“Cut!” You groaned as the director yelled again, standing up from his chair. “What's up with you today Y/N? You've been messing up all of your lines.” You actually didn't know what was wrong. You felt spacey and just couldn't concentrate on anything. “Guess I'm just not feeling it today” you shrugged. He looked at you curiously for a few seconds before deciding that enough time had been wasted already. “Fine. We're done for the day, just be ready to try this again tomorrow.”
All of your costars quickly hurried off the set, leaving you alone. You were tired and had given your driver a break for the day, and you really didn't feel like driving right now. You made your way to your dressing room, dragging your feet the whole time. Demi had taken you to her house yesterday to play some music for you. It did help calm you down, but being in her house gave you a weird feeling you couldn't explain.
You were just exhausted. After messing up the same scene 8 times, you didn't want to do anything but sleep. It was only 7 pm, so you figured you could take a quick nap here and then drive home when you woke up. You set your phone alarm for 30 minutes, and as soon as you laid down on the couch you were asleep.
The time went by much too fast, and you were woken up by your phones obnoxious beeping. Your throat felt dry, so naturally you got up to get a drink. All you had in the room was flavored vodka, but you weren't about to complain. You grabbed an already opened bottle and took a several large gulps while walking to your car. Luckily the studio was empty so you didn't bump into anyone.
You managed to finish more than half of the bottle by the time you got to your car, and that's on top of what you had already been drinking throughout the day. It was stupid, you knew that. You didn't live far away and as long as you paid attention you would be fine. That's what you thought at least, until you accidentally ran a stop sign and saw those obnoxious red and blue lights flashing in your rear view mirror. “Fuck my life” you muttered as you pulled over. You tried to appear calm on the outside, even though you were really freaking out.
“Hey officer” you chirped cheerfully when he appeared next to your car. He took one look at you and instantly knew you had bee drinking. “I pulled you over for running that stop sign, but is that an open bottle of vodka in your cup-holder?” Yep, definitely screwed. You might as well just try to lie your way out of it. “Um, no?”
He rolled his eyes at your response. “Can I see your license and proof of insurance?” You nodded and opened the glove box and cursed at what you saw. You had taken out your insurance papers last week for some stupid reason and hadn't put them back. In their place was a small bag of cocaine. If you weren't fucked before you definitely were now.
“I don't have my papers right now but here's my license” you said while trying to stay calm. He huffed but took you license anyway and walked back to his car. You sunk bank into your seat and slammed your head on the headrest. Somehow the paparazzi figured out that you had gotten pulled over and there was already a small crowd of them gathering. It was about to get a lot more humiliating.
As the officer walked back to your car you saw another cop car pull up. “Did you seriously call for backup?!” you whined. “I didn't realize you were a 'person of interest' so I just wanted to make sure the paparazzi stayed at a safe distance. I'm actually going to need you to step out of your car.”
At this point you knew you were done for. He was going to check you BAC and you knew you were definitely over the legal limit, especially with zero tolerance for underage drinking. You opened your door and stepped out, blinking rapidly because of all the camera flashes. Like you expected, he held up the breathalyzer and asked you to blow into it. You did as he asked, pulling away as soon as you could.
“How much have you had to drink tonight?” he asked with a raised eyebrow as he saw the results. You shrugged, knowing that it wouldn't make a difference. “I'm going to explain something to you. Normally in order to search a car, I need to get your consent. But in this situation I have probable cause to search your vehicle. First of all, you have a mostly empty bottle of vodka. Second, you didn't close your glove box and I can clearly see a bag of white powder. Both are in plain sight.” You chose to remain silent.
He took your silence as understanding and waved the other officer over. “While I search your vehicle he's going to pat you down. Are you okay with that?” Did he not just say he doesn't need your consent? You didn't want to be a bitch about it though, so you just nodded. He went to the passenger side of your car and started the search while the other officer gently turned you around and pushed you closer to the car. “If at any point you feel uncomfortable just say something and I'll stop.” You laughed sarcastically, telling him to just get it over with.
He frisked you so fast you weren't even sure he did anything. “Is that all?” you asked with a smirk. “Sorry, I'm just nervous with those paparazzi.” You couldn't help but laugh at him, if he got nervous around paparazzi then why did he become a police officer in L.A.? After the “pat down” you both waited awkwardly for the other officer to finish searching your car.
It seemed like hours had passed but in reality it was only a few minutes when he finally finished. The casual look on his face was now gone, replaced by a much more serious demeanor. “Miss Y/L/N, I'm going to cut this short. You have an open container of alcohol in your car, and your BAC is well above the limit. I'm sure you're aware of the Zero Tolerance Law. You were also driving without proof of insurance. Adding on to that, and the most serious of what you will be charged with, you are in possession of an illegal drug. I'm going to take you back to the station where you will be booked and placed in custody until your bail has been posted and paid. Do you have any questions?”
You bit your lip and shook your head, you completely understood what was happening. You let him cuff you and put you in the back of his car. You did your best to block out the jeers of the paparazzi. They were doing their best to point out how Little Miss Perfect had just fucked up. It was humiliating. You refused to let the tears that had started to gather out. That's exactly what they wanted and you wouldn't give them that satisfaction.
When he pulled up to the police station there was a large group of paparazzi already waiting. “Word travels fast, huh?” the officer joked. You glared at him, not finding it funny at all. “Chill out. I don't want your any of your fans coming after me-if you have any left after this.” Okay, that was uncalled for. Other celebrities had the same thing happen to them and they kept their fans, so why would it be any different for you?
The cop pulled you out of the car and guided you to where you would be booked. He removed the handcuffs while you got your prints done and picture taken, then not-so-gently pushed you into a small room where a female officer was waiting. You blushed when you realized what was about to happen. “Okay Hollywood, I need you to strip.” Really, Hollywood? She couldn't come up with anything better? You blushed while doing as she asked, trying extra hard to not make eye contact. You blocked out what happened next, because it was essentially the most demeaning thing ever. She handed you an ugly light red prison clothes which you gratefully put on. “Red to distinguish you from the others, because you're high profile.”
High profile. Did you even deserve that status? That thought lingered on your mind as she grabbed a new pair of handcuffs to put on you. She walked you down several hallways until reaching an empty cell. “You'll be staying in here until someone comes and bails you out. Someone will be here momentarily, and they will allow you to make a single phone call. Understand, Hollywood?” There she goes again with the fucking nickname. “I have a name you know” you snapped. She laughed dryly, taking the cuffs off before pushing you into the cell. “I'm not liking your attitude Hollywood. Now you've annoyed me so I might just take a while to let someone give you that phone call, so just sit pretty until that time comes.” She closed the cell door and walked away, not bothering to look back.
You were truly alone right now. You walked over to the metal bench and sat down on the hard surface. Only now did you allow yourself to cry, dropping your head into your hands. There was no one to talk to at all. You had fucked up big time.
