I felt like a caged lion pacing in front of the bars. At first it was amusing, I'd been placed in a holding cell because it hadn't been my first rodeo. They should have just processed me, but they all knew me by now. If not by sight than by my reputation, I'd always come in with a smile on my face, led in by officers who didn't know if they wanted to cuff me or beat me. I irritated people that way. There'd even been pizza, on the house the officers had said but it had reeked of my brother's hand.

Like I said, at first it was amusing.

But now my mood had turned dark, I couldn't keep still and all I had wanted was my lighter, a six pack of beer and a maybe a wrench to knock the nearest person out. I wanted out, I didn't like to be confined in the least. Suppressed memories from another lifetime were clamoring to get out, to do whatever it took to get out. No matter the cost to my ego or my body. It needed out as surely as the beast prowling beneath the surface.

Gone was the easy smile that I'd worn upon first entering, there was no more banter and no more games. My face had morphed into something twisted, something dangerous and I wasn't quite sure how to deal with it anymore. It'd been gone for so long; locked tightly in that box in a corner of my mind. It wanted to be released but at the same time I didn't want it out. It scared me more than anyone could ever imagine, I knew just what I was capable of and most would be surprised at it.

I wasn't. I was never surprised at what my own brain could concoct. I was usually all smiles and jokes and when I turned inwards, which was rarely, I could never pull myself out of it. I was one who was bound by blood, bound by the ideas that only my family could ever save me. I was usually right.

I'd gone off and done something stupid again, it hadn't even involved cars or bars or even a hint of fire. I'd been sitting in the park, minding my own damned business when some woman had gotten offended because I'd been throwing knives at her begonias. The knives, of course, were taken from the shop that Dav ran, slipped into my pocket on the way out one evening. Sticky fingers was always a horrible habit to try and break and so I'd never tried. But these begonias were offending me with their bright colors and petals turned towards the sun that I'd taken it into my own hands to shear a head or two off while practicing my aim.

The woman hadn't liked the one that had gotten itself lodged firmly in the doorframe near her eye when she'd come out to water said flowers. She'd screamed like she'd been the one who had been stabbed instead of the poor wood of the doorframe. Instead, all she'd done when the officers had shown up was point at the heads of the flowers laying like fallen soldiers and wail that she'd almost been stabbed. She hadn't of course but she was going to milk it for all it was worth, that bitch.

So that was how I'd gotten to spend my days here, or had it been months already? Maybe that was why I was as restless as the day I'd blown up my first car. I'd never been able to stand still, even as a small child, my hands had to be working or I had to be off doing something. And like a puppy I'd always come back to the hand that fed. Which was why I wanted a fucking pizza and a pack of beer. I also know that orange was a really horrible color on me, I tend to favor greens and blues, they really brought out the color in my eyes.

Four steps across, four steps back. Four across, four back. All the while I was running my fingers over the metal of the bars, picturing how the smoothness would look curved into a rod in my hands. I'd always been fond of metal, sometimes it yielded but most of the time it knew when to stand strong.

Alright Mr. Dorian, you're free to go, don't go killin' anymore poor ladies flowers...

I gave the officer a lazy smile, too cold in the way it slithered across my lips and perched like a content feline. I sauntered out, shoving both lighter and cigarette into my pocket with my wallet, "I don't suppose you'll return my knives, huh?" I paused to glance back at the officer and when he made no move to return them I gave a shrug of my shoulders. "Didn't think so."

I stepped outside and went straight for the nearest convenience store, I purchased a six pack of beer and another pack of cigarettes and made my way to the park. I didn't care if the grass was wet, I dropped down to roll through it and in the process pop open a can of beer. Next, they'll pick me up for public intoxication or littering. I was halfway through my third can, a cigarette dangling from my lips and my thumb running over the flame of my lighter when I heard the footsteps. Maybe if I didn't say anything they'd go away and leave me in peace. Not likely.