Knocked Up By the Russian Boss by Bella King
Chapter 12
IVORY
Irush to my bedroom to throw on some shorts and a fresh t-shirt free of vomit. Even if I don’t want the company, I don’t need anybody to see me like this. My makeup from the night before is smeared, and my hair is messy as hell. Clean clothes are the least I can offer.
When I open the front door, I’m immediately met with two police officers with grave expressions, both staring right through me into my apartment. One of the officers is a short Asian man with a tattoo sleeve on his left arm. The other is a larger, slower white man who looks like he himself could be on his second drink of the morning.
“Can I help you?” I ask, self-conscious from the vomit and booze on my breath. I wonder if the smell of weed has been lingering in my hair, but I block out the thought. The last thing I need is to worry about that. I’m more concerned about why they’re here.
“Can we look around?” the Asian cop asks without even introducing himself.
“Hello, I’m Ivory Mae,” I reply, unable to contain my irritation at both the infringement of my privacy as well as their unfriendly demeanor. “Can I help you with something?”
“We need to search your apartment,” replies the fat cop smugly. Even having come from a Good American Household, I’ve never liked the way that cops talk to civilians, like we’re all idiots who have no concept of right and wrong.
“Do you happen to have a warrant?” I ask, holding back the irritation in my voice and masking it with an artificially sweet effect.
The Asian cop holds up a slip of paper with my address on it. “Yes, we do happen to have a warrant,” he says, clearly picking up on my thinly-veiled contempt and returning it right to me.
I swallow hard. I don’t have anything worthwhile for them, at least I don’t think so. How could I know? The idea of me having something extremely illegal in my apartment without even knowing it makes me nauseated enough to throw up again.
The fat cop reaches behind himself and pulls out a pair of handcuffs, grabbing my left hand and securing one half of the cuffs to me in what feels like one second. I’m not even able to process what has just happened before they both push their way into the apartment, securing the other half of the handcuffs to the radiator near the door.
“Hey! What the fuck!” I shout. I’m trembling almost uncontrollably with the volatile mixture of confusion, apprehension, and rage that has found its way into my bloodstream. I don’t know how much of this I can take in my physical state. If I throw up again, chained to the radiator, I don’t think I’ll be able to stop.
“I believe it’s in your best interest to keep your goddamn mouth shut, sweetie,” replies the fat cop in his “I was bullied in high school and now hold a position of authority” voice.
I roll my eyes hard.
The cops take no time turning my apartment upside down, even going as far as to dump out my trash. They toss the pillows from the couch, turn over the coffee table, throw all my books off the bookshelf, and even dig through my freezer. What could possibly be in the freezer? Drugs?
The Asian cop finds himself in my bedroom, still a disaster from the night before. I hate feeling like I’m being a bad host to two hostile men who have no business being here, but the guilt of presenting myself in a bad light weighs on me regardless. I can only wonder how many pairs of panties are strewn about the floor, or if I had left any sex toys out …
I shove the thought from my mind entirely. I’ve not done anything wrong, even if my apartment looks like it’s inhabited by sentient raccoons. I know my innocence, and if these assholes need to rip up my home in order to understand that, then so be it.
“I found something!” shouts the Asian cop from my bedroom.
I freeze.
What could he have possibly found? A little bag of coke that someone left in my room by accident? Perhaps a cigarette packed with weed?
He returns from my bedroom, holding my laptop under his arm. My laptop? All I have on my computer are photos from traveling and homework. I’ve never even looked at porn on that computer, much less tried to infiltrate the dark web.
“What are we going to find on here, little miss?” says the fat cop.
If I could, I would make myself projectile vomit into his face, like a llama.
“Well, it looks like you’re going to take it no matter what I tell you,” I reply, swallowing my pride in order to keep down a more pointed response.
“I think this is all we’ll need for now. Thank you for your cooperation,” says the Asian cop as they begin to walk to the front door again.
“You need to uncuff me!” I shout, no longer concerned with their impression of me.
“Oh, right. Shit,” the fat cop mumbles. He lumbers over to me and uncuffs me, and I almost fall to the floor with relief.
I don’t, though, and instead, I burn holes through their stupid black uniforms with my enraged stare. I wish I could do more damage, maybe toss a fork into the back of their heads, but I’m not keen on going to prison. There’s only so much a lawyer could talk me out of.
Without another word, the police exit my apartment, and I’m left with a huge mess to clean up, no computer to finish my homework on, and a ball of anxiety that sits in my stomach like hot lead.
And I’m still wondering what the hell that was all about.
