Winona
No, I don't have too many characters.
Drake Martin
Second Son
He was having trouble because of the pressure of Mercedes next to him, not because of any other reason -- at least, that's what he was trying to convince himself of as they drove towards the police station. Drake's dark eyes had turned so that he was looking out the window, one of his knees bouncing up and down as his hands remained clasped in his hands.
There was talking, but he wasn't really listening.
When those red lights had started flashing, Drake had kind of started remembering stuff.
Bleary gaze, staring at a ceiling where those same crimson lights had danced on the ceiling. At the time, he'd thought they were kinda pretty.
Then he'd taken to convulsing and puking, and blacking out, and he didn't come to until later.
Sirens in his ears and all that shit, cross-eyed gaze opening to see people swarming around him.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it was in his throat, and his head turned down. His hands clasped tighter together, fingernails starting to dig into the space between his knuckles, digging into flesh.
Jan and Mer were equally upset, probably more upset, and he felt some amount of guilt and heartache knowing that he'd been the one to cause that. After all, he'd been the one to bring along the fireworks, and he was the reason they got caught, and... wow, only a week outta rehab, and he was already fuckin' up everyone's life, huh?
Mer had somehow talked them outta calling parents, instead agreeing to call just... some guardian.
Mason was gonna kill him.
"No one's answering."
"Can you just try again?"
"Kid, we've--"
"Please," Drake begged. There was a little bit of an uncomfortable laugh, his uneasy lips pressing up into a forced smile. "Please. Just... just try again, okay? He always answers. Every time I call him, trust me. He's probably just... just..." he couldn't come up with an excuse, so there was a shake of his head. "I dunno, but he's gonna pick up, promise. Just try again? Please?"
The begging wasn't working.
"Kid, we've tried your brother three times. He's not answering," the cop explained, this time speaking slowly since Drake had done nothing but argue with him about it every other time he'd pointed it out. "Don't you got parents we can call? A mom?"
Well, yeah, but he didn't know her number, or where the fuck she was anymore.
He'd gone back to see her at the apartment after he'd been released from rehab, when he found out from Mason that they were living in the tiny little studio apartment, but when he'd gotten there... some dude answered the door and was annoyed that Drake was asking for someone named Maria. Claimed he had no idea who that was, and that there was no bitch by that name there, and then the door had been slammed in his face.
Drake had thought he'd gotten the apartment number wrong, but trying several other variations of what he remembered granted him similar experiences.
The lack of an answer was clearly enough.
"Dad?"
Drake just shrugged helplessly.
"Fucking... who the fuck is in charge of you?" The cop snapped.
"Mason -- the guy whose number I gave you," he explained, which just caused an annoyed grunt from the police officer.
"Just take him back to the cell," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand to the cop standing by Drake. "We'll wait and see if this number calls back."
Mercedes was bitching again, and Drake was only paying partial attention. Throwing out more shitty I told you so's, which he was prepared to respond to, when one of the cops came over to their cell. Drake perked up, fully expecting this to be them telling him just how right he was, and that Mason had answered, or he was here, and Drake was about to be bailed out from here.
"Your sister's here, come on," the cop said, eyes locked onto Jan.
He deflated, shoulders slouching down as he watched her walk out of the cell.
After they'd left, he just let out an annoyed snort of laughter.
"Whatever, Mer," he snapped as he rose to his feet, not bothering to glance over at her. He started to pace, his hands rubbing against his shorts nervously before he came to a stop against one of the walls, leaning back against it with his head banging against the cement wall.
"It's just as much your fault that we're fuckin' here."
It wasn't, but his mood was crashing, and he didn't know what to do.
There was talking, but he wasn't really listening.
When those red lights had started flashing, Drake had kind of started remembering stuff.
Bleary gaze, staring at a ceiling where those same crimson lights had danced on the ceiling. At the time, he'd thought they were kinda pretty.
Then he'd taken to convulsing and puking, and blacking out, and he didn't come to until later.
Sirens in his ears and all that shit, cross-eyed gaze opening to see people swarming around him.
He squeezed his eyes shut, his heart pounding so hard it felt like it was in his throat, and his head turned down. His hands clasped tighter together, fingernails starting to dig into the space between his knuckles, digging into flesh.
Jan and Mer were equally upset, probably more upset, and he felt some amount of guilt and heartache knowing that he'd been the one to cause that. After all, he'd been the one to bring along the fireworks, and he was the reason they got caught, and... wow, only a week outta rehab, and he was already fuckin' up everyone's life, huh?
Mer had somehow talked them outta calling parents, instead agreeing to call just... some guardian.
Mason was gonna kill him.
----------
"No one's answering."
"Can you just try again?"
"Kid, we've--"
"Please," Drake begged. There was a little bit of an uncomfortable laugh, his uneasy lips pressing up into a forced smile. "Please. Just... just try again, okay? He always answers. Every time I call him, trust me. He's probably just... just..." he couldn't come up with an excuse, so there was a shake of his head. "I dunno, but he's gonna pick up, promise. Just try again? Please?"
The begging wasn't working.
"Kid, we've tried your brother three times. He's not answering," the cop explained, this time speaking slowly since Drake had done nothing but argue with him about it every other time he'd pointed it out. "Don't you got parents we can call? A mom?"
Well, yeah, but he didn't know her number, or where the fuck she was anymore.
He'd gone back to see her at the apartment after he'd been released from rehab, when he found out from Mason that they were living in the tiny little studio apartment, but when he'd gotten there... some dude answered the door and was annoyed that Drake was asking for someone named Maria. Claimed he had no idea who that was, and that there was no bitch by that name there, and then the door had been slammed in his face.
Drake had thought he'd gotten the apartment number wrong, but trying several other variations of what he remembered granted him similar experiences.
The lack of an answer was clearly enough.
"Dad?"
Drake just shrugged helplessly.
"Fucking... who the fuck is in charge of you?" The cop snapped.
"Mason -- the guy whose number I gave you," he explained, which just caused an annoyed grunt from the police officer.
"Just take him back to the cell," he said with a dismissive wave of his hand to the cop standing by Drake. "We'll wait and see if this number calls back."
----------
Mercedes was bitching again, and Drake was only paying partial attention. Throwing out more shitty I told you so's, which he was prepared to respond to, when one of the cops came over to their cell. Drake perked up, fully expecting this to be them telling him just how right he was, and that Mason had answered, or he was here, and Drake was about to be bailed out from here.
"Your sister's here, come on," the cop said, eyes locked onto Jan.
He deflated, shoulders slouching down as he watched her walk out of the cell.
After they'd left, he just let out an annoyed snort of laughter.
"Whatever, Mer," he snapped as he rose to his feet, not bothering to glance over at her. He started to pace, his hands rubbing against his shorts nervously before he came to a stop against one of the walls, leaning back against it with his head banging against the cement wall.
"It's just as much your fault that we're fuckin' here."
It wasn't, but his mood was crashing, and he didn't know what to do.
coded by natasha.