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Did I mention I loathe closets? Hysteria lurked just beneath my skin, stalking my already precarious mental state and causing tension to coil within me. My body ached, nerves so frayed I worried they might snap.
On second thought, it was probably better I thought of that ridiculous nickname versus all the other shit going on.
Keep calm.
A stupid mantra, especially when I was already so far past calm I was literally a live wire. If one more person touched me, I might electrocute us both.
“Hey!” a gruff voice yelled in my ear.
My body reacted, swinging around aggressively as my teeth ground together. I hate that sound.
“Whoa there, son. You trying to give me a reason to put you down?”
Stiffening, I jerked away from the officer escorting me out of the old gym to, I assumed, his squad car.
“You put your hands on him, and I swear Taco Bell won’t even hire you to clean toilets.”
My stare jerked to Arsen who was being escorted by another of Westbrook’s finest. The steady, cold look he directed at the cop made my stomach drop. It also made his threat seem a lot more violent than the words implied.
Beside me, the officer’s brows shot up incredulously. “You threatening an officer of the law?”
Without blinking, Arsen’s stare remained steady. “Keep it up, and you won’t be an officer of the law much longer.” He paused. “And I don’t threaten. I inform those of the consequences of their actions.”
Why is that so hot?
The two officers exchanged a look. “Pompous monied prick,” the one behind me muttered.
I gazed over my shoulder from the corner of my eye, and he lifted his chin. “I asked you a question.”
I searched my anxiety-addled brain. I didn’t remember him asking me a question. It was ironic really that my brain heard everything but sometimes nothing at all.
“Do you understand the rights as I read them to you?” he repeated, completely irritated.
Without thinking, I glanced at Arsen. He inclined his chin, and I nodded at the officer.
“You don’t need his permission!” the officer barked.
He was right. I didn’t. But I was unraveling, and Arsen was woven tight. He seemed completely unruffled that we’d been strapped with cuffs after being found with a shitload of what looked like cocaine. I couldn’t quite be sure because I didn’t touch the stuff. My brain was fucked up enough, and I was a swimmer. I’d never compromise that for a temporary high.
But now, being a swimmer was compromised. Hell, my entire future was compromised.
He’s a total liability. A fucking curse!
The harsh words blew through the back of my mind like a gale-force wind, and I wondered for probably the one-millionth time how I could get away from my own head.
If I got charged with possession of narcotics, everything I fought so hard for would be gone. Gram would be devastated. He’d be right.
My thoughts were like loose shoelaces and tripped me up. I stumbled and fell, my chin smacking the cold, damp ground because my hands were secured behind my back.
“You high?” the officer asked as I lifted my face out of the dirt.
White sneakers covered in silver studs filled my line of vision, and I craned my neck to take in a pair of long legs clad in ripped-up black jeans. I didn’t have to go far, though, because he hit his knees right there beside my head.
“You okay?” Arsen asked.
I rolled onto my side and looked up. His stormy expression didn’t match the concern in his voice. “Let me see,” he beckoned, voice low.
“I’m fine.”
