ANNA POV:
July 10-11, 1987
The holding cell was cold, bleak and depressing. Almost like my soul. See the comparison? I took a deep breath as I sat next to some guy who looked like he was a drug dealer, just a hunch by looking at him. But I looked like him, so that says a lot about my character.
He had bags under his eyes, his teeth were rotted and his hair was in a paper thin pony tail at the base of his neck. Alright, maybe I didn't look EXACTLY like him given I had almost perfect teeth and decent hair. He grossed me out and I realized we were most likely in this holding cell for the same reason.
Somehow someone found the weed in my bag, and saw me sneak a few drinks at the club. Fucking Elaine Troubadour.
I looked down at my hands and rolled my eyes, thinking of all the shit I've done and haven't been caught doing. The one time I get caught, I can't get myself out of it because everyone I know, who knows I'm at the station, thinks I'm telling my statement for being attacked.
I looked up from toying with my fingernails and saw a police officer walking over to the doors. Hoping it was for me, as he looked at me while he walked over to the bars, I sat up straighter in confidence.
"Wells, you have five minutes to make your phone call." He said, looking at the scumbag who was sitting next to me.
He got here way after me and he gets his phone call before me? Bullshit. Even cops have favorites in their jailbirds. It didn't surprise me.
I slumped back down to my usual posture and saw as the officer, the one who arrested me, made eye contact with me as he walked off with the guy in cuffs, to make his call.
"Fucking prick." I mumbled very low, so he couldn't hear me.
I was the only one in the cell now, feeling sorry for myself and wishing I was somewhere else. Anywhere else. Preferably sleeping with Kurt laying next to me to comfort me in my angsty troubles.
I leaned my head back on the paint covered brick wall and took another deep breath. I covered my face with my hands and pulled them down my face, pulling my eyes as low as the ground.
I closed my eyes and envisioned what I could have avoided if I didn't try and sneak in to see the show. I could've avoided being arrested. I could've avoided being attacked. And I could've avoided spending a night in a jail cell.
Now the advantages to sneaking in were greater than the disadvantages. I got to see Kurt play for the first time, enjoying every minute of it. I saw him do what he absolutely loved doing and I avoided getting into an argument with him. I think I deserve some points in the "great girlfriend" department.
The guy, "Wells" and the same officer came back and opened the cell for him and let him back into the cell. I was surprised that they put us in the same cell, to be honest. It was 1986 for crying out loud, there is no such thing as equal sexism. But I guess I was as bad as a man, for having illegal possession of an illegal "drug."
The officer locked up the cell and took his dear time to do so. I looked at the guy who sat further away from me and spoke up.
"You got your phone call?" I asked him and he just looked at me and nodded his head once, no expression, so emotion. Just a nod.
I looked back at the officer, with a smug look on his face, and longed for a phone call. That's all I thought about in the past half hour, was who I was going to call.
I didn't have many options because Kurt was steadily homeless with being on the road and my parents lived back in Aberdeen. The only real option I had was the floor manager at my University.
