To raise a wolf

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Thrillers  |  House: Booksie Classic
When arrested for a alleged attack on a co-worker after a drunken night out, Emma finds her life turned upside down. Suddenly alone and with time running out, She faces an uphill battle to clear her name and catch the real culprit. Will Emma succeed in proving her innocence or will She discover that when hunting a predator, it is always best to remember that sometimes, the hunter may well become the hunted?.

This is my first attempt at writing a story, either short or long. I may choose to go back and alter the story, as it evolves. It may also become a very long short story. Wish me luck.

Submitted: August 27, 2012

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Submitted: August 27, 2012



The morning after the night before.

It's funny what you remember, in times of crisis. It's always the stupid things, never the important stuff. That comes later, when you've had more than enough time to think.

At first I thought the pounding was in my head. The incessant banging woke me, and the all too familiar feeling that I was going to be sick. I rushed to the bathroom, scrambling over shoes, clothes and god knows what else. As I retched over the bowl I thought to myself,

'Why do I do this?'. The same bloody thought I'd had a hundred times before, over a hundred similar toilets, after a hundred similar nights out.. Finally finished, for the time being at least, I flushed the toilet and went to brush my teeth. Staring back from the mirror was a face I hated seeing, almost as much as I'd loved it, once. I'd seen it soo many times as a child I knew every blemish, every broken vein, every puffy eyebag.

'Morning Mum' I mumbled, as I attempted to smear cool mint on my toothbrush. It was only as I rinsed my mouth out, for the 5th time, that I realised the relentless banging, although accompanied by a painful thumping in my skull, was actually coming from my front door.

'Jesus Christ, I hear ya'. Flipping my Mum the finger, I pulled on my dressing gown and wobbled my way to the door. Trying to figure out the latch seemed to take an age, but finally I managed to yank to door open,

'Fuck me, Ems, what the hell have you done this time?'. Andy, best friend, booze buddy and partner in grime shoved his way past me and into the flat. Clinging to the door for support with one hand, I waved the other around in the air and attempted to execute a mock bow, my queasy tummy and banging brain halting that manouvre before it got messy.

'Come in, why don't you?'. I muttered, as I shoved the door shut. Following Andy down the hallway, into the lounge, I frantically tried to imagine the level of embarressment my most recent bout of drunken diabolics had caused Him and how long my punishment would last. Last time it was 3 weeks of silence after I managed to set fire to a barmaids hair. Well she provided the flaming sambucas, all be it at my request, all I did was sneeze. The time before was just a week. We both agreed that I would never have peed in the street, nor been caught by the police with my knickers round my ankles, had Andy taken me home, as he promised.

Having decided, in that short walk from front door to living room, that whatever I had done the night before could be explained away, again, by slovenly, careless barmaids, uncaring friends or extended licensing hours, I was kind of shocked to find Andy, stood by the window, crying.

'You know She's going to be scarred for life, don't you?'. Andy rubbed his eyes and stared at me. I stared back.

'Who?'. I asked, thinking 'Shit, what the fuck happened last night, what did I miss?'.

'Jo' replied Andy.

'What Jo from the office, my mate Jo, what the hell happened to her?'.

'According to Jo, and some other people at the Taxi Rank, you turned up at the taxi rank, seriously drunk, and demanded that Jo give you a lift home in her taxi. When she refused you totally freaked out. You started ranting and raving about how Jo had stolen your life and how everything would have been different if Jo had suffered like you had. When Jo left the Taxi to try and calm you down you pulled a knife, slashed her across the face and then ran off'.

I must admit, regardless of how many times I had brushed my teeth, the shock of Andy's statement, plus his standing by the window, with a serious look upon his face, made me puke a little in my mouth, and some landed on my carpet. I blame it on the shock. Seriously, who the fuck stumbles home from a drunken night out, only to wake up, drunk, hungover, and a bloody attempted boot?. I was still trying to clean up my unfortunate accident when all of sudden, out of the blue, I found myself face down in my own vomit. The last thing I really remember is being handcuffed on the floor and dragged off to a van, by some police men, whilst Andy continued to cry and claim 'It was the drink what made her do it'.

Sobering up.

Holy shit!.This is the one and only time I ever woke up in a police cell, sober or otherwise. There have been many times before when I was detained, for a brief time, by The Plod, for my own protection, or the protection of others, you know, being drunk, being obnoxious, being drunk and obnoxious etc. I have never, ever woken up in a police cell. I have most certainly never woken up in a police cell, whilst being accused of attempted murder.

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