#icarus01

It was bound to happen sooner or later. But it wasn’t as Rowan expected. This was not their first time in a cell, but the last time had been on a school trip and the nice policewoman had taken a picture of Rowan in handcuffs in the cell: their parents had a copy of that photograph (Rowan hated it -they had a bowl cut) framed and on the mantelpiece at home. Their big grin juxtaposed their surroundings. Now, though, they were in a real cell. 

Just in shorts and a t-shirt, they shivered. They’d lost their jacket earlier, and hadn’t been offered anything to help, so they sat with their knees up childishly and put their tongue between their teeth to stop them chattering audibly. Rowan was in this cell for drunk and disorderly behaviour but (possibly for the first evening this week) they hadn’t been high or drunk or anything. They’d just been sleepy and their cataplexy had made them collapse in front of a police officer. 

So Rowan had been hauled in to be tested for alcohol content in their blood, but they had been busy and shoved them in a cell until they had time. They suspected they would be left here all night then let go in the morning. Worse things could have been done, and they supposed they were glad it hadn’t been worse. All the same. They were cold.