I, Matt Richards, was pretty damn well off. I was in a band, which all girls thought was crazy hot, even though we'd just started and couldn't pull off anything without the guitar chords or lyrics right in front of our faces. I was the singer in it too, and I can sing. All I had to do to hook a girl was tell her I was in a band, and then sing the opening of "Don't Stop Believing" by Journey. I was set. My dad had a job at Boeing, so my parents always had enough money to get me nice clothes and stuff. And I had a part-time job at GameStop, so I had a little extra to just throw out wherever. I mostly spent it on leather jackets, spiked jewelry that really sold the whole "I'm in a band" thing, and pre-torn jeans that hugged my ass so beautifully girls were practically melting in the hallways. Just being honest. I was going to try the whole crazy hair thing, but I couldn't stand the idea of my hair being long or dyed, so I just left it it's natural brown and made sure it was only long enough to form those little ringlets around my ears and at the nape of my neck that I pretended to hate whenever girls mentioned them. I hung around in the hallways during lunch with my band buddies, Ian playing the easiest possible song on his guitar, because he actually really sucked, Gabe kind of just idly tapping with his drum-sticks as he threw his emo hair out of his eyes, and me just singing along if I knew the song, humming random shit if I didn't, smiling at all the cute girls that passed just in case they didn't notice me already.

Yeah, our band was kind of bullshit, something to give Ian an excuse to skip out on his homework, make Gabe feel like he belonged, and get me the girls. But honest to God, I had no time for a real band. I had senior year to get through, girls to fuck, and a body to keep up at the gym. Want the singer in the sexy band to keep those excellent biceps? Don't start putting in any requests, unless you want to hear rip-off versions of Greenday songs we printed off the internet.

But that's not really the point at all. That doesn't even really matter actually. Unless you recognize that probably one of the the only reasons I was at Caitlin's house, tearing her clothes off, was because I'd sung some Coldplay song to her until she'd practically gotten wet through her panties. Ian, Gabe, and I had been hanging out with some other "music" (insert druggy) people, walking around and being generally cool. Caitlin was there—she apparently played the bass, but as soon as I saw the look she gave me before taking the cigarette from between my fingers and sucking it between her lips, I knew she could probably play my dick a whole lot better. After everyone else was ready to head home, Caitlin had asked me if I wanted to go over to her house and hang out a little more. I had given her tits another appreciative look, grinned at her, and accepted. Thank you, Coldplay.

And hell, had I been right. Caitlin had had the house to herself—her dad was always out working, and her mom wasn't in the picture, she'd said—and as soon as we got there, she gave me one of the best blow jobs I'd ever experience, right against the inside of the front door. So hot. I had been on the couch, gripping her thighs, ramming into that loose but still succulent pussy, when the whole picture fell apart.

The door had slammed open, and a police officer in full uniform walked right in. Caitlin shrieked, and as soon as the officer dropped his eyes to us, they had filled with fury so strong I could practically feel the heat waves emanating from them.

I'd pulled out so fast I didn't feel it, grabbing my underwear and throwing them on before reaching down for my pants. The officer didn't let me get that far, though. Enraged, he'd grabbed my arm, pulled it behind my back, and slammed me down on the coffee table so hard, my nose nearly broke. Handcuffs were around my wrists before I could even voice a single panicked "Oh, fuck."

Lucky me, Caitlin had a police officer for a father. I never would have touched her if I'd known that, which is probably why the little bitch hadn't told me. Of course, it couldn't just be that bad.

Caitlin was seventeen.

Her father had me thrown in jail for statutory rape before I could get it all together in my head. My parents had visited me, and they'd looked so disappointed, like I actually had raped someone. And the police officer was so blindly convinced I had stolen his unwitting daughter's virginity. Yeah right. One look at that open and ready pussy and I had made sure to use a condom to keep from getting an STD. But he hadn't listened to me at all, and was definitely going to fight his hardest to get me as much time as possible in court. It had sucked. My band guys had visited me. I think they thought it was cool or something.

It had not been cool. I wanted to fucking shoot Caitlin in the face, I had to live in a damn jail cell with some weird guy that kept bugging me with stupid sex jokes—the last thing I'd wanted at the moment—, and I think the people in the jail cell next to me were gay, because at night I always heard them banging around, cussing and moaning and panting. I had to wrap my pillow around my head to get any sleep at all.

What I didn't know was that it hadn't even gotten exciting yet.

I was trying to catch some sleep, seriously debating telling the guys next door to shut the fuck up. My lucky cell-mate above me on the bunk-bed was completely out, and the idea of waking him up just to irritate him would have been worthy of entertaining, if I didn't know that he would just bug me with gay sex jokes that weren't even funny all night. I huffed out, lowering my eyebrows and biting my lip.

"Oh, fuck, Danny, more."

I snorted furiously, trying to ignore the wet slaps that echoed through the entire fucking jail. Did I seriously have to listen to this shit?

Then I heard footsteps, padding confidently down the aisle between cells. Thank the lord, had someone come to break up the fucking behind me? But instead a flash-light shined into my cell, practically blinding me when it traveled to my face. When I saw who was holding it, I froze, swallowing hard.

Caitlin's dad. And he looked angry.

"Get out of bed, you bastard," the man hissed, tightening his hold on the flash-light. Scared out of my life, I climbed out of bed. Bastard. That's all that Officer Bruin would refer to me as. Like I had no name. It seriously freaked me out.

