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"Fuck!"the guy roared.
My heart sped up as the actions of the night started to catch up to me. Screw this. Abort mission. I took off running, because this was a mess and I didn’t know how I hadn’t realized that sooner.
I made it to the front door, and as soon as opened it, I saw cops.
Oh, boy. This wassonot good.
That was when I noticed I didn't have my purse. Fudge. Fudge.Fudgesicles.
I ran back inside, trying to find it. The place was a disaster, and the lights were still dimmed, making it hell to see.
“Cops are here!” someone yelled, and suddenly I felt like Mufasa when all the wildebeest came at him.
People started to shove me, trying to get out. As I tried to move out of the way, I fell on the floor.
More yells and shouts.
Where are my glasses?
I couldn't see a thing.
Mother trucker!
While I was on the floor, I couldn’t help but compare myself to Velma fromScooby-Doo. I was kneeling on the floor, tentatively touching around, trying to feel my frames, when I touched something hard. My hands roamed over it, and I quickly realized it was some sort of boots when I got to the laces.
Fingers grazed my back. Again, I didn’t think; I just reacted. My hand flew up, and my fist made contact with someone’s chin.
“Shit,” the man above me cursed.
You know what? Screw my glasses and my purse. I could figure something else out.
"Ma'am, I'm going to need you to come with me," the guy above me said.
"Yeah, I don't think so, buddy," I scoffed, crawling away, praying my glasses were on the way so that I could get the heck out of Dodge.
"I wasn't asking.”
Look, I didn't curse often, but I was so over tonight that when I felt my glasses, I put them on, jumped up, and told the guy off.
"Fuck you! I am not going anywhere near y—" The words died on my lips when I saw I was screaming obscenities at a cop.
Yikes.
Lamely, I stopped cursing at him and waved.
“I’m going to need to see your ID,” the officer I had hit demanded.
“I don’t have it with me,” I blurted, and he looked annoyed. “But it’s here somewhere.”
He sighed. “Let’s go outside.”
With sagged shoulders, I followed him. I was already in enough trouble and I knew it was not in my best interest to argue. As soon as we walked out, someone was pointing at me.
“It’s her! She’s the little bitch that started the fight.”
My mouth dropped open at the audacity in the ol’ jerk's face. It was his fault. If he hadn’t touched me, we would not have been in this predicament.
“You touched me,” I spat back.
