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( CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO: STAY WITH ME ) June, 1990
❝ I want to stay here with you. ❞
◯
Devon felt like shit. There wasn't a simpler way of putting his feelings into perspective, since the young man felt like complete and utter garbage. His mind was in a constant state of paranoia, not knowing whether he should apologise for his wrongdoings or continue to go about his business. He quickly decided that neither could solve his ongoing problems. After his outing with the crew ended in shambles, Devon left the building as soon as possible. The young man found himself walking along the Vancouver streets, his jacket slung over his shoulder and his arms loosely flapping by his sides.
At that moment, he was the epitome of self pity. Wondering the streets like he was some sappy leading man in a romance novel. It was embarrassing, but the young man was in too much turmoil to even notice. As Devon continued to drag his feet across the pavement, he suddenly heard the rumble of an engine creeping behind the length of the road. The young dancer turned around, spotting red and blue lights reflecting off of the wet pavement as the noise began to grow quieter. "Hey!" a voice called as Devon glanced over his shoulder, spotting a police car rolling to a stop right next to where he stood.
Devon felt a sudden fear at this car's appearance, feeling an urge to quicken his gait before anything could escalate. However, he tried not to look suspicious as the police officer peered forward and popped his head out of the car window. "Where are you going?" He asked as Devon strolled towards the nose of the car. "Is there a problem officer?" Devon questioned, punctured brows conveying the sudden frequency of his confusion.
"I ask the questions here," the officer pressed, pushing his scrunched up face forward. Devon features rigidly fell, eyeing the policemen with extreme wariness as he jumped out of the car and waltzed up to the curb. "I'm going to ask you again, where are you going?" The cop asked, his hands sealed around his belt buckle. Devon felt his anger rising, his chest heaving dangerously as a painstaking case of Deja-vu washed over the scope of his mind. "I'm going back to my hotel, is that okay?" Devon barked, his shoulders squared and his eyes set. He was doing nothing but minding his own business, and yet this officer thought that it was necessary to interrupt his peaceful stroll. "You're staying in one of these hotels?" the policeman's mocking voice brought Devon back to reality.
The dancer paused, his brown, doe eyes narrowing maliciously as he swallowed a bundle of knots in order to conceal his brewing rage. Although the young man knew good and well that he was being wrongfully profiled, he refused to submit to this cop's demeaning power play. "Those hotels are extremely expensive," the officer stated, stepping forward so that he could give Devon a steely smile, "You definitely aren't staying there, so tell me where you're really going."
That's when Devon felt his rage spiking. The young man had experienced sour run-ins with the police before, but this time he was not willing to swallow his pride—not when the officer was bothering him for no apparent reason. "It's the truth," Devon whispered, all the muscles in his body straining with incredible intensity. "Show me your ID," the officer commanded, his displeased expression directed towards Devon's stubborn attitude. But the young man couldn't help it, since not only was he disgruntled from his own personal struggles, but the thing that Devon loathed the most was being hassled.
