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Felicity
11:15 p.m.
“Ma’am, I’ve said there is no record of you ever being at Nidorf Juvenile Detention Facility or any facility anywhere. My question to you is why do you think you were there?” the police officer said to me for the third time, yet I couldn’t understand.
My mind hurt so badly, I felt as though it was going to explode. This was not right. I was not crazy! I was not crazy!
“I’m sorry, can you look up a Cleo Owens, age twenty-three, born March thirteenth, 148lbs? Her social is 000-21-0854.”
The man looked at me like… like everyone had looked at me at the gala. Like I needed help, like I was the one not making sense.
“That’s a fake social number. Zeros for all the digits in any set are never used. Cleo Owens is also not in this system, and if that’s the social she gave, then Cleo Owens is not real.”
“How can you say that? How hard is it to look someone up on the computer!” I yelled, shaking as I slowly backed away from the desk. “This isn’t right!”
“Miss, why don’t you take a seat—”
I wanted to run, but when I tried, an officer grabbed my arms. “Let me go!”
“Ma’am, what are you on?”
“Nothing!” I screamed, fighting against the restraints at my back.
“Ma’am, we’ll detox you in a holding cell until you calm down—”
“You can’t hold me. I did nothing wrong, let go!” I kicked him.
Another officer appeared. “Ma’am, stop fighting us. We’re trying to help. You are not stable—”
Dad, please don’t send me way! I’m not crazy! Dad!
Stop fighting. Stop fighting, Felicity. We’re here to help!
I don’t know where it came from, but I remembered the men coming into my house and dragging me away, while my father and his family stood in the doorway, shaking their heads at me. He’d thrown me away—no.
That one memory took all of the fight out of me.
“Ms. Ford, we are going hold you due to suspicions you are on a mind-altering substance and for disorderly conduct.”
I stopped paying attention, just nodding as they led me away.
Biting my lower lip, I tried not to cry
. Nothing made sense, and my heart hurt. I wanted to go home. I wanted them to stop asking me questions and stop touching me. I didn’t know what they were searching for, but I had nothing on me. I had run out with nothing but the clothes on my back. Even when they proceeded to take my fingerprints, I couldn’t find the voice to speak. All I wanted to do was lie down, and when they put me in the cell, that’s what I did. As I lay my head on the hard blue bench, the tears came. Only an hour ago, I’d felt like I had reached the top of the world, only to be kicked off.
I want to die.
I should never have gone out with Cleo and Mark that night. I should have never have tried to dance. I should have stayed on my own. This was my fault. Why did I try so hard to get better? My life was not sunshine and rainbows. I’d fucked up.
“Ma’am, have you taken any drugs maybe you were not aware of?”
I glanced up through the bars at the female officer. “No, I didn’t. I don’t do drugs.”
“Do you have any family I can call?”
I told her Mark’s number since Cleo most likely still hadn’t paid her phone—
“Miss, that number is disconnected. If you don’t have anyone we can call, you’ll end up having to stay here for the weekend. You don’t want that, do you?”
