Razorblade Kisses(5)

Chandler’s brown eyes narrowed a bit under his long, unkempt brown hair. “Hey, Emery, what’s up?”

“Not much. I didn’t see you at the house last night. You too cool for my party?” she joked.

“I was planning on going actually, but something came up.” He pulled his backpack up from the floor and opened it. “Here. Was going to give this to you last night before I was pulled away.”

She leaned over and looked in his bag, stuffing bills into the bag. He handed her a manila envelope. Perfect. Emery nodded to him. “Thanks. Talk to you later.” She rose and walked back toward Nordstrom, leaving immediately to light up the magic called weed that helped anesthetize her brain.

All of a sudden, she was sandwiched between two middle-aged men. Alarm pricked at her spine but she continued walking.

“Ma’am. We’re going to need to see what’s in your purse.”

Emery slowly stopped walking and turned to face them. “Excuse me?”

Oh, this is not happening.

Her head whipped to where Chandler was sitting with his head in his hands.

“Your purse. We need to search your purse.” One of the men attempted to pull her bag from her, but she refused to let it go.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “Don’t you need a warrant for that?” She started to turn and caught a glimpse of Chandler’s face as he mouthed “sorry.”

I’m going to die.

“Ma’am, we have probable cause and you’re under arrest for the purchase of illegal drugs,” barked a stoic young male cop who had joined the other men, apparently two plainclothes cops, which drew the attention of a few passersby. “Please come with us.”

One of the cops pulled her hands behind her back in front of the small crowd that had gathered to watch out of morbid fascination. The cop was reciting something, but Emery blocked everything out. She was lost. Embarrassment and shock tangled together and stained her face crimson. The cops guided her down an interior hall she’d never seen. One of the officers pushed her into what looked like a conference room where another girl was sitting with her head down.

“Stay in here. We’ll be back to get you and take you to the station.”

She nodded, her throat too constricted to speak. She nearly fell down into the first seat she saw, and then realized there was no easy or comfortable way to sit down with your hands handcuffed behind your back. She tried to maneuver her hands to the side so that she could sit, but had no luck.

“It’s a bitch, right?” the girl a few chairs down commented. “They do that shit on purpose, to make you uncomfortable.”

The girl muttered something under her breath as Emery stared at the wall, wondering what the hell she was going to do. She guessed she’d call her mother, and cringed at the thought. Her mom would be livid, as this would be very embarrassing to her position in the community and with all of her friends.

“I’m Rachel,” the girl called.

“Emery,” she responded.

“Like Emory University and hospital?” the girl asked, wide-eyed.

Emery nodded. “Something like that.”

“Holy fuck.”

“Pretty much.” Emory was her mother’s maiden name, and her family was from money. Her mother had changed the spelling because she liked it better.

They were quiet, each contemplating their own fate.

Emery snuck a glance at Rachel. She was striking in a natural way. She had obscenely long hair the color of coffee. Her lips were perfectly shaped and she was wearing nude lipstick that accentuated the plumpness of her lips. Her eyes were wide and a warm brown, but full of mischief. She was wearing black leggings with rough-looking black knee high boots and a short-sleeve shirt that hung off one shoulder and read Bitch.

Rachel looked at Emery again. “It could be worse.”

“And how’s that?” Emery asked, doubtful. She was going to have to face her family and it wasn’t going to be pretty. Every day she woke up with a mission to disappear and stay off everyone’s radar, especially Phil’s. Emery strategically avoided her mother. She was afraid that she would blurt out what was happening to her and then hell would come to her room and burn it down with her in it.

“You could have gotten arrested for buying from your own fucking boyfriend and your father would have to come get you and he’s a criminal attorney that may just leave you in jail.”

You may have to call your mother, who will send your stepfather, who will use this as leverage to rape you. I win.

“Chandler’s your boyfriend?” Emery asked instead.

Rachel’s face turned in an instant to show disgust. “Now ex-boyfriend. What kind of sick fuck does that? He could have at least warned me, you know?”