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“Hurry up and piss, future convict.” He turns so his back is to me.
I pull my skirt up and position the cup right under my pee stream, deciding that these random intrusions will always be humiliating.
Once I’m done, I set the cup on the counter and screw the cap onto it. “I’m done.”
He turns around and grabs my sample, saying, “You can wash your hands now,” before walking down the hall.
I take my time washing my hands, staring at myself in the mirror.
Today I look exactly like Leah—from my hair, to my lips, to the uneasiness that hides behind my dark green eyes. Sad, I yank the band from around my bun and make a makeshift side ponytail, but that still doesn’t make the woman in the mirror look any different.
I shake my head as a lump starts to crawl up my throat. Before it can send a signal to my tear ducts, I open the cabinet and pull out a tube of ultra-thick mascara.
Carefully applying pressure to each row of my lashes, I blink a few times to make sure it won’t smudge.
“Future Convict!” The officer calls from the kitchen. “Get out here right now!”
I take a deep breath and walk out to join him. “Yes?”
“Anything you want to tell me before I test it? Anything you want to get off your chest?”
“White shirts don’t look good on you.”
He laughs and puts on a pair of plastic gloves, opening the cup before sticking five separate strips inside of it. As usual, he keeps his eyes on the strips, humming the refrain of Johnny Cash’s “Folsom Prison Blues” until three minutes have passed.
“All clean!” He closes the cup and sticks it into a red biomedical bag with what I can only assume are other urine samples.
“Does it bother you that you literally get paid to carry piss around all day?”
“It bothers me that I have yet to arrest you and send you to jail, where you belong.” He pops his gum. “You’ll slip up one day. It’ll be the happiest day of my life.”
He’s lying. Even though he’s a jerk, I saw how proud he looked for a split second when the strips remained white.
“Could you give me a heads up on the next time you’ll be coming?” I ask. “It would make my life a lot easier if you gave me advance notice. I promise I’m not going to drink anymore.”
He holds his stomach, laughing as he walks to the front door. “Just when I think I’ve heard it all! An alcoholic saying ‘I promise I’m not going to drink anymore’? I’ll be sure to tell the judge that one! I’ll see you when I see you.” And with that, he heads out and hops into his car—off to administer more random tests.
The second I shut the door, there’s another loud knock against it.
Ugh...A DOUBLE test? Really?!
This happened two weeks ago and it almost broke me.
Shaking my head, I sigh and hide my disappointment before opening the door.
It’s Carter.
“Did you not read my text?” I cross my arms. “It said I don’t feel like going out.”
“Did you read my text?” He smiles and I realize I never looked to see if he responded.
I pull my phone out of my pocket and read my latest message: “Then we don’t have to ‘go out.’ You still need your swimsuit. I’ll be there in twenty.”
“You think you can force me go out?”
“Forcing implies that I’m making you do something you don’t want to do.” He steps closer and slips an arm around my waist, locking his eyes on mine.
I try not to smile, try not to feel anything, but I can’t help it. “Even if I did want to go out, I don’t need to. I’m having a really rough day, so—”
He covers my lips with his and uses his other hand to roughly run his fingers through my hair. Not letting me go, he pushes me against the wall, kissing me harder than I’ve ever been kissed before.
Moaning, I harshly bite his lip—thinking he’ll step back, but he doesn’t. He bites my lip in response and slides his hands down to my thighs, immediately making me wet.
“Go put your swimsuit on.” He squeezes my ass before pulling away.
“Oh...okay...” I suck in breath after breath, feeling dizzy, but I head up to my room. I rummage through all the new summer wear I’ve ordered online over the past few weeks and decide to go with a white and gold bikini.
As I stand in front of the mirror, I notice that my lips are puffy and swollen from that insane kiss. Smiling, I slip into a pair of frayed jean shorts and a red crop top that shows off my belly button ring.
Just in case he has somewhere boring in mind, I toss my writing notebook into my purse and rush downstairs.
“Is this your mother?” Carter asks, pointing to the huge picture that hangs over the fireplace.
