show some respect for your Irish bredren
Damaged Petals.
-
Soapy
Topic author - Posts: 12952
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
-
Soapy
Topic author - Posts: 12952
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Damaged Petals.
Season 1, Episode 4
"We can’t expect him to get any more open than that," Coach Lanovoi sighed as he replayed the clip, groaning as the ball landed on the turf.
"He just saw it late," Coach Butler offered. "To go from opposite side, reset, set your feet, he’s just getting sped up by the time he needs to throw that ball."
"Isn’t that his primary?"
"He went to his checkdown and it wasn’t there," Butler shrugged.
"It’s not even a pressure, look, Josh," Lanovoi rubbed his temple before forwarding to the next clip, an easy completion across the middle to Austin that converted for a first down.
Butler waited for Lanovoi to say something but nothing came as he moved to the next clip.
"We clean up a couple of things, we’re talking about a thirty-point, forty-point game," Butler broke the silence following a series of handoffs to Brandon that netted positive yards and drew no comment from the head coach.
"We beat this team by sixty last year," Lanovoi scoffed. "I didn’t exactly build this team to hang thirty or forty hypothetical points against Washington."
It was just the two of them in the film room as the morning sun had begun to pierce through the blinds of Coach Lanovoi’s office. The film from last night’s game had already come in, one of the perks of being one of the most highly funded football programs in the state. There’d be the official coaches meeting later that day when the rest of the staff would come in, but since Coach Butler’s hiring two seasons ago, he would always come in as soon as the film was available, sometimes to Lanovoi’s chagrin as he nursed a hangover.
His mind was clear this time as they ran through the offensive plays with a fine tooth comb, highlighting many of the mistakes that forced them to need a trick play to beat a winless team. There were missed blocks, routes ran at the wrong depth, but the bulk of the issues—the fatal flaws—landed at the feet of their sophomore quarterback.
"He’ll be ready by the playoffs," Butler tried to assure him. "I doubt Brice was lighting it up in his second start."
"He was actually," Lanovoi chuckled. "Made me look like a genius starting a thirteen-year old on varsity."
"Anyway," Butler sighed, "Not like we got any choice. Unless you want to look at the other guys this week, get them some snaps in practice."
"I want to have my freaking starter back," Lanovoi sat up, reaching over towards his laptop to switch to the defensive snaps. "We’re just pissing in the wind if he doesn’t."
"We’ve got a good team," Butler countered. "I just need Jimmy to stop thinking and start playing. It don’t help that his brother is right there, questioning everything I say."
"Don’t worry about that," Lanovoi interjected. "I’ll handle that, talk to Brice. There’s a way to go about things but I’m not about to shut him out either. I’ll take a football genius in whatever form I can get it."
...
The cup was mostly melted ice as Brice took another sip, having already accomplished its goal in the previous two to three cups that he had downed. He was only a few feet from Connie and her friends but felt miles away as they debated who had the better album between Taylor Swift, Cardi B and Doja Cat.
Brice had mentally checked out as soon as Eric and Curtis, along with a few of the other guys, had called it a night, deciding to tuck in early despite the bye week. Jimmy had showed his face after Brice had practically dragged him but had disappeared after an hour or so at Skylar’s house.
"It’s good like turn up music but I don’t know if I would ever listen to it just like at my house or something," Skylar mentioned as she turned her attention towards Brice to see if he was still stealing glances. Those tended to come in waves.
"Sounds like you’re saying we should turn up and play her album," Connie giggled as she reached over for her phone, scrolling towards Apple Music before looking up. "Where the shots at, bitch?"
The more shots they took, the harder it became for Brice to tune them out, each shrieking "ayyy!" they yelled sobering him up. They eventually thankfully lowered the speaker as they began discussing the drama surrounding Cardi B’s album release, specifically the online beef she was embroiled in with Nicki Minaj where both made disparaging comments about each other’s family and their children. Brice was only halfway listening when Connie leaned in, tequila heavy on her breath.
"I wonder what he looks like, you know, or like how he’s doing. Don’t you?"
The words snapped him out of his concussion- and alcohol-fueled daze. She had said it loud enough for others to hear, likely leaving them as confused as he was irate.