As soon as I was out, he opened the cell, beckoning me through forcefully. As soon as I came through the door, I expected him to handcuff me, but instead he grabbed my upper arm and wrenched me forward. The officer was cussing under his breath, insulting me as thoroughly as possible. I was scared. No other police officers were with him, and for some reason he was leading me away from the cells. Where was he taking me if he wasn't moving me to another cell?

I tripped when he tugged me a little too hard, and he cussed at me, hitting me over the head.

"Don't you fucking try to get away from my, you bastard," he hissed venomously. I was trembling so hard by now, trying not to cry. I wanted to ask what was happening, but I knew he wouldn't answer. He was practically frothing at the mouth. Something was really wrong.

"Little bastard, taking advantage of my innocent daughter," he muttered. "Scum like you should never have been born."

He got out his keys, unlocking the door that led to the visitor's area before leading me through. Did I have a visitor so late? Was that even allowed? Mom maybe? But he just led me to the door at the back wall that said Staff Only, unlocked it, and brought me through.

He took me down an empty corridor, shining his flashlight instead of turning a light-switch. I couldn't stay silent any longer. This was getting weird.

"Uh, um, Officer Br—"

"Shuttup!" he snapped, and I bit my tongue.

At the end of the corridor, there was a door without a label on it. The officer unlocked it like he was in a rush, because he kept fumbling with the keys. He opened it wide, then shut it behind us. God, I wanted to run so fucking bad, but I was really worried he'd use it as an excuse to pull his gun out and shoot me.

In the room, there were six doors, and the really odd thing was that, shining through the cracks of each door were six different colors of neon light. One green, one blue, one yellow, one pink, one purple, and one orange.

"You never should have touched my daughter ," Officer Bruin was murmured as he dragged me along. He walked up to the blue door, gripping my arm so tight I was losing circulation. I was so afraid. This was getting freakier by the minute.

"Officer Bruin, please," I begged, trying to my arm back. "What's—"

"You never should have touched her!" he shouted, whirling around so we were chest to chest. "Violating my sweet girl like the depraved monster you are…" He grimaced. "You don't understand the authority Police have. All the serious rapists, serial killer, stalkers—people that can't be stopped—where do you think they go? They don't belong here anymore, and neither do you."

My eyes went wide.

"No," I pleaded, trying to get free. "You have to listen—I didn't force Caitlin at all! She was the one who—!"

"You confused her!" he barked. "My daughter would never have looked at you twice, if you hadn't messed with her head." Officer Bruin reached down where his holster was. "So I'm just getting rid of you right now! All I'll have to say is that you threated my daughter—no one will miss you."

No, no, I couldn't die.

"Please, I'm only eighteen!" I defended myself. For some reason I kept getting distracted by the light emitting from the separate doors, my mind automatically trying to reason it out when I knew I shouldn't even care. It didn't matter where that light was coming from when I was about to get shot down by a maniacal police officer. At least he hadn't pulled his gun out. Instead his hand was resting on his keys, like he hadn't decided to reach for his gun yet, which was a very good thing. I just needed to convince him that his doubts were well-founded, and get him to take me back to my cell. More life in jail seriously beat no life. "I swear to god I'll never get near Caitlin again—it was only supposed to be a one time thing anyway!"

By the way his expression twisted up, I quickly realized that was the wrong thing to say.

"You pig!" he raged, twisting my arm up behind my back like he had that day he had caught me with my pants down. He shoved me against the door, and I could hear him fumbling with his keys again. God, he was going to reach for his fucking gun. He was going to shoot me, right against this door. My brains were about to splatter all over this goddamn door. I was sobbing.

"Officer Bruin, I swear!" I cried. "Please, don't do this, I'm only a kid. I haven't even graduated high school!"

"The younger the better," Bruin hissed. "Get rid of you before you can hurt anyone else." I heard him reach his hand forward and unlock the door I was against. It was pressing so cold against my cheek, even with my tears warming it.

To my surprise, he yanked me back, tossing me on the tile floor. Then he opened the metal door.

I was immediately horrified by what I saw.

It was just blue light, pure light, just pouring through. I tried to scramble away, screaming when he hefted me up by my arm and tried to pull me closer.

"No!" I screamed, scuffing my heels on the tiles. "You can't!" Was it fire? I knew that really hot fire got blue. Was he going to fucking burn me alive?!

"No you don't," he growled, and then lifted my feet off the floor, tossing me over his shoulder. Now, I worked out, but I'd never really fought before. So all I could think to do was kick him in the gut as hard as I could.

It worked. Sort of. The officer groaned, doubling over. I fought to get out of his hold, but even in pain Bruin still managed to clutch me tight, determined.

"Let me go!" I shrieked, hoping someone might hear. "Fucking let me go!"

Bruin was so close to tossing me through. He was standing right in front of the door. Now I was grasping onto him as tight as I could as the man tried to pull me off him. No way was I going in there. No way. I tightened my fingers in his short hair and on his collar, wrapping my legs around his waist until I was probably bruising him. But Bruin was a police officer. He was used to this kind of stuff. I heard him reach into his pocket and pull something out. As he shook it, I realized what it was and clenched my eyes shut tight. Pepper—

Bruin sprayed it in in a huge arc, getting my face. And even though my eyes were shut, they started burning like crazy, along with my nose and mouth. I screamed, rubbing at my eyes in an automatic gesture. That only made it worse.

Before I had time to react, Bruin had me off him, and I was thrown back. Terrified, I reached out blindly, grabbing onto nothing but empty air.

I fell.