Breaking The Mirror [Edited And Complete]

3 AM

I'm spread against the cop's car and the guy who caught me dealing is patting up and down my legs and over my arms. It makes my severely uncomfortable. He makes his way down to my left arm and yanks up the sleeve to see the bandage that's still there from the mirror incident. He looks up at me, I blush and he mumbles something about self-mutilating teenagers.

Great.

I can be suicidal in fucking jail.

-

The police car is small and stuffy in the backseat and I take complete advantage of my 'right to remain silent'. I instead look at the stars and try to imagine that I'm not in the backseat of a car. Again. I try to tell myself that I am with a police officer, and they don't hurt people without reason. They don't... no. I need to stop thinking about that.

Bad train of thought.

I need to relax. The handcuffs aren't for holding me down, they're for making sure I don't go away and the locks on the doors are scary, but it's just because I'm a criminal now. I've got to unwind. I'll have a panic attack or a flashback. Got to calm down. I hate cars. I need to... damn it.

I wish it would all just...

Go.

Away.

-

Ever been in an interrogation room? Well, I have. Now I have, at least. It's bare except for a table, a few chairs, one of those mirrors that everyone knows is already a one-way glass and – of course – the cop and the criminal.

The man in the room with me is the same guy who brought me in his car, slapped those handcuffs on me, and led me into this room. Turns out that mustache and beard were fake. Who knew? He's not especially handsome, but he looks really brawny and masculine so he probably gets a lot of dates. He looks better than he did in the alleyway, but that's not saying much. The alley could make a supermodel look horrific.

"Your name is... Jayden Norse?" He looks at me with an eyebrow raised.

"Yes, sir," I respond, fixing my voice to a respectable volume, but keeping the tone soft. He looks like an easily angered guy and I don't want to be on the receiving end.

"Oh, 'sir', eh?" He smirks, "I didn't know drug dealers had manners."

There's that damn word again. My face heats up and I bow my head in shame.

"So, where'd you get so much of it kid?" He asks, pulling out the chair, turning it around and sitting on it backwards, each long leg on either side of it and his arms resting on the top of its back.

I don't say anything.

"If you're not going to cooperate, you won't get another phone call."

Yes, another. I already did the whole 'one phone call' thing about an hour ago and Alfred didn't pick up the phone. He's got a record, and if the police see he's involved with me, they'll think he has something to do with it. Which he does, but that's really not the point.

"Sorry, sir," I reply, sinking down into my seat. This sucks.

"So where'd you get it?" He asks me, setting his chin on the back of his hands.

"From a friend named James," That's the guy my dad gets it from, "I don't know his last name or anything, but he gives it to me to sell and I give half the profit to him."

This man narrows his eyes. He said his name was Jacobs, I think. Lieutenant or Sergeant or some kind of weird rank I can't remember. Then a woman walks in and he sighs deeply and looks at her.