A Rose By Any Other Name
I've always been a perfectionist. Not a very good one but a perfectionist none the less. its quite unusual actually since the majority of my life has been far from "perfect". I've often wondered where I'd be if I'd taken a different path, if I'd thought more things thru and didn't act on impulse. I quickly dismiss those thoughts though, my life may be tainted but it's mine.
You can call me Taylor but that is not my real name; just a name I have been given by the FBI. I'm 20 years old, I attend the university of Texas in Austin Texas. I'm studying to be an addiction counselor. It's actually very ironic since I'm in N.A. That's narcotics anonymous if you don't know. I started using heroin at the ripe age of 16 it seemed like a good thing to do. That sounds stupid I know but that was my reasoning at the time at least. I met my dealer/ex boyfriend at palo vista high school in vista California. I thought I was in love but in reality I was addicted, not to my ex but to heroin. The only plus to being addicted to any drug at the age of 16 is when you get caught for being an i***t; sometimes you find someone who feels bad enough for you they drop the charges and get you help instead. That's where my story began, I was high out of my mind and didn't really care where I was or who I was with. I remember laying on the floor, the carpet was brown about the color of freshly ground coffee, I'm not really sure if it was suppose to be that color because parts of carpet were lighter than others. There were Cheerios and tons of who knows what strewn all over the floor. I could of sworn I heard a baby crying but I was way too busy petting the floor and flying to care. I should of heard the commotion outside I should of sensed something was up by the way my level headed son of a b***h ex boyfriend, Klaas jumped up off the floor moving faster than I have ever seen possible. The front door burst open just as I watched my ex jump out the broken window to my left. The first person I see grabs me and flips me on my stomach, securing my arms behind my back, I remember not being scared at all.. I was so out of it. The ride to the police station felt like it took forever, but it was less than memorable. At booking, I meet the detective who arrested me.
Det Sheryl Bennett is 5 feet 9 inches of pure badass. Her hair was a bright red, she was tan, not the "I lay under a skin cancer light bulb kind of tan" but a type of tan that can only be from working long hours out in the California sun. Her eyes are probably the deepest shade of green I've ever seen, they can only be described as two sparkling emeralds. She has a small button nose kinda like mine but with a scar that cuts it in half going from the left side of her nose down to the corner of her mouth. She is a beautiful woman but has an intensity that makes it hard to stare directly at her. I don't know if it was that intensity or the way she said my name but something immediately reminded me of my mother and I instantly wanted to help det Sheryl In any way I could. The cops wanted information on Klaas and I wanted to walk, so I gave them all the information I had, safe houses, where he got his drugs from, where he was likely to be hiding. They found him at his mother's vacation home hiding in his closet. I thought once they found him I'd be free to go right back to what I was doing but I was very wrong. You see Klaas wasn't the typical boy next door drug dealing boyfriend I thought he was. No he was a lot smarter than that and a hell of a lot more dangerous.
