𝐀𝐍𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐒𝐈𝐀 𝐕𝐎𝐋𝐊𝐎𝐕 was the type of girl who wouldn't take shit from anyone.
𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍 𝐇𝐘𝐃𝐄 was the type of guy who would give her hell just to spite her.
♚
❝𝘑𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘺 𝘤𝘰𝘱 𝘪𝘴 𝘢 𝘤𝘳𝘪𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘢𝘭
𝘈𝘯𝘥 𝘢𝘭𝘭 �...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
（Ｉ ＣＡＮ＇Ｔ ＧＥＴ ＮＯ） ＳＡＴＩＳＦＡＣＴＩＯＮ
𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔯𝔬𝔩𝔩𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔱𝔬𝔫𝔢𝔰
♟
I lounge on my couch with reruns of The Brady Bunch playing in front of me. I munch on some cornflakes and only slightly pay attention to the program.
During the past few days, this has become my nightly routine, for the winter break is coming to an end and I have nothing better to do. I've managed to avoid the Formans, Pinciottis, and the little group of weirdos that hangs out in a certain basement since my altercation with Hyde.
And none of them have tried to call me, visit me, or reach out to me in any other way. It further proves his point. I've decided to give up on waiting for them to ask me back because they don't have reason to do so.
Before my cornflake phase, I would have gone out every night. I would have gotten drunk, maybe gotten picked up, stayed the night, and gone home. It isn't a grief thing, I'm just bored out of my mind. But even that has gotten old.
The phone on my counter rings. Who the hell is calling me, of all people?
I hold it to my ear. "Volkov."
"Anastasia!" Jackie's voice screeches.
"What do you want?" I growl.
"I need your help. Michael went for a drive today in his cousin's car and he got pulled over and he and I are going to make beautiful love once he gets out of jail and-"
"What?"
"Oh, the guys got arrested. But anyways, we-"
"Jackie, let's have this conversation later." I throw the device back onto its stand and toss my jacket on, not even worrying about putting some pants on along with my oversized t-shirt.
On a normal occasion, I would change out of my pajamas and into something more presentable, but I don't have time. Arrested?
I scramble into my car and drive to the county jail as soon as I can. I bust in through the doors. The man at the desk looks up.
"Can I help you, ma'am?"
I run a hand through my hair and lean against the counter, the long fabric of my unzipped jacket swishing against my legs.
"Do you have four boys in here? Eric Forman, Michael Kelso, Steven Hyde, and... a foreign kid?"
"...Yes."
"Okay, I need you to let them out."
He sets the stack of papers in his hand aside and scans me over, intrigued by my forwardness. "And why would I do that?"
