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My eyes get heavier as I wait, and I yawn as I try to rest my head against my arm. The issue though, is that every time I do, it pulls painfully on my wrists. God, this sucks so badly. My head drops back, barely laying on the headrest, but that’s even worse. Grunting in impatience, I sit up, forcing air into my lungs. I really hope the van doesn’t take forever to come pick me up. I’m the only one here, though there are several other police stations and courthouses in my city.
There are still appearances to keep, unfortunately, even though that’s dumb because of where I am. I should be allowed to cry or rage because of my situation, but showing weakness at this point would be a mistake. I can see at least two red blinking lights on cameras around the room, so I’m definitely being watched.
The burn of my wrists keeps me awake, struggling to keep my arms slightly extended so they don’t hang from the hook. Did I mention this is the world’s worst position to be in? The bailiff is a really sadistic asshole.
The hours drag on as I wait, unable to sleep or relax in the slightest.
A banging sounds from outside of the room, and I startle, my head turning toward the sound. Blinking quickly in case the tears that I feel building may be showing on my lashes, I wait to see who’s out there.
My body is tired, my emotions are a little fried, and I’m anxious about where I’m headed.
A large man with curly brown hair slams open the door into the room, and I realize there are two entrances into here.
“Drizella Tremaine?” he yells, and my breath hitches as I realize he’s here for me.
I’m the only one in the room, and I’d swear I’ve swallowed my tongue, so I wait for him to notice me.
Huffing as he sees me, he stalks over. I keep my eyes on his chest once he’s standing in front of me.
“Are you— What the fuck?” he growls, and I feel the pull on my shoulders release as he unhooks my wrists. “Relax your arms,” he mutters.
It’s really fucked up that this is what I consider kindness, so I nod as I lower my arms. Blinking furiously, I curse internally as a tear escapes. Godsdamn it, Tremaines do not cry.
“Are you dangerous or something?” the man asks.
He can’t see my face, so a small smirk plays on my lips against my swirling emotions. Swallowing past the lump I still feel in my throat, I shake my head. “No, Sir.”
“Yeah, okay. I’m Grayson, and I occasionally help the Forbach Reform Camp with transportation. This is the first time I’ve found someone waiting for me like this. I’m pretty sure your wrists are bleeding,” he says.
Grayson is well muscled, and I could see the vee in his hips when he lifted his arms to release me from where I’m sitting. Looking down at my wrists, my lips twist a little in disgust at the sight of my bleeding skin after the oh, five hours I’ve been waiting.
“They are,” I say softly instead. “I guess I should get used to wearing these though, huh?”
Grayson snorts, squatting next to me, and pushing my chin up to meet his eyes.
“There’s absolutely no way you’re wearing these a moment longer. You’re going to sit right here and wait for me, yes?” he asks, already standing.
“Yes, Sir,” I say again immediately, and there’s a faint look that passes through his eyes as I forget myself, continuing to stare up at him.
“Good girl,” Grayson says with a wink, and I ignore the warmth that makes me feel. This is not the time. “There’s nowhere else to go, regardless. If you run, I’m not above chasing a beautiful woman like you. Let’s make better choices than that today, yeah?”
I don’t know what to say, mute as he stomps away. Everything he does is in bursts of motion, and I wonder where he finds the energy. Now that the blood flow is circulating again in my arms, the pins and needles make themselves known.
I force myself to compartmentalize the pain, breathing through my nose. My wrists really hurt, and I’m sure cleaning them is going to sting like a bitch.
The door opens again, and Grayson is breathing a little heavily. Did he run back? Holding the key up, I realize he also has some medical supplies.
The snarky me would ask him where he found those things, but I’ve had too long of a day to look a gift horse in the mouth.
Dropping to his knees, he mutters to himself as he unlocks the handcuffs.
“Drizella, did you piss in someone’s cheerios today?” Grayson finally asks as he looks at my wrists.
“No,” I say slowly, confused by where he’s going with this. “I assure you I kept my urine to myself.”
Snorting again, he shakes his head, opening an antiseptic pad. “Look, I will not hold anything you say to me against you in the next few minutes, because this isn’t going to feel good,” Grayson says, truthfully.
Nodding, I prepare to grit my teeth. “You may not hold it against me, but the cameras may,” I explain without moving my lips.