"I think you’ve had enough," he whispered, reaching for her cup.
She pulled away, causing a splash of the cup’s content—tequila and orange juice—to spill onto her shirt.
"You’re fucking embarrassing yourself," he leaned in, a little bit louder this time and with more force as he successfully grabbed the cup from her.
Brice stood up, steadying himself as he grabbed Connie by the arm and raised her to her feet. She didn’t put up any resistance as he effortlessly guided her inside the house from the lanai and headed towards the bathroom. Skylar and the others looked towards them but no one said a word as they returned to looking at their phone or suddenly interested in checking how much was left in their cup or what the next song on the album was.
"Wash your face," he commanded as he let go of her once they reached the bathroom. "And if you’re going to throw up, you might as well do it now. You’re not messing up my car again."
"Fuck you," she said, although she moved towards the sink and began splashing water onto her face. It was quiet for a brief moment, just the sound of the running faucet before Connie turned around, disgust evident in her face. "You’re so fucking fake."
"Just shut the fuck up."
"No, you shut the fuck up," she fired back, moving away from the sink. "You’ve got no fucking right to judge me like you’re any fucking better."
"Just hurry the fuck up," Brice scoffed, feeling suffocated inside the bathroom without the cold air of the lanai which had helped him sober up.
"Fuck you," she pushed him in the chest, although failed to move him.
"Don’t put your fucking hands on me, bitc—"
Before he could finish, he felt the stinging smack of Connie’s palm, her quickness taking him by surprise. He looked at her stunningly, almost impressed by the fact she was able to land it successfully.
"Did you just fucking sla—"
She landed another blow, this time with a closed fist towards his chin and then came a few successive blows towards his body as he tried to shield his face with his hand. He was finally able to get his hands wrapped around her wrist, pushing her against the bathroom wall with an audible thud.
"Calm the fuck down!" he yelled as she kept jerking around, flailing at him with her feet. After what felt like an eternity but was actually just a mere few seconds, she eventually stopped and let a deep sigh, visibly exhausted. "Alright?!"
Brice eased up his grip on her wrists and she jerked them away, only to calmly place them back at her side. She took a couple more deep breaths as she looked at the ground, unable to meet Brice’s eyes. They didn’t utter a word to each other as Brice grabbed her by the hand, unlocked the bathroom door, and slipped out. He could see her friends still on the lanai, their heads buried in their phones. He wondered how much of that they had heard but none of that mattered now, they needed to get home.
He grabbed his keys from the kitchen counter and guided Connie to the driveway, opening the door for her and helping her take a seat in the passenger seat. It was a fifteen minute drive to her house, possibly ten if they got lucky with the lights. By the time Brice had made his way to his side of the door, he could see Connie beginning to lay her head against the car window, her eyes closed.
"She better not throw up," he muttered to himself as he started the car and pulled out of the driveway.
They were only about three minutes into the drive when he could feel her presence start to awaken, first with a few groans and then a deep sigh.
"You good?" he asked as they pulled up to a stop light, turning towards her to see if she was about to throw up. Instead, she steadied herself, turned around to face him and struck him again, this time with a left hook that grazed the back of his head.
As Brice ducked, she fired another blow, this time striking him right above his right eyebrow. He pulled away, leaning towards his car window but the jerking motion led to his foot briefly coming off the brake. He frantically went to stomp down on the brake but in the commotion of it all, with Connie continuing to land blows, pressed on the accelerator instead, sending the car into the intersection. They had made it to the other side when Brice was able to get the car to brake again and used both hands to push Connie away, her head hitting against the car window.
This slowed her down enough for Brice to pull over to the side of the road, stopping a few yards in front of the intersection they had just crossed.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!"
Before she could answer, they both whipped their heads around as the unmistakable sound of a siren came from behind them along with flashing blue lights.
"We can’t expect him to get any more open than that," Coach Lanovoi sighed as he replayed the clip, groaning as the ball landed on the turf.
"He just saw it late," Coach Butler offered. "To go from opposite side, reset, set your feet, he’s just getting sped up by the time he needs to throw that ball."
