d.u.i » niall horan a.u (on hold atm)

t h r e e

After an hour of drunken pleads for forgiveness and expletive vocabulary, we arrived back at the station. Getting the kid to walk in a straight line to the doors didn't look like the easiest task, if we want to be honest. He would jump on the cracks in the sidewalk, and stumble leisurely over the red benches that lined the leadway to the door. He struggled to free his hands from the grasps of the handcuffs that help dominance of his thin wrists; Although, once my dad got ahold of his necklace that was around his slightly freckled neck, he obeyed the commands that summoned him.

We entered the doors to the familiar, substantial buzzing noise that echoed through the spacious lobby, the irritating sound being accompanied by the mutters of the blonde drunk. He was forced against the wall, my dad digging through the pockets of his faded, loose skinny jeans from around his waist.

"Hey, watch yourself." He snickerd as my father stuck his broad, dirt-covered hands in his back pockets, pulling out a couple of receipts, along with his leather wallet, and silver car keys. My dad trailed his hands to the front pockets next, slowly pulling out two phones.

"Son, why do you have two phones?" My dad quiestioned.

The boy looked back at my dad with perplexed eyes as he sucked his lips into a smile.

"One of my girls I was talking to tonight, I think her name was Brenda."

My dad rolled his eyes and lead him to the examining room across the hall as he kept yelling the name "Brenda" over and over; the kid's wasted, it's too obvious to even consider bringing a breathalyzer into the equation. It's going to be an automatic D.U.I, and surprisingly, I feel bad for him. Even though he's completely buzzed, I feel like this isn't him. Although, how would I know? I don't even know his name.

I followed behind one of my dad's deputy's back into the compacted room, crossing my arms over my chest and peaking from behind his shoulder to watch them sit him in the spray painted chair. He leaned his head back to look at himself in the mirror which covered the wall behind him, winking and admiring himself before being interupted by my dad's fist slamming against the wooden oak table.

I sat in the metal, creaky chair as they questioned him, the bright spotlight making his eyes a crisp, ice blue, not that they weren't blue enough before. I admired the sharp features of his face; his straight jawline, and the way his thin pink lips made a straight line across the bottom-half of his face when he was listening, well in this case, pretending to be listening. The small moles and freckles on his neck acted as if they were constellations to eachother, all of them connecting somehow.

His boney, thick-veined hands were glued to his lap as the questions got longer and became more of a challenge to answer. A beam of sweat started to form in one of the creases of his forehead, however they were more likely to be forming due to the intensity of the light that was burning into his skin, rather than the questions. His eyes were beginning to become normal again, but also tired. Finally, after another hour of waiting and watching them position him for his mugshot, we were done, and they were finally able to take him to the holding cell until the court date was confirmed.

As the time drug on, they ended up charging him with a D.U.I, an act of resistence toward the officer, reckless driving, and a few other things that the ticking of the wall clock distracted me from comprehending. Curiosity had me dragging behind my dad's footsteps, watching as they took the stumbling boy into the holding room full of cells, which we called the Cell Cabin. The screams and yelps of the other cellmates causing me to have trouble to even hear my own thoughts.

There was a small desk in the corner, so I slowly made my way to the escritoire, sitting and situating my feet ontop of the desk while watching them throw him in the cell infront of me.

He sat on the unstable metal bed, rolling his wrists in relief of being released from the cold, silver claws of custody. I quickly got out a notepad and pen, pretending to write something so my dad would leave me be and exit the room with his co-workers. He gave me his famous warm smile and pointed to the clock overhanging the doorway before closing the door, the hinges again screaming throughout the room.

The only rule in the office was to be at the lobby doors by ten o' clock to go home with my mom while my dad stayed here and worked on cases and paperwork for a couple of more hours before coming home to get his well-needed four hour slumber. Right now, it was nine-fifty, and I was going to use the ten minutes that I had to my advantage.

"Tell your dad or uncle, or whoever the fuck he is to get me out of here." He spat, his eyes glossed with anger and annoyance. I shook my head and smiled, chuckling under my breath before answering.

"I'm sorry, I can't help you with that."

"Yes you can."

"You're right, I could, but I rather not." I lied.

He shook his head and stood up quickly, balling his fists so much that his knuckles turned a clear white before kicking the hardware posts of his bed. His anger quickly orbited to me, his eyes watching my mouth spread in laughter. He grabbed the rusting bars which were holding him captive, squeezing them in his rather large hands. "What's your name anyways?"

"Like you'll remember in the morning?" I laughed. I looked up to the boy who's face was now burning  bright red of infuriation.

I always did this to new arrests, although I've never told any one that's gotten the privilege of being treated to a couple of nights here my name. However, I'll treat this boy to an exception of the rule. "Alyssa."

"I'm Niall." He muttered, his eyes watching the movement of my hands which were creating doodles on the lines of the paper.

"Are you sure?" I teased. He rolled his eyes and got down on his back, laying against the hard surface of the concrete while lifting his feet and inserting them between the bars to hold them in the air. His chest rose up and down slowly as he kept his eyes locked on the flying insect which was circling aimlessly around the only source of lighting of his new home. 

I examined the number that labeled his holding cell, the numbers now faded quite a bit.

18

Camera 18 will now be my new bestfriend.

x x x x x || A/N || x x x x x

I've been loving the comments and votes so far, each one means so much to me. I literally sit in class and read the comments over and over, they're so motivational, so keep them coming! I hope you guys are enjoying so far. This is a kind of short chapter, I just really wanted to get the story going. Also, please check out my new story Countdown ? It would mean the world!

http://www.wattpad.com/story/13233212-countdown-»-harry-styles-a-u