Maybe Delilah should have just stuck with the bus and not gotten a driver´s licence, like her mother always advised her. Traffic was far too dangerous for a dreamer like her, Petunia used to say, but oh, how wrong the woman had been about Dee. Barely away from home shortly after her 18th birthday, the girl had found her calling selling lovely bouquets in a quaint little flowershop and got her license with one of her very first salaries, celebrating her independence. It turned out traffic itself wasn´t a hazard to the young firehaired girl though but breaking one of the main and most important rules: never to get behind a wheel while drunk. Now Dee wasn´t stupid drunk, just a tad tipsy after her boss’s little birthday bash, but obviously enough under the influence to hit a trashcan on the side of he road on her way home. That´s why the blue lights behind her did not come as surprise exactly, but caused her pulse to accelerate, nonetheless. In fact, the girl was panicking; she´d never broken a law in her life before. Her car came to a stop, cold hands clasping firmly around the steering wheel upon hearing the police vehicle door close behind her and steps approaching. Automatically, she rolled down her window and squinted out into the dark at the figure now next to her, and right into a flash light that hurt in her eyes.
“Good evening, officer –“ she swallowed against the lump in her throat, her Southern English accent only thicker from agitation. “What seems to be the problem?” As if she didn´t know. Just look straight, cooperate, and all will be fine.
