Prompt: Write a scene or a monologue, where your character introduces themself to the reader, or to a random, friendly stranger.
@yourocsbackstory
I stared at the cup clasped in my hands, wishing that the water within could tell me a way to escape my current situation. Three months free of my parents' influence, three months of living my best life, and this one little hiccup was going to bring it all crashing down.
“I need your name,” the policeman at the desk stated, holding up my brand new fake ID. “Because this ain’t you.”
“It is,” I replied, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m Jessica Langam.”
He glanced at the ID again. “Jessica Langam is twenty-seven, while you barely look a day over eighteen.” He pressed his lips together, eyebrows raised, and stared at me until I looked away. “Yeah, that’s what I thought. Didn’t your parents ever teach you not to lie to the police?”
There was no way I could answer that question in a way he wouldn’t be annoyed with, especially as what I’d actually been taught was that they were inept and corrupt. “Can I have something to eat?” I asked instead.
“Does this look like a restaurant?”
“Sorry,” I mumbled, returning my attention to the cup in my hands again.
The policeman huffed and shuffled the papers on the desk, a scowl forming on his face. “Let’s try this again. Your name, please. Then we’ll put you somewhere safe to sleep off your intoxication.”
“But I’m not even drunk!” I insisted, in a last ditch attempt to convince him to let me leave. “Can’t you just let me go? I won’t cause any trouble…”
The policeman’s scowl deepened. “You were wandering across the highway with no regard for traffic, necking a bottle of tequila. There’s no way we’re letting you leave until we’re sure you’re sober. And,” the way he stressed his words made me squirm, “you tell us your name.”
I really didn’t want to. I knew what would happen if I did: he would call my parents and then they would make me go home, and I hadn’t even had the opportunity to dye my hair a fun colour yet! I wasn’t ready to give up the fun I was having. I didn’t want the party to end.
But I also hadn’t known that being drunk and disorderly was something the police didn’t like - not that I thought I was drunk or disorderly, but apparently they did - and I was better off not upsetting them over my parents. But only barely.
I let out a sigh. “Bethany Norton.”
“ Norton,” he muttered under his breath, typing my name into the computer. “Beth-a-ny.” His hands froze on the keyboard and his eyes flicked to me, making me squirm once again. “You’re Henry and Eliza’s daughter?”
Oh no, he knew of them. “Yes.”
He typed something else into the computer, then reached for his phone.
“Please don’t call them!” It came out as a squeak, far more embarrassing than the calm request I’d intended to make.
“Do you have proof that’s who you are?”
Sullenly, I shook my head. This was exactly what I’d been afraid of. If only I’d known I needed to take my birth certificate with me when I ran away from home.
“Then I need to call them to confirm you are who you say you are. You can’t claim to be the daughter of the largest developer in the country and not expect me to check, now do you?” His condescending tone made my skin crawl, and I dropped my head into my hands as he dialed. It was the middle of the night. They would be really upset at the intrusion.
“Hello,” he said after a minute. “This is Senior Constable Fleming with the Sydney Police Department. Can I please speak with Mr or Mrs Norton?” he stopped, waiting for whichever of the staff he’d woken to speak. “Yes, I’ll hold.”
I cringed, unable to decide which of my parents would be better for him to speak with. Neither of them would be happy with this situation.
Suddenly I realised he was speaking again. “...have a woman here claiming to be Bethany Norton and--” He paused. “Yes. Brown hair, brown eyes, five-seven.” He paused again. “Drunk and disorderly.”
I stared down at the floor, wishing it would swallow me whole.
“The Rocks Police Station,” he said after a minute. “Policy states we can’t release her until after eight, so you’re welcome to collect her then.” He hung up the call, returning his attention to me. “Good news, Miss Norton, they’re going to come in the morning to confirm who you are. Till then, you can wait in one of our finest cells. No drunk tank for you.”
Dear gods, couldn’t my curse just kill me now? It would be way less painful than what the morning would bring.
