Alright, I did a character sheet (For her) and rewrote. What do you think?
You should regret it. Out of everyone on earth, you should be the one feeling bad. After all, it was your idea.
I had only been dating you for a month. I had only known that your name as Nate, and you like the guitar as much as I did. You only knew I thought autotune was dead and believed I was a good singer. So, when you came up to find me strumming a guitar and writing into a little notebook, I was hesitant to follow you.
One look into you big, denim blue eyes, though, and you won me over.
“Come on, Ally.” You said, pulling me up with both hands. You knew I hated my name, Alouette. The name Ally was a private nickname, just for you.
“Where are we going? Someplace romantic? Or someplace gritty?” I asked, pushing my thick black hair from my eyes. You’re grin turned mischievous and I was sold.
“We are going to play a game.” You said simply, pulling me towards your black Toyota Camry.
I knew, that if I asked what, you’d only shoot me a wicked grin, so I got into the car, twisting the plastic ring you got me for my seventeenth birthday.
Your idea of a game was going to the rich part of town and stealing. You tried to steal a car. It was a beautiful, black Bentley. I got a thrill when I laid my fingertips on the hot hood, but that was it.
“Cars? Nate, are you insane?” I asked, keeping my voice low. I put my hands on my hips, where my coroset top pulled my hips in, making an hourglass shape.
“it’s just a game.” You said, leaning over the drivers door.
“This will get us arrested.” I argued. The wail of sirens echoed through the empty street, and I jumped, looking around. Then I looked up, to a small pale, round face in a window. A little girl had been watching us.
Before I knew it, we were cuffed and stuffed into the back of the cop car. They didn’t stop to take our names, they just took on look at my outfit and drove off.
I didn’t talk to you the whole ride to the police station. I was too angry. Well, a large part of me was angry. The other part wanted to make out with you in the back of the cop car.
I couldn’t face you. When the car pulled to a stop, I kept my head down as a cop escorted me from the car and into the station.
The station was cold, and the hairs on my arms rose as I was sat in a metal chair. I leaned on the rusty metal table, letting my hair spill over my shoulder.
“Was this your idea?” he asked me. I stared at him for a second.
“You’re asking me?” I asked. He looked around, noting that we were alone. He ran a hand through his hair.
“Yes.” The cop said, “I’m asking you, But remember, if you say it wasn’t your idea, you’d be sending your little boyfriend off to jail. Nathaniel Callahan, already taken in four stealing three times. This is his fourth and biggest. If you say it was a mutual idea, then you’re both off to jail.”
“Really?” I asked, “that seems sort of extreme, doesn’t it?” The cop shook his head.
“You’re dressed like a hooker.” He said and I wrinkled my nose. That hurt. Just because I liked my corset tops and skinny jeans, that did not make me a hooker.
“So, what is you decision?” the cop asked me. I rubbed my arms, trying to get the circulation moving in my bare arms.
The video camera that was set up across from me began to beep; a high, annoying noise. I looked around, and everything seemed intensified. I thought of you, I thought of what you were doing at that moment. I hoped you were telling the truth, or saying nothing at all.
I raised the plastic hear pendant you got me to my lips and kissed it, then pulled it from my neck.
I wasn’t sure what you were doing, I wasn’t sure if I was even in love with you anymore. I looked up and at the cop.
“What is it going to be?” he asked, almost impatiently. My heart started to race. I was going to become a fashion designer and start my own line. My life wasn’t over. I thought of you, and one single tear came to my eye. I kissed the ring, pulling it from my finger.
This was for my future job. This was for my future kids.
“It was all his idea. He pulled me along.” I said, my voice shaky.
