Undercover Badge.

CHAPTER THREE

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CHAPTER THREE.

Recap:

Strumming the last chords, I placed the guitar back in its place. I climbed into bed and touched the picture. I smiled, then closed my eyes...... praying this was just a dream

***

My phone rang.

In all honesty, I was not yet fully awake. I didn't bother to look at the caller ID and put the phone to my ear greeting with a good old fashioned: "I'm sleeping." before hanging up.

Two minutes later, my phone rang again.

"Go away." I said, and hung up.

It rang again.

"Bite me."

It rang again.

"What the HELL do you want?" I shrieked loudly, sitting bolt upright.

"Owch. Nice way to talk to your best friend!" my best friend Amelia laughed at me. I growled and sunk deep into the duvet. "Hey, you woke ME up, remember?" I said dryly.

"Yea I know. Now get out of bed." she said.

"Make. Me."

If I had said this back in California, she literally would have driven to my house and made me haul ass out of bed. But now she was far away. Hah!! SUCKER!!!!!

"Dude, get the freakin' hell out of that bed." she hissed dangerously.

"No." I replied.

"Kat! Get your ass out of that bed!"

"Uh. Uh." I said.

She growled evilly, a low sound in the back of her throat that honestly scared the shit out of me.

"If you don't," she said in a quiet, soft voice.

"I'll tell Carl that you made out with Cameron in... Carl's. Bed." she hissed.

I sat bolt upright. "You wouldn't."

"Try me."

Okay, YES. So I made out with Cameron. We were both half drunk, for Christ's sakes! And, in case you're wondering. Carl is my brother, and he will not take kindly to me and Cameron(who was my brothers best friend, to add insult to injury) getting hot and heavy in his bed.

I growled and got out of bed. "I'm up."

"Good." she said, and I could hear the self-satisfied-smirk on her face.

We talked for about two hours before she had to go. We said bye, and I went for a shower, washing and conditioning my hair before towel drying my body, throwing on an old black tank top and short shorts, my hair hanging down my back in dripping rats tails. I walked out my room, then realized -HELLO! Saturday! I had to practice!

I walked down the stirs, whistling to myself, once again admiring the huge foyer. I got out to my Mustang and opened the trunk, where a massive red punching bag lay. Grunting, I grabbed one end and gave it a yank, before it fell with an unhealthy SPLAT on the garage floor. Still whistling, I slammed the trunk and grabbed one end of the bag, lifting it up. This was one of those massive bags that they have at those huge gyms. Being sixty cm's wide and 1.7 meters long, it was going to be tough. I grabbed the side with chains woven into the fabric to hang it up with, and slowly, pulled backwards. I wrapped my hands in the silver metal, bending over forward and huffing and puffing as I moved it backward inch-by-painstaking-inch.

THEN.....

Came the stairs. It was horrendous torture trying to lug that God-damn bag up the stairs. Finally, when I had the thing on the floor of my bedroom, I let go of the chains, feel backwards, and landed on my back with a sad little "Oph!"