This is my Time {Complete}

Part 2: chapter 12

Allison's POV

The wind is wipping my hair wildly as I stare down to the street below.

Police cars and people line the front of the school, the cops trying to get me down, and the people talking to reporters like they were heroes of some sort.

I'ts funny how people begin to care, when your finally giving them what they want: to get rid of you.

Your doing them a favor......I hear a creepy voice say near my ear.

"It's true," I think to myself, scooting closer to the edge.

I turn my head, and look behind me, alf expecting to see cops trying to get me down, but sigh half heartedly as I see the door leading to the building below chained up, just as I had left it.

I can barely remember how I got here, but since i have time, I decide to try and find it within my sub-conscience, the reason I got here....

I remember running away, as fast as I could, from the home I grew up in, using my fury to propell me anywhere but there.

I had stopped in an alley, and probably fallen asleep, because I woke up to the sound of sirens.

A cop had nudged my shoulder and I had opened my eyes to the familiar sarcastic looking face of Emilio.

"Hey, ran away from home did ya'?" he said matter-of- factly.

I groaned as I got up and stretched my legs out.

He pulled out a pair of handcuffs and motioned for me to put my hands behind my back.

"come on kid, a couple of hours in the precinct will show you what your behaviour will get ya, I'll call your mom to bail you out." he says as he grabs my hands from my sides, and clicks the hand cuffs around them closed.

I stare at him, unsure of what to do, in the end I give in, and without a word, followed him to the back of his police cruiser.

The ride there had been almost silent, except with Emilio trying to make small talk, the only way I found would make him shut up was to be quiet myself.

When we got to the red-bricked police station, I absent mindedly looked around, expecting to see my mom with a scowl painted across her face.

All I saw were the derelict warehouses that lined half of the street.

We walked up three steps, before an ordinary wooded door that read: Police Station, in "gold' plated letters.

"Welcome to jail," Emilio says, with a wicked smile on his face, while holding the door open for me.