"Isn’t that his primary?"
"He went to his checkdown and it wasn’t there," Butler shrugged.
"It’s not even a pressure, look, Josh," Lanovoi rubbed his temple before forwarding to the next clip, an easy completion across the middle to Austin that converted for a first down.
Butler waited for Lanovoi to say something but nothing came as he moved to the next clip.
"We clean up a couple of things, we’re talking about a thirty-point, forty-point game," Butler broke the silence following a series of handoffs to Brandon that netted positive yards and drew no comment from the head coach.
"We beat this team by sixty last year," Lanovoi scoffed. "I didn’t exactly build this team to hang thirty or forty hypothetical points against Washington."
It was just the two of them in the film room as the morning sun had begun to pierce through the blinds of Coach Lanovoi’s office. The film from last night’s game had already come in, one of the perks of being one of the most highly funded football programs in the state. There’d be the official coaches meeting later that day when the rest of the staff would come in, but since Coach Butler’s hiring two seasons ago, he would always come in as soon as the film was available, sometimes to Lanovoi’s chagrin as he nursed a hangover.
His mind was clear this time as they ran through the offensive plays with a fine tooth comb, highlighting many of the mistakes that forced them to need a trick play to beat a winless team. There were missed blocks, routes ran at the wrong depth, but the bulk of the issues—the fatal flaws—landed at the feet of their sophomore quarterback.
"He’ll be ready by the playoffs," Butler tried to assure him. "I doubt Brice was lighting it up in his second start."
"He was actually," Lanovoi chuckled. "Made me look like a genius starting a thirteen-year old on varsity."
"Anyway," Butler sighed, "Not like we got any choice. Unless you want to look at the other guys this week, get them some snaps in practice."
"I want to have my freaking starter back," Lanovoi sat up, reaching over towards his laptop to switch to the defensive snaps. "We’re just pissing in the wind if he doesn’t."
"We’ve got a good team," Butler countered. "I just need Jimmy to stop thinking and start playing. It don’t help that his brother is right there, questioning everything I say."
"Don’t worry about that," Lanovoi interjected. "I’ll handle that, talk to Brice. There’s a way to go about things but I’m not about to shut him out either. I’ll take a football genius in whatever form I can get it."
...
The cup was mostly melted ice as Brice took another sip, having already accomplished its goal in the previous two to three cups that he had downed. He was only a few feet from Connie and her friends but felt miles away as they debated who had the better album between Taylor Swift, Cardi B and Doja Cat.
Brice had mentally checked out as soon as Eric and Curtis, along with a few of the other guys, had called it a night, deciding to tuck in early despite the bye week. Jimmy had showed his face after Brice had practically dragged him but had disappeared after an hour or so at Skylar’s house.
"It’s good like turn up music but I don’t know if I would ever listen to it just like at my house or something," Skylar mentioned as she turned her attention towards Brice to see if he was still stealing glances. Those tended to come in waves.
"Sounds like you’re saying we should turn up and play her album," Connie giggled as she reached over for her phone, scrolling towards Apple Music before looking up. "Where the shots at, bitch?"
The more shots they took, the harder it became for Brice to tune them out, each shrieking "ayyy!" they yelled sobering him up. They eventually thankfully lowered the speaker as they began discussing the drama surrounding Cardi B’s album release, specifically the online beef she was embroiled in with Nicki Minaj where both made disparaging comments about each other’s family and their children. Brice was only halfway listening when Connie leaned in, tequila heavy on her breath.
"I wonder what he looks like, you know, or like how he’s doing. Don’t you?"
The words snapped him out of his concussion- and alcohol-fueled daze. She had said it loud enough for others to hear, likely leaving them as confused as he was irate.
"I think you’ve had enough," he whispered, reaching for her cup.
She pulled away, causing a splash of the cup’s content—tequila and orange juice—to spill onto her shirt.
"You’re fucking embarrassing yourself," he leaned in, a little bit louder this time and with more force as he successfully grabbed the cup from her.
Brice stood up, steadying himself as he grabbed Connie by the arm and raised her to her feet. She didn’t put up any resistance as he effortlessly guided her inside the house from the lanai and headed towards the bathroom. Skylar and the others looked towards them but no one said a word as they returned to looking at their phone or suddenly interested in checking how much was left in their cup or what the next song on the album was.
