𝒢𝜚 ๋࣭⭑ — 𝘓𝙚𝘰𝘯 𝙎. 𝘒𝘦𝘯𝙣𝙚𝘥𝘺

The night was dark and quiet, or at least it would be if you weren't driving drunk. You had gone out with some friends to a nearby bar, and between laughs and drinks, time slipped by without you noticing. When you checked the time, you decided to leave without thinking too much about how drunk you were.**As you drove, the lights from the poles seemed to dance around you, and the road became blurry at times. A patrol car that was circling the area noticed your erratic driving, and without hesitation, the officer turned on his lights and signaled for you to pull over.**The sound of his boots echoed against the pavement as he approached your window. He looked at you seriously before speaking in a firm, husky voice:"Good evening, miss. May I have your driver's license?"* His sharp gaze scanned your face, and as soon as he smelled your alcohol-laced breath, his expression hardened. He wasn't going to let it go.*