Page 1 of Right Next Door
Chapter 1
Misty
“This is horseshit!”
Rage, white hot and choking, rushed through Misty’s body, making her shake, causing the cuffs linking her to the metal table to rattle. Their obnoxious jingling echoed in the tiny room, striking against her ears like rusty nails clicking on a chalkboard.
Across from her, smirking smugly, Officer Prickhead didn’t even pretend he wasn’t looking at her boobs as he reclined back in his chair. At his leisure. Completely convinced of not only his superiority but his righteousness in this moment.
Bastard.
“Stealing is a very serious crime, Misty,” he said, stroking his pen in a manner that couldn’t be mistaken for anything but suggestive. Up and down, rubbing his thumb over the tip. Even the way he held it made sure there was no mistake about what was going through his mind – right over the spot where his groin would be under the table.
It was disgusting. He was disgusting. This entire damn day was just one long clusterfuck of absolutely disgusting people.
“I didn’t steal a damn thing!” Misty pounded her fists on the table. Frustration and betrayal twisting up inside her, coiling like barbed wire, shredding her apart with the unfairness of everything.
“That’s not what Ms. Junie was saying,” Prickett clicked his tongue, clearly enjoying himself. “And you know, she is a very respected member of the community. Compared to a little woman like yourself with your… background… I mean, can you blame us for believing her over you? We all know the things you get up to, Misty.”
“This is a literal fucking witch hunt!” Misty argued. “She doesn’t like me because her holier than thou self can’t stand the fact that I dress like this!”
She gestured to herself – at least, as much as she could with her hands chained to the table. The fact that she wasn’t even allowed that much freedom, like she was some kind of dangerous criminal, was acid eating at her belly.
Misty had always dressed different compared to everyone else in this small town, but she had really started to embrace her sense of style in recent years. The most normal thing about her outfit were her black leggings – and even that was too much for their old-fashioned sensibilities because it hugged all of her generous curves in a way that Misty enjoyed and flaunted. She loved the slopes and rounded lines of her body, always had. The way her generous chest tightened into a cute waist before flaring out into a pair of chunky hips and thighs was beautiful. She was gorgeous and luscious, her body jiggling just right when she walked, and she loved showing it off.
At least, until Officer Prickhead made it clear that he was enjoying it as well.
Her chunky, black boots went up her calves, big buckles crossing up the whole way. Her shirt was an old band T that she had cutup, widening the neck and turning it into a crop top, but it had always been a few sizes too big, so now it hung off one shoulder. Since the good law enforcement officers had come charging into her house – while she was sleeping – her shoes were the only thing she was able to grab. Which meant she didn’t even have a bra on. Something her big tits definitely needed in order to be out in public. But no, she wasn’t even afforded that dignity. Misty couldn’t adjust her shirt to try to cover her boobs better because of the way she was chained to the table either. It would require leaning forward and offering Prickett the Prickhead an even better look at her goods, and she would honestly rather rip all her piercings out with pliers than give him even an inch more of skin to slobber over like the fucking pig he was.
And she had a lot of piercings. Multiple in both ears, the one in her nose, through her eyebrow, her tongue, her belly button – and of course the ones through her nipples that she would drop dead before letting Prickett know existed.
Misty had always dressed alternative, a little goth. This little town had never appreciated that, but she wasn’t one to care. However, as she’d embraced that side of herself more, especially as she got the piercings and tattoos once she hit adulthood, it just became too much for them. Ms. Junie, an old white woman with too much time on her hands, had begun saying how Misty was being influenced by the devil, but that changed recently to Misty influencing peopleforthe devil. As though dressing in black and being unashamed about her style and body were so evil.
She liked goth shit and shiny things! That wasn’t a crime!
Although, apparently, in this little town, it actually was.
Just not one they could get her for. But when Saintly Ms. Junie suddenly lost a precious family heirloom ring, all eyesimmediately turned to her. Because she was black and goth in a small town world and that was just unforgivable.
But even that wouldn’t have been enough to actually land her in cuffs.
If it wasn’t for Lacie.
Lacie had been Misty’s friend for years. Misty had been there for her through thick and thin. When Lacie got drunk the first time, it was Misty that dragged her home so the older boys at the house party, who had been eying her up, couldn’t do anything to her while she was helpless.
When Lacie got pregnant, it was Misty that drove her across state lines while she was bawling, swearing to never be so careless again, to get it terminated. Honestly, that was the best outcome for her and the baby. Because not long after that, Lacie got into meth, and when she did, it was Misty that picked her up from the traphouse.
And when Lacie stole Ms. Junie’s ring to pay for her habit, it was Misty’s house that she hid it in so she wouldn’t be caught with it – without telling Misty. And when Lacie was confronted, it was Misty she accused of the theft just to get herself out of trouble. And wouldn’t you know it? Ms. Junie – sainted, sweet, andlovelyMs. Junie – could justswearshe saw someone suspicious anddarkwalking around her house just the other day.
And it wasn’t at all a surprise that Misty, that godless harlot from across the tracks, would be the one to steal it. After all, Misty was always seen around that notorious drug den andeveryoneknew that Lacie took Misty across state lines to get an abortion, because, of course, one of her kind couldn’t keep her legs closed.
The not-at-all subtle racism was bad enough, but Lacie’s betrayal hurt worse. At least the casual racism was something Misty was used to in these parts. Small town folks had smalltown minds. People always said they were nicer, but in Misty’s experience, there was a difference between being nice and being kind. These people might be nice, but there wasn’t a shred of kindness in their bodies. Someone always had something to say about Misty and any other person of a different race or religion or origin. It usually wasn’t overt. Most times, it was just a subtle, casual, almost imperceptible thing.
Until now. Misty had cuffs on her wrists now, which meant that shemustbe guilty of something, so all that subtle racism could become overt, since clearly she deserved it.
And you know what, Misty didn’t care about that. Their stupid, backwards beliefs were never going to change, and she was already planning on leaving this place anyway. They could think whatever they wanted about her.
But Lacie had been her friend. Misty would have done anything for Lacie. Mistyhaddone practically everything for Lacie. They’d been through tons of stuff together, and just as much good as bad. They’d promised to be each other’s maid of honor. To be each other’s children’s godmothers. To always be together. To always help each other.