"Wash your face," he commanded as he let go of her once they reached the bathroom. "And if you’re going to throw up, you might as well do it now. You’re not messing up my car again."
"Fuck you," she said, although she moved towards the sink and began splashing water onto her face. It was quiet for a brief moment, just the sound of the running faucet before Connie turned around, disgust evident in her face. "You’re so fucking fake."
"Just shut the fuck up."
"No, you shut the fuck up," she fired back, moving away from the sink. "You’ve got no fucking right to judge me like you’re any fucking better."
"Just hurry the fuck up," Brice scoffed, feeling suffocated inside the bathroom without the cold air of the lanai which had helped him sober up.
"Fuck you," she pushed him in the chest, although failed to move him.
"Don’t put your fucking hands on me, bitc—"
Before he could finish, he felt the stinging smack of Connie’s palm, her quickness taking him by surprise. He looked at her stunningly, almost impressed by the fact she was able to land it successfully.
"Did you just fucking sla—"
She landed another blow, this time with a closed fist towards his chin and then came a few successive blows towards his body as he tried to shield his face with his hand. He was finally able to get his hands wrapped around her wrist, pushing her against the bathroom wall with an audible thud.
"Calm the fuck down!" he yelled as she kept jerking around, flailing at him with her feet. After what felt like an eternity but was actually just a mere few seconds, she eventually stopped and let a deep sigh, visibly exhausted. "Alright?!"
Brice eased up his grip on her wrists and she jerked them away, only to calmly place them back at her side. She took a couple more deep breaths as she looked at the ground, unable to meet Brice’s eyes. They didn’t utter a word to each other as Brice grabbed her by the hand, unlocked the bathroom door, and slipped out. He could see her friends still on the lanai, their heads buried in their phones. He wondered how much of that they had heard but none of that mattered now, they needed to get home.
He grabbed his keys from the kitchen counter and guided Connie to the driveway, opening the door for her and helping her take a seat in the passenger seat. It was a fifteen minute drive to her house, possibly ten if they got lucky with the lights. By the time Brice had made his way to his side of the door, he could see Connie beginning to lay her head against the car window, her eyes closed.
"She better not throw up," he muttered to himself as he started the car and pulled out of the driveway.
They were only about three minutes into the drive when he could feel her presence start to awaken, first with a few groans and then a deep sigh.
"You good?" he asked as they pulled up to a stop light, turning towards her to see if she was about to throw up. Instead, she steadied herself, turned around to face him and struck him again, this time with a left hook that grazed the back of his head.
As Brice ducked, she fired another blow, this time striking him right above his right eyebrow. He pulled away, leaning towards his car window but the jerking motion led to his foot briefly coming off the brake. He frantically went to stomp down on the brake but in the commotion of it all, with Connie continuing to land blows, pressed on the accelerator instead, sending the car into the intersection. They had made it to the other side when Brice was able to get the car to brake again and used both hands to push Connie away, her head hitting against the car window.
This slowed her down enough for Brice to pull over to the side of the road, stopping a few yards in front of the intersection they had just crossed.
"What the fuck is wrong with you?!"
Before she could answer, they both whipped their heads around as the unmistakable sound of a siren came from behind them along with flashing blue lights.
-
djp73
- Posts: 10764
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Damaged Petals.
Jimmy better get his head right cause Brice finna be out a while
-
Captain Canada
- Posts: 5790
- Joined: 01 Dec 2018, 00:15
Damaged Petals.
Ain't no Soap story without an unhinged woman 
-
djp73
- Posts: 10764
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Damaged Petals.
this is a jimmy rtg
-
redsox907
- Posts: 3138
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
Damaged Petals.
soap going full telenovela with both his RTGs this year 
-
Soapy
Topic author - Posts: 12952
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Damaged Petals.
hmmmm
she off that trash kush and alcohol!
sorry bro, should have put a trigger warning
-
Soapy
Topic author - Posts: 12952
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 18:42
Damaged Petals.
