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I messaged my wrists and rotated my shoulder. I never knew that wearing handcuffs would be so uncomfortable. I glanced around the pain room from where I sat on the metal bench. The police officer’s black uniform popped out from the beige walls. I wiped my nose on my hand, gross, but I didn’t have any Kleenex. I swore to myself. Why was I the one that always got punished? I followed the advice I was given, didn’t I? Well, then again, I did try to shut the door on his boot. I closed my eyes, trying to calm down.
“I’m going to Michael’s to do my laundry.” My younger sister, Mia, said coming into the disastrous living room. She held a white laundry basket at her hip, piled high with her clothes.
I nodded, looking at her over my silver framed glasses. “Ok.” I stated, trying not to show my frustration with her constant absence. Whenever she left I was stuck watching our demon of a brother, Dorian, while our mother worked or went to school. Today she worked. I moved to my bedroom soon after the front door closed, not wanting to deal with my brother’s crap which consisted of various insults, due to him being grounded from the TV for the fight that happened the night before, and his constant playing of the same song over and over and over again. I plugged my Sony headphones in the appropriate jack on my Toshiba laptop, a ritual I did constantly to drown people out.
We stayed out of each others’ way for nearly forty-five minutes before I came out to make something. I forget what it was. Tea, maybe? I don’t know anymore.
“Bones is on.” The thirteen year old monster said, playing nice. “You can watch it; I’ll be in my room for the rest of the night.” Being an idiot, I trusted him. I brought my laptop back out to the living room so I could multitask. Everything ran smoothly, only a few bumps in the way, for about an hour. Then he came out of his toxic waste dump of a room, the fumes of ammonia would have knocked me off my feet if I wasn’t sitting on the couch. I glared at him, having an idea of what he was up to when he said “I’m going to make myself some tea.” He was trying to watch TV. He turned on the flame to the kettle.
“Go back to your room.” I ordered him.
“No.”
I grumbled to myself, he never listened to me, or anybody in that matter. I didn’t want to fight him so I left him alone until his tea was ready. “Get back in your room.”
Again he said. “No.” He sat on one of the chairs in the dining area, one of the many that were piled high with unfolded clothes, towels, and or sheets.
I was getting even more frustrated, annoyed is more like it, now, which easily happens when I’m anywhere near him. Then he started playing with the bucket, which people always forget to put away when they finish using it. “Stop it.” I said sternly, trying to mimic my father’s tone that he used on him.
“Why?”
“It’s not a toy.” My voice rose with my annoyance.
“It doesn’t have to be a toy to have fun.” He said snottily.
I snapped. He was messing with it again. I put my laptop onto the end table at my right, storming around the corner and taking the bucket away. I put it in my room, knowing he wouldn’t go in there. I sat back down on the couch, hoping the conflict was over. Boy was I wrong.
Within the next five minutes he walked by me, his face turned away. “b***h.” He muttered.
“Don’t you dare call me that!” I hate being called that. “I’m your older sister! Respect your elders!”
“I don’t show you any respect because you don’t give me any! b***h!”
“You don’t earn it! And stop calling me that!”
“b***h.”
I snapped again, closing my laptop and putting it on the end table once again. I charged his bedroom door, just across the room from where I was sitting. He tried to blockade it with his scrawny body, but it was in vain. He screamed at me when I entered, the sound like nails on a chalkboard. I pinned him against the wall, I felt his hands around my neck. It hurt. I struggled to breathe. Out of instinct, my teeth closed down on the flesh of his forearm on my right. He released my neck.
“Let go!” He screamed. I did, only when he twisted his arm out of my teeth. He grabbed my arm, right above the elbow.
I rotated my arm out of his grasp, which I didn’t realize until the next day that the action resulted in a bruise. I yanked my arm away. Using the momentum, I swung my hand downward, smacking his face with all my might. Several weeks of silent frustration flew from the swipe. It felt good to hit him, considering nobody else bothered to. “Don’t ever call me a b***h!”
