hated it. So now that I had slept badly and short, I was grumpy, and I did have a reason now to complain to an officer about my bed. Even the ground would be more comfortable. 

And I didn't mention the pillow yet. Well if something can be a cunt then it is that cell pillow for sure. I atleast hope they wash them before a new suspect comes in and has to sleep there. Great, now I have grossed myself out as well, they better have showers here. 

While groaning the word "officer" for the umpteenth time, I leaned against the door, wanting someone to come. I already knew by now that being arrested and held hostage while being innocent was eating me from the inside. I hated it, too. The slot in the door opened and I stood up to look through it, seeing Conkling's now well-known brown eyes.

'You're annoying all of my colleagues with that whining, what do you want?' He asked, voice betraying him on being tired.

'The bed is hard and I'm hungry.' I grumbled, watching how the older man raised his wrist to show me his watch.

'Three minutes before nine, your breakfast will be here everyday at nine o'clock. And the bed's your own problem.' I couldn't even respond since he closed the slot again, leaving me alone. An offended snort left my mouth as I rolled my eyes, sitting down on the edge of my bed with a grumpy pout. I needed big brother Cole now.

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Breakfast has been better than my cell, so that made up a little again. I didn't hear any further information about what they were going to do to me or if they knew some more things that could set me free. I was praying they would let me go soon, because I didn't like being here. 

While laying like a seastar on the cold ground, there was a knock on my door before it opened, not giving me the time to get up, not that I cared though, because I wanted to stay on the ground.

'Wilson.' Wyatt's well-known voice spoke, making me look up over my shoulder immediately.

'Wyatt!' I sounded like an enthusiastic kid.

'Call me by my surname here please, this is work, not personal life.' He groaned as he pulled me up by my hand, cuffing them together afterward, but this time not on my back. I rolled my eyes and hummed in response, annoyed that I couldn't just call him Wyatt, but it was understandable though.

'What's up, hm? Going to let me go again?' I asked, finding it ridiculous that Edwards seemed like he didn't tell anyone he's working with that he knows me and that I was working on the case as well. I mean, he could literally protect me and get me out of this, but he simply won't, or it seems like that so far.

'Your mother called and she wants to speak to you.' He answered as he led me into an empty room, only a table, two chairs and a phone hanging on the wall being there. 

My heart sank by his words and I swallowed. 

My mother must be ripped apart, in tears, not able to understand why her son is here. She even might be mad, not at me though, no she would be disappointed at me, which is even a worse feeling in my opinion. 

When I was younger, I made mom angry pretty often, but I always apologized and everything would be fine then again, but when I disappointed her, I just felt like a disappointment myself too. I wanted to be the perfect kid that never disappoints his mom, and those high demands I put up for myself ruined me, little by little, and it's still getting on me. 

I still have those high demands, and they're working against me most of the time. Maybe the worst thing is that I know they do, but yet I don't try to change them. I grew up with them. It has been a part of my childhood, my teenage years, having high expectations of yourself is so exhausting but it's so difficult for me to give myself that soothing pep talk that tells me there's no need to be perfect. I'll always think I'd need to be perfect.