The Cusp of 30 (Working Title)

Chapter 5: "Crack Heads Even Sleep Here At Night."

Author's Note 6/18: There are about five lines of rewritten dialogue surrounded by the symbol (*ND*  aka "new dialogue")

She was standing outside of the police station when I walked out with JT, still wearing the same bloodied clothes.

"Hey," I said, coming to a stop. I figured I should thank her for not having me kept in jail—even though she was the one being a fucking creep—and so I whispered to JT to give her and I a moment. I approached her. "Thanks for not pressing any charges," I said.

She glanced behind me at JT, who was looking at his phone while pretending not to listen. "I was actually wondering if we could take a walk and talk a little bit," she said.

A walk? I looked around and noticed nothing but police cars in the parking lot, and so walking must have been how she'd gotten here, although I didn't understand why. Yes, we lived only maybe two miles away, but still.

"Just for a few minutes," she said.

I didn't want to be alone with her, but I also couldn't just say nah and leave her in the parking lot because... I really did fuck up her face, like, bad. I guessed I could at least hear her out, and so I nodded my head.

I turned and walked back to JT. "Let's take a raincheck," I said.

"You sure?" His eyebrows were pushed together as he stared at Antonella.

"Yeah," I said. "I'm good."

He brushed my chin with his finger. "Don't get me called back over here, Left Hook."

I playfully punched him in the arm and winked. He laughed as he walked away, and I instantly hated Antonella more for making me miss out on a night with a guy which, let's be honest, I desperately needed. 

I stepped down the walk way back to Antonella.

"Let's head this way," she said. "Last thing I need is to become familiar with another police station."

I rolled my eyes, not being at all surprised at all at her comment. Deep down, I knew this was hypocritical, but it felt justified in the moment.

"So, why did you punch me in the face?" she said.

"Why were you trying to attack me from behind like a serial killer?" I asked.

"Attack you?" she asked. "I was flirting with you."

I stopped. "Okay, two things: One," I said, holding up my index finger, "where the fuck are you from where they consider that flirting? And two..." Still counting along with my fingers. "...what would give you the impression that I would ever want you to flirt with me, or, by any means, even be interested in you?"

Her chin dropped to her chest and she let out a scoff. "I don't know, chic," she said. "Maybe purposely running by my trailer on a daily basis, or making loud noises outside my place at six a.m. hoping," she said with air quotes, "not to wake me. Maybe giving a little wink before running away, trying to, I don't know, seem cute but still hard-to-get. You know, shit girls like you do for attention."

There was so much wrong with her statement that I didn't know where to start, but we were still too close to the police station to react how I really wanted.

"Winking at you?" I said—or, more accurately, shouted. "I was trying to fucking see straight after I tripped on your stupid wrench that you left in the middle of the fucking street because you treat the whole fucking park like it's your private fucking workshop."

She was quiet. I could tell she didn't completely understand.

I pointed to my eyepatch. "Do you think this is just a fucking fashion accessory?"