"Chloe Elizabeth Price, age seventeen, charged with illegal possession of marijuana and destruction of a home. You will be punished with a three-day jail sentence, a two-hundred and sixty dollar fine, and two-hundred hours of community service to fix the home."

I couldn't stop hearing that in my head.

"You will be working in Mayor James Amber's home and cleaning the rooms. He has requested you go to the house every day after school starting Tuesday, and working all day on the weekends. He has also requested to not interact with his daughter, Rachel Amber."

I wasn't allowed to say anything at the police station. Every time I tried: "it was taken care of." Every time my mouth opened: "it was handled already" or "can't say." I couldn't mention any names. It was just: "it was investigated." I had no idea what happened to everyone else except, typical for the rich and privileged, a slap on the wrist.

After my mom picked me up from the police station, she took me home with her. I thought she was gonna give a piece of her mind too; I was glad she didn't. She wasn't mad anymore, making me my favorite breakfast and paid attention to me, but I could still tell there was some anger left. I think because I didn't lash out at her first; I would hate to, after that sentence I had to deal with.

I stayed in my room. Door locked, ignoring calls and texts, and lying down in bed with painkillers. I kept getting texts but I couldn't answer. I didn't know how.

Time Maxine:
I'm in my room if you need anything.

Justin:
Dude, what happened?

Trevor:
Where are you?

Steph:
Max told me about what happened. Are you okay?

Justin and Trevor pissed me off the most. What happened?! Where are you?! Those stupid fucks probably don't remember any of that shit! Or worse, they were ignoring it or pretending they had nothing to do with it. My hands balled up and turned my knuckles white.

The only thing I talked about with my mom was how I was feeling or if I was hungry. What am I supposed to say?! "Are you proud?!" I have to pay nearly three hundred dollars and I have to clean like a maid for two hundred hours! I have to be stuck in the bitch-that-I-hate's house and I can't talk to her! I bet I can't even breathe her air! Her dad will kill me! He's the damn mayor of Sherwood! Are you proud?!

I stared at myself in my phone screen. My eye was bruising fast. My arm was purple, my stomach was purple, and now my eye was fucked up.

I haven't started that cleaning shit and I hated it already. I didn't wanna leave. I knew most people decided to go home to act like they were never at that party. They probably already knew that I was jailed for three days.

I wanna die. Even though everyone said they're there for me, that they're worried about me, and they were honest about it, but I just... It feels like a waste of time.

For the first time in a couple years, I started having suicidal thoughts again. They started on my second day in that cell. I remember them stemming from losing my dad and how much I wanted him back, along with my mom's sad attempt at dating again. This time, I wasn't sure, to be honest. Maybe because I didn't wanna be a disappointment anymore. I just wanna take everything back. Change my decisions involving anything with that party. I'm just... fucking over it...

Over time, the ringing noise was comforting. It was weirdly relaxing while stuck in a jail cell; I think silence would've been the worst. When I got home, I thought I was gonna dig through my CDs and play everything at high volume, but I didn't. I dunno because I was too tired or something; I just lied down and that was it.

Five a.m. again, huh?

My mom had another late shift tonight, so I was left alone. Again. At least I was home, but it somehow didn't feel better than that cell. These were my stuff. My posters. My clothes. My bed. My house. But, why didn't it feel like it? I could see my phone had the blinking light for texts; I didn't bother trying to get it.

I got up and grabbed an old t-shirt and shorts and went to the bathroom. I was still in my sweater and jeans, clothes my mom brought me, and yet I still felt like I was in that jumpsuit. I avoided the mirror, not wanting to see even a blur of myself.

I took my clothes off, feeling pain in my arm and stomach from moving, and turned the shower on. Instead of hot water, the cold water felt better. I exhaled, allowing everything in my mind to process.

I cried.

I broke altogether. Let myself go. It streamed down my face and mix with the shower's water. My throat tightened. I felt like I was choking.

I punched at the shower wall.

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until I felt my knuckles bruise too. I wanted to scream.

I shut the water. My heartbeat raced. I breathed hard. I forced the curtain open and pulled on my clothes on. I approached the big mirror, gulping and feeling how dry my throat was, and looked up.

Broken.

Beaten.

Falling apart.

All the anger I held inside, since the first second of jail, couldn't stay in. I screamed, letting it rip, echo, and out, swinging my arm at my reflection. Glass fell. My knuckles were bleeding. I punched again. I felt the sting, but it was nothing compared to everything else. No amount of pain I could do to myself now could compare to what happened. My blood dripped to the ground, covering some shards of glass at my feet. There were still large pieces of glass left hanging on the frame.

I felt more anger build up inside me. My hand was shaky as I lifted it, staring at the large cuts I had. It was only red and it wouldn't stop.

My tears stung my eyes, burning my skin.

I didn't know who my anger was for. I wanted to say Justin and Trevor, Rachel-fucking-Amber, or any of those Vortex freaks...

Why would I punch my reflection if I wasn't angry at myself?

I snapped out of that thought, realizing I was still standing in my bathroom, a broken reflection looking back at me.

A large crack went through my face in it.

A/N: My class this month is hella hectic, so I have no idea when I'll post the next chapter. I can't promise when I will, so... see you in a month, probably. Sorry!
Review and shit.