Season 1, Episode 5
"Get the fuck off me!" Connie yelled, flailing her legs against the second officer that had come to assist Officer Hilton, who was about her same size.
"Connie, calm down!" Brice tried to tell her as another set of officers escorted him toward the back of the station.
"We got it, champ," one of the police officers said, a hand on Brice’s shoulder — half reassurance, half control. The last thing they needed was an angry 225-pound eighteen-year-old full of testosterone and tequila.
"Why the fuck are you arresting me?!" she kept yelling as they led her down another hallway, away from Brice’s view and the rest of the station, who had all stood up from their desks, their quiet night interrupted.
In the middle of the station was Officer Kavern, about eighteen months into the force, and this was the most action he had ever seen. He looked up from his computer, logging his patrol notes. He recognized Brice’s face but couldn’t quite place it — one of the few on the force who hadn’t grown up in South Bend. He joined the others in standing to get a better view as it took three officers to shove Connie into the holding cell and slam it shut.
"They get processed yet?" Kavern asked as Hilton returned to her desk, directly across from his.
"Just some stupid kids doing stupid shit," Hilton scoffed, collapsing into her chair, exhausted. "I’d say you could relate, but I bet your wild Friday nights were spent catching Pokémon at the mall."
Kavern ignored her — something he was getting good at. He sat back down, glancing toward Brice, who was seated near the kitchen area while an officer handed him a cup of water. They were talking, but not like he was expecting.
"Trust me, you don’t want to mix a concussion with drinking," one officer chuckled, Connie’s faint scream echoing faintly down the hall, ignored.
"I only had a drink," Brice said sheepishly. "Or two."
"We need you for State, bro," one of the younger officers chimed in. "You’re heading up there in January, right?"
"Yeah." Brice looked down the hallway where they’d dragged Connie.
"I’m gonna do both of us a favor and let you sober up before I call your folks," the officer said, patting him on the shoulder. "Can’t save you from them, but at least you won’t have a headache while they yell at you."
Kavern scoffed as he stood, heading toward the holding cell. Connie had stopped screaming — maybe realizing no one cared, maybe because she’d run out of fight. She was slumped against the wall, feet tucked to her chest on the metal bench.
"You alright?"
Her shoulders tensed. For a second, he thought she might start screaming again, but she only muttered a few words he couldn’t make out.
"You want me to get you a water? A blanket?"
"I want to get out of here," she said, clear this time. "I’m not the one that should be getting arrested — he should be. He’s the one that hit me."
"No one’s getting arr—" Kavern froze. "You’re saying he hit you?"
Connie opened her mouth, then shut it. Looked away.
"If you were assaulted, you need to let us know," Kavern said softly, stepping closer to the bars.
...
"What do you want, Kavern?"
The veteran detective didn’t look up from his computer as he typed, pausing only to sip from his water bottle — tonight, he’d told himself, he’d finish it.
"We’ve got a situation in the holding cell," Kavern said, clearing his throat. "Teenager says she’s been assaulted by her boyfriend."
"What are you talking about? The kids Hilton brought in?" Detective Rochester looked up briefly. "I don’t see anything in the system."
"They weren’t processed," Kavern said flatly. "I don’t even think she took a breathalyzer."
"So what are you here for?"
"She says he hit her. Multiple times. Bruising on her collarbone."
"What are you, a fucking doctor?"
"No. Just a cop trying to do my job."
Rochester sighed, grabbing his bottle. "Which cell’s she in?"
...
"Wait — let’s go back. You were facing the door or the sink?"
Connie paused.
"The sink at first. But then when he pushed me, I turned around."
"He pushed you from behind, toward the sink?" Rochester asked, tapping his pen.
"No, I was facing him when he pushed me."
"I’m just trying to picture this," he said, slow and deliberate. "You guys go to the bathroom—"
"He dragged me to the bathroom," she snapped.
"You’re in there. You walk in behind him or in front?"
"In front of him."
"How’s he dragging you if you’re in front of him?"
"Look, he fucking yanked me out of my seat, okay? I don’t see why all this matters! Look at me, look at him! You think I could beat him up? He's twice my size."
