Who was I trying to kid? I never looked presentable...why would it make so much a difference now? I didn't have to impress anyone, and heaven knows I didn't want to turn heads, not now. After a long while, I brought myself to sit up and wiped my cheeks clean of a warm fluid (whether it was blood or tears, I'll never tell). After standing, a short dizzy spell came over me and I leaned to the wall for support. I could barely believe what had happened, that McCartney had opened her mouth and I got beat for it. I was sure SHE hadn't. Racetrack Higgins couldn't soak anyone if his life depended on it, and with her....well, I was sure he let her go, and that was the last straw. I made up my mind then and there that the next time I saw Monkey McCartney, I was going to punch her right in the face, regardless of place or time. Then I started walking.

I just walked until I came to an intersection, at which time, I flipped a coin to see which way I'd go: when the coin fell into my palm heads up, I went right and it left me trying to figure how I'd get past the police station unscathed. The fates hated me because at that particular moment, the street was dead. And by some godforsaken fluke, one of the officers was outside having a cigarette and talking to a younger girl that looked...it was...I shouted and started running "McCartney! You two-timing little fink. I should kill you!" Probably not the best choice of words, but like I've said, in a moment of haste, let no ill words go to waste. I vaguely saw the officer come to alarm, but it didn't hit me until I got up the steps and hauled Monkey in the face. The cop's paternal instincts were aroused and he grabbed my wrist with his large, strong hand and sharply snapped me back away from McCartney and my foot slipped on the stair and I fell sideways, stopping short because he didn't let go. A quick, dull pop was heard by McCartney; she shrieked. I, on the other hand, felt it, and adrenaline pumped through my veins and I scrambled to regain my balance and hit the officer with all the force my right hand could muster. Collapsing on the landing, I cradled my arm in my stomach and began to whimper and groan from the numbing pain.

"McCain, what's your problem?" McCartney spat.

She said my name...she said MY NAME in front of a POLICE OFFICER...she had to have a death wish.

"What you say her name is, girl?" The cop questioned, standing above me.

"I'll tell ya m'self, I don't need no snitch to do it for me," I stood up. "My name's McCain. There's a warrant out for me, so do whatcha gotta do, jest tell me you'l fix my arm, I need it." I confessed, near tears.

He looked at me, "McCain, eh? Ain't no warrant out for you, don't know where that came from, but you are under arrest."

"What for?" Teary eyes stared at him. No warrant?

"Assaulting an officer," he laughed and a smug grin became of his face. "And it looks if yous already been beat on," he laughed again. "Get t'yer feet, now!"

"I been 'rested b'fore, I go nowheres 'til you fix th'damage yous done, or it'll be made aware you got me first."

And he took me away. For the first time in my life, I'd actually consented to see a doctor, and there was a reason for it, I just didn't know it yet.