The next fifteen minutes were a blur, from calling my father for advice, locking the monster out of the apartment, to the police’s arrival. During this time I called my mother to inform her of what was going on, along with my sister.
“This is ridiculous.” The officer said. By the way he stood before me I could tell he was trying the extra few inches in height to intimidate me. I just stared him down, still pissed. “Let him in the house.” I refused. My mom called and tried to explain, but it didn’t work. Apparently I was in “temporary care” of the a-hole so they said that they were going to arrest me for child neglect if I didn’t let him in and possibly lock me up in county jail for the night. That or they would call DCFS on us. A night in jail sounded nice, being able to get away for one night. Maybe it would knock some sense into my mother and she’d actually do some parenting for once in her life.
“Go ahead. I don’t care.” I stated plainly with a straight face. I glanced at Dorian as he watched the large man put the handcuffs on my wrists. I could tell that he was scared, but it was only a gamble that he would crack when we got to the station. The officer walked me to his cruiser. I sat in the back, adjusting my position every few minutes to deal with the handcuffs.
“Why’d you smack your brother?” The sergeant of the officer, a short bald man with a potbelly, questioned when he arrived a few minutes later.
“He choked me and called me a b***h.”
He went on about the jail thing for child neglect and possible assault charges that I’d face because, for some reason, at the age seventeen I was considered an adult. I laughed inside at that, eighteen, to me at least, was the legal age. The older man sighed as he realized I wasn’t changing my mind. Soon we were at the station. My brother rode in the older officer’s car.
“Bring her down.” The speaker phone in the small room broke the silence. I stood up at the officer’s direction, surprised that he didn’t put the cuffs back on. I followed him out of the room and to the offices, sadly familiar from when I was there just a few years before. “Sit down!” The sergeant ordered his tone harsh and loud. I sat down, my back straight, hands in my lap, as I sat in the computer chair. “Apparently your brother here doesn’t want to see you go to jail.”
I glanced at my brother, I could tell he was about to cry. “That’s surprising.”
The bald man’s brown furrowed as he stared the monster down. “Apologize!” He demanded. My brother tried, tears forming. “Put your big girl panties on and apologize!” I snickered to myself at that, somewhat enjoying Dorian getting yelled at. He never got punished for anything, no matter what he did. He was crying as he apologized, saying that he knew he was an a** and he couldn’t help the way he acted. “Bullshit.” The sergeant took him and put him in one of the close by cells, slamming the heavy steel door on behind him. Shouting that the kids in Juvie would eat him for breakfast. That he wasn’t as tough as he thought. He came back and directed his attention at me. He called me crazy for wanting to go to jail, the other officer agreed. My body shook as I broke down, tears blurring my vision. I told them I didn’t want to go to jail. They nodded. “You owe my officer an apology.” I apologized.
They told me my attitude sucked, and they could have thrown me in the clunker just for that. Who were they to say I have a bad attitude? They caught me on a bad day. The sergeant left to take care of a possible gunman on the square, leaving the original officer to watch over me and my brother until our mom came to get us. She showed up twenty minutes later or so. I sat in the back of the white Pontiac, eyes swollen from tears, exhausted, I wanted to go home and go to bed. Mom took us to Taco Bell for diner, I got the number two. I practically inhaled it during the five minute drive back to the apartment. On the way my mother called my sister, giving her an update.
“I’m adding another day to the ‘no-TV-and-computer’ grounding.” Mom replied as my sister asked about my brother’s punishment. I was lucky tonight, not getting punished. “I’m the parent I decide the punishment.” My mom stated, nearly shouting into the phone. I rolled my eyes, if she was a parent Dorian wouldn’t be such a screw up. I instantly got out of the car, when she parked, and went to the door. Once I got into my room, after retrieving my stuff out of the living room, I changed into my sleepwear. I closed my eyes, my head plopping onto my pillow when Mom finally left after trying to talk to me. What a way to end summer vacation.
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