"I’m just trying to understand what happened," Rochester said, hands up, patronizingly calm with his voice. "First you said he pushed you, then that you hit him, then that he hit you first. Now it’s a push that turned into a punch. I’m just trying to get the facts."
The walls felt like they were closing in. What had felt like a safer room to the holding cell now felt like a trap. Connie’s throat tightened. Every word she said seemed to make it worse. Every breath sounded guilty. She could already see the list of charges forming in his head. Drunk and disorderly. Underage drinking. Resisting arrest.
"I don’t know why you guys don’t believe me," she said, voice breaking into a pant. "He’s the fucking monster. His whole fucking family is."
"Look," Rochester leaned back, lifting his bottle, only a few ounces left. "You’re young. You drank too much. Happens to everyone."
"No, no, no, you’re not listening!" Connie’s voice cracked as she held her head in her hands. "He’s fucking abusive, okay? And fucking manipulative, him and his family! They pretty much fucking kidnapped me and made me give up my baby! They’re fucking monsters and they just fucking get away with it because they’re the fucking Coltons and everyone just fucking kisses their asses and oh my God, Brice is so good at football like who gives a fucking shit? He’s a fucking piece of shit just like his dad is a fucking piece of shit just like his mom is a fucking piece of shit but oh no, they’re the fucking Coltons like that’s supposed to mean something."
Rochester froze mid-sip. Her eyes were glassy, scattered — but not lying. There was something deeper in there. Something he couldn’t ignore. He set the bottle down. Pushed it away. Picked up the recorder instead.
He wasn’t going to finish it tonight.
...
The blinds on Captain Marron’s office were open just enough for Kavern to glimpse inside from his desk. Marron leaned against the table, talking to Rochester. A deafening silence had fallen on the station as they all pretended to work.
From his seat, Kavern could see the room where Brice was being held. The kid’s head was on the table, sleeping. No one had spoken to him since Connie’s interview, which had frustrated Kavern at first — until now. Now it felt like calm before justice. Guys like Brice never faced consequences. But maybe tonight would be different. Maybe this time, someone would listen.
The door swung open. Kavern looked up — expecting corrections, maybe another witness from the party that had been summoned. Instead, it was Brice’s parents which Kavern instantly recognized as Brice was a splitting image of his father except with the golden hair of his mother compared to his father’s dark brown hair. Fine, even a piece of shit like him was owed proper representation but it was one step closer to the satisfying sound of the handcuffs clicking on his wrist. Then behind them, Connie’s parents — walking with the Coltons, not against them. Kavern’s stomach sank.
Captain Marron stepped out of his office, Rochester trailing behind. Marron shook hands with both fathers, nodded at the mothers.
"We’ve got them ready for you," he said. "Connie’s here, Brice is down the hall."
"Appreciate it, Bill," Tom said, clapping Marron’s shoulder, their exchanges familiar. "We’re really sorry about all this."
"If you want to keep her tonight," Connie’s mother snapped, "By all means. This is ridiculous."
"They’re good kids," Marron replied, forcing a smile. "Weren’t even over the limit. Just being safe."
Kavern clenched his jaw. Hilton hadn’t done a breathalyzer. He knew that. Everyone knew that. And the bruise — the one on her collarbone — what about that?
Connie emerged from the hallway, burying her face in her father’s chest. Her mother, shelving her anger, rubbed her back. Brice followed soon after, towering over everyone, a golden son among accomplices.
Kavern’s chest tightened. He could see it now — her against that wall, his shadow swallowing her. He stood up, just to stand. Just to make a point to himself that he wasn’t part of this. He looked to Rochester, who sat back down at his desk, typing again, the unfinished water bottle still beside him.
Kavern took a step toward him. Then another.
"Just fucking drop it, Alec," Rochester said without looking up.
Kavern stopped. The sound of the water bottle cracking as Rochester twisted the cap off again filled the room.
He didn’t finish it that night either.
"Get the fuck off me!" Connie yelled, flailing her legs against the second officer that had come to assist Officer Hilton, who was about her same size.
"Connie, calm down!" Brice tried to tell her as another set of officers escorted him toward the back of the station.
