Terrible Habits

One Too Many Mistakes.

I wake up the next morning on a hard concrete plank. I grimace, trying to quickly pull together the events from before like I always did the morning after, but this time it's a complete blank. I try opening one eye at a time before I realize that I am in a dark room that smells of B.O. I jerk upward and study the room around me.

Actually, I think the word cell may be a more appropriate term.

I am in jail.

"Hamilton," I realize that what must have woke me is the deep voice booming above my head.

I grimace, hearing my name and I pull myself up from the bench and walk towards the gate that they just slid open. I feel like hell. Hell, I smell like shit.

I trudge through the concrete building block following the older officer until he leads me into a too bright office space.

I retract from the fluorescents and try to blink several times before my eyes adjust.

"Eleanor Hamilton," I am now being addressed by a different officer, one that is much younger. I follow his voice to the desk and lean against the counter. My head feels like it is trying to split open. I run my fingers against my temple and answer him.

"The one and only," I grumble.

"Arrested last night on charges of public intoxication," he looks down reading my file.

"I suppose so," I exhale.

He finally looks up at me, probably to inspect the look of a girl with such an indifference to being arrested. I lock eyes with him, his eyes are a light brown, almost a gold color. His gaze holds mine for a while and then I realize that he had spoke and he is waiting for my response.

"What?" I ask. He sighs; obviously annoyed he has to repeat himself.

"Fine of $1,000, Miss. Hamilton," he says again, looking down at the paperwork.

"Do you have my stuff?" I ask, irritated now that I can't looking into those beautiful golden eyes anymore.

"Mhmm," he murmurs, continuing to fill out the paperwork while I stand waiting.

"Can I have them back?" I ask, clearly annoyed.

He looks up and his golden eyes lock with mine again and I mumble a word that I had never muttered before in my life. "Please," I say with clenched teeth. I don't know if I saw it right, but I could have sworn I saw the corner of his mouth twitch in amusement.

He is making fun of me.

I hate him.

"Morrissey," he calls over his shoulder, returning his gaze to the paper. "Eleanor Maloney's belongings."

I wait, drumming my fingernails on the counter in an effort to piss him off. My guess is he was about to finish his night shift and I am the only thing standing in the way of his way home. I see his gaze lift to my drumming fingertips on the counter and I try not to smile.

"Hamilton," the man whose name must have been Morrissey drops the plastic bag that contains my belongings on the counter. I go to grab it but the officer in front of me, snatches it before I can. I feel my eyebrows pull together; he is pissing me off.

I watch as he opens the bag, examining its contents when I examine his badge. It read Andrews. The name sounds familiar, but I shake away the idea and focus on him running his unworthy hands all over my Prada bag.