Feeling

Chapter One

"Welcome to the club," said the weary police officer. "We're all tired and everyone wants a snack. But if I can't even have one, then criminals defin-- please stop touching that." He placed his hand over top of mine so that I'd stop banging on the staple remover.

"Oh. Sorry," I said, pulling away from the office supply. I folded my hands in my lap as he once again resumed typing painfully slowly on the computer, stabbing each key like it owed him money. My leg swung slightly, the top of my sneaker scuffing against the floor and occasionally letting out a painful screech that echoed through the precinct. Each time, the cop glanced at me, briefly, but soon began to type again. I sighed...and then I sighed again...and I kept going, increasing the volume each time until finally he rolled his eyes, slammed his hands down on his desk, and glared at me. Stopping mid-sigh, I smiled widely at him and tried to look as innocent as possible. "Can I help you, officer?" I asked way too sweetly.

He opened his mouth, closed it, pointed his finger at me, opened his mouth again, then closed it again and let his finger drop. Finally, all he said was, "Knock it off, kid," before returning to the apparently fascinating paperwork on his computer. I let my head fall back, staring up at the ceiling and clicking my tongue. The officer clenched his fists, but ignored me. I'd have to do better than that. I could do better than that. Time to break out the beat-boxing.

Beat-boxing attempts, I should say. I cannot beat-box and I absolutely knew this. After a few minutes of my personal brand of torture, the officer scowled and stood up quickly. "Let me see if we can't get you in to talk with someone a little faster," he said before practically sprinting away from the horrid sound.

Finally. It had taken long enough. This officer must have been new to the department; he didn't know me yet. I was a common visitor to station eighteen and I'd developed a rapport with the cops over the last two years. This one hadn't realized that if I remained handcuffed to a chair for very long, I'd get really annoying really fast. As I waited for the officer to come back and set me free, I picked up the staple remover again with my free hand. I idly clamped it down on various things around the officer's desk: his pencils, the papers on his desk, the edge of his Styrofoam coffee cup. What can I say, I'm a fidgety person.

"Jennifer Lawson?" Upon hearing my legal name called, I dropped my new toy onto the desk and raised my hand.

Or, tried to raise my hand, at least. My wrist clinked painfully against the metal handcuff and I winced slightly. "Here!" I called out, still trying to cling to the last vestiges of the drugs is had coursing through my veins. Plus, I'd found through long trial and error that if I acted happy and cooperative, they let me out sooner. The officer who called me-- yet another new person to the force-- came over to unlock my handcuff. "By the way, I love the friendship bracelet you guys have me, but is there any way we could leave the other side unattached next time? It's kind of hard to do things with just one hand, you know?"

The cop didn't react to this clearly golden comedy I was throwing his way. "Follow me for your reconnection briefing," he said, as I glanced up at him. I didn't hesitate to follow him, rubbing absently at my wrist. Personally, I kind of liked reconnection briefings. Somebody-- usually Officer Franklin-- would ask me what Links I'd used this time and I'd admit my crime; then I'd get a snack, a spot in a shelter for the night, and then I'd be on my merry way back to the dealers that lurked outside every shelter in New Vaile.

Things didn't usually go this way, though. Usually, the police were nicer to me, more willing to go easy on me. I was a victim of the foster system, infected with addiction before her eighteenth birthday, after all. I'd figured that Feel Inc was going to be putting a lot of pressure on the government to place more restrictions and limitations on illegal Link usage, after that movie star died from an overdose a few months ago. But I didn't expect my jovial relationship with the cops to be shut down completely. The officer led me to one of the briefing rooms, holding open the door so I could walk past him into the room. "You'll have your briefing shortly. Please be seated."