"We got it, champ," one of the police officers said, a hand on Brice’s shoulder — half reassurance, half control. The last thing they needed was an angry 225-pound eighteen-year-old full of testosterone and tequila.
"Why the fuck are you arresting me?!" she kept yelling as they led her down another hallway, away from Brice’s view and the rest of the station, who had all stood up from their desks, their quiet night interrupted.
In the middle of the station was Officer Kavern, about eighteen months into the force, and this was the most action he had ever seen. He looked up from his computer, logging his patrol notes. He recognized Brice’s face but couldn’t quite place it — one of the few on the force who hadn’t grown up in South Bend. He joined the others in standing to get a better view as it took three officers to shove Connie into the holding cell and slam it shut.
"They get processed yet?" Kavern asked as Hilton returned to her desk, directly across from his.
"Just some stupid kids doing stupid shit," Hilton scoffed, collapsing into her chair, exhausted. "I’d say you could relate, but I bet your wild Friday nights were spent catching Pokémon at the mall."
Kavern ignored her — something he was getting good at. He sat back down, glancing toward Brice, who was seated near the kitchen area while an officer handed him a cup of water. They were talking, but not like he was expecting.
"Trust me, you don’t want to mix a concussion with drinking," one officer chuckled, Connie’s faint scream echoing faintly down the hall, ignored.
"I only had a drink," Brice said sheepishly. "Or two."
"We need you for State, bro," one of the younger officers chimed in. "You’re heading up there in January, right?"
"Yeah." Brice looked down the hallway where they’d dragged Connie.
"I’m gonna do both of us a favor and let you sober up before I call your folks," the officer said, patting him on the shoulder. "Can’t save you from them, but at least you won’t have a headache while they yell at you."
Kavern scoffed as he stood, heading toward the holding cell. Connie had stopped screaming — maybe realizing no one cared, maybe because she’d run out of fight. She was slumped against the wall, feet tucked to her chest on the metal bench.
"You alright?"
Her shoulders tensed. For a second, he thought she might start screaming again, but she only muttered a few words he couldn’t make out.
"You want me to get you a water? A blanket?"
"I want to get out of here," she said, clear this time. "I’m not the one that should be getting arrested — he should be. He’s the one that hit me."
"No one’s getting arr—" Kavern froze. "You’re saying he hit you?"
Connie opened her mouth, then shut it. Looked away.
"If you were assaulted, you need to let us know," Kavern said softly, stepping closer to the bars.
...
"What do you want, Kavern?"
The veteran detective didn’t look up from his computer as he typed, pausing only to sip from his water bottle — tonight, he’d told himself, he’d finish it.
"We’ve got a situation in the holding cell," Kavern said, clearing his throat. "Teenager says she’s been assaulted by her boyfriend."
"What are you talking about? The kids Hilton brought in?" Detective Rochester looked up briefly. "I don’t see anything in the system."
"They weren’t processed," Kavern said flatly. "I don’t even think she took a breathalyzer."
"So what are you here for?"
"She says he hit her. Multiple times. Bruising on her collarbone."
"What are you, a fucking doctor?"
"No. Just a cop trying to do my job."
Rochester sighed, grabbing his bottle. "Which cell’s she in?"
...
"Wait — let’s go back. You were facing the door or the sink?"
Connie paused.
"The sink at first. But then when he pushed me, I turned around."
"He pushed you from behind, toward the sink?" Rochester asked, tapping his pen.
"No, I was facing him when he pushed me."
"I’m just trying to picture this," he said, slow and deliberate. "You guys go to the bathroom—"
"He dragged me to the bathroom," she snapped.
"You’re in there. You walk in behind him or in front?"
"In front of him."
"How’s he dragging you if you’re in front of him?"
"Look, he fucking yanked me out of my seat, okay? I don’t see why all this matters! Look at me, look at him! You think I could beat him up? He's twice my size."
"I’m just trying to understand what happened," Rochester said, hands up, patronizingly calm with his voice. "First you said he pushed you, then that you hit him, then that he hit you first. Now it’s a push that turned into a punch. I’m just trying to get the facts."
The walls felt like they were closing in. What had felt like a safer room to the holding cell now felt like a trap. Connie’s throat tightened. Every word she said seemed to make it worse. Every breath sounded guilty. She could already see the list of charges forming in his head. Drunk and disorderly. Underage drinking. Resisting arrest.
"I don’t know why you guys don’t believe me," she said, voice breaking into a pant. "He’s the fucking monster. His whole fucking family is."
"Look," Rochester leaned back, lifting his bottle, only a few ounces left. "You’re young. You drank too much. Happens to everyone."
"No, no, no, you’re not listening!" Connie’s voice cracked as she held her head in her hands. "He’s fucking abusive, okay? And fucking manipulative, him and his family! They pretty much fucking kidnapped me and made me give up my baby! They’re fucking monsters and they just fucking get away with it because they’re the fucking Coltons and everyone just fucking kisses their asses and oh my God, Brice is so good at football like who gives a fucking shit? He’s a fucking piece of shit just like his dad is a fucking piece of shit just like his mom is a fucking piece of shit but oh no, they’re the fucking Coltons like that’s supposed to mean something."
Rochester froze mid-sip. Her eyes were glassy, scattered — but not lying. There was something deeper in there. Something he couldn’t ignore. He set the bottle down. Pushed it away. Picked up the recorder instead.
He wasn’t going to finish it tonight.
...
The blinds on Captain Marron’s office were open just enough for Kavern to glimpse inside from his desk. Marron leaned against the table, talking to Rochester. A deafening silence had fallen on the station as they all pretended to work.
From his seat, Kavern could see the room where Brice was being held. The kid’s head was on the table, sleeping. No one had spoken to him since Connie’s interview, which had frustrated Kavern at first — until now. Now it felt like calm before justice. Guys like Brice never faced consequences. But maybe tonight would be different. Maybe this time, someone would listen.
The door swung open. Kavern looked up — expecting corrections, maybe another witness from the party that had been summoned. Instead, it was Brice’s parents which Kavern instantly recognized as Brice was a splitting image of his father except with the golden hair of his mother compared to his father’s dark brown hair. Fine, even a piece of shit like him was owed proper representation but it was one step closer to the satisfying sound of the handcuffs clicking on his wrist. Then behind them, Connie’s parents — walking with the Coltons, not against them. Kavern’s stomach sank.
Captain Marron stepped out of his office, Rochester trailing behind. Marron shook hands with both fathers, nodded at the mothers.
"We’ve got them ready for you," he said. "Connie’s here, Brice is down the hall."
"Appreciate it, Bill," Tom said, clapping Marron’s shoulder, their exchanges familiar. "We’re really sorry about all this."
"If you want to keep her tonight," Connie’s mother snapped, "By all means. This is ridiculous."
"They’re good kids," Marron replied, forcing a smile. "Weren’t even over the limit. Just being safe."
Kavern clenched his jaw. Hilton hadn’t done a breathalyzer. He knew that. Everyone knew that. And the bruise — the one on her collarbone — what about that?
Connie emerged from the hallway, burying her face in her father’s chest. Her mother, shelving her anger, rubbed her back. Brice followed soon after, towering over everyone, a golden son among accomplices.
Kavern’s chest tightened. He could see it now — her against that wall, his shadow swallowing her. He stood up, just to stand. Just to make a point to himself that he wasn’t part of this. He looked to Rochester, who sat back down at his desk, typing again, the unfinished water bottle still beside him.
Kavern took a step toward him. Then another.
"Just fucking drop it, Alec," Rochester said without looking up.
Kavern stopped. The sound of the water bottle cracking as Rochester twisted the cap off again filled the room.
He didn’t finish it that night either.
-
redsox907
- Posts: 3138
- Joined: 01 Jun 2025, 12:40
Damaged Petals.
this bitch making Kieyana's (SP?) crazy ass look normal.
BUT - does sound like Brice knocked her up and the family sent the baby away which would explain the comment that triggered Brice to begin with. Shitty on all accounts
-
djp73
- Posts: 10764
- Joined: 27 Nov 2018, 13:42
Damaged Petals.
russinteresting.gif
Wonder if Kavern will keep digging?
