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DUI. February 2019. Part three.

I walked out the door and sat in my car. I did not want to drive. Like I mentioned earlier, it was a rainy, messy evening and that combination of weather with intoxication is never good. I knew Eric was capable of anything after he had previously had me arrested. I felt like I did not have a choice other than drive. I started driving and called a friend of mine, Ethan. We talked and I drove a lot farther than I had realized. I did not know where I was going. I was just...going.

I am on a busy highway; it is becoming increasingly hard for me to see.

I see blue lights in my rearview mirror. "Fuck." I pullover to the right in a turning lane. I knew I had an expired tag and insurance. I did not feel drunk. But I knew, if the officer gets one look into my eyes, it is over. I was able to remain calm, thanks to my anxiety pills I had taken earlier. The officer walked up to the window. I had my license and registration already in my hand. I roll down the window and hand it to him.

Officer: Ma'am do you know you are driving around with an expired tag?

I play the dumb blonde while avoiding direct eye contact.

Me: I have no idea. My mom gave me this car from Alabama while mine is in the shop. I am so sorry. I will get it resolved asap.

It was not all a lie. He walked back to his car. At this point, I am thinking, "Good try. Your ass is going to jail." After a couple of minutes, he walked back to my vehicle. He hands me back my license and registration. He tells me to drive safe and to get it taken care of immediately. I thank the officer and roll up my window.

I grab my phone and search for nearby hotels as I am trying to get over lanes. Not smart. I end up in the far left turning lane. When the light turn signal turns green, I go and bump into the car in front of me. I debated, for a second, to try to get over into the next lane. I did not. My morale compass would not let me. I followed the car into the strip mall and pulled into a parking space to check on the individual. As I unbuckled my seatbelt and began to open my car door, two cop cars appear. One in front of me and the other behind me. One officer is walking towards the other vehicle and the other toward me. I light up a cigarette. The officer asked if I have had anything to drink. I reply no to all the questions asked about intoxication. This officer is not very nice, and I am highly offended by his nasty attitude. I become intransigent. He then proceeds to do a series of field sobriety tests. I do them all except the breathalyzer test. As I stand outside the vehicle, I am freezing. The officer who pulled me over the first time, minutes earlier, walked over and gave me his jacket. I become increasingly annoyed as they searched my vehicle. I started cursing and asked for a cigarette. The asshole officer arrested me. I was not happy. He proceeded to drive to a clinic to get a urine and blood test. We walked in. The officer took the handcuffs off. The nurse tells me it is my legal right to refuse the tests. I look at the officer and walk into the bathroom. I am sitting on the toilet thinking of ways I can escape. After a couple of minutes, I come to terms that would be an awful idea. I walk out, and tell him, "I am not taking any of these fucking tests. I have fucking rights." He handcuffs me. And tells me to be quiet.

He drives into the inmate drop off area. He sits there typing his report with me in the backseat. We are not vibing well. Eventually, he opens the door to walk me to the booking area. I become irate. I am cursing, telling the officers to fuck off. They are doing their best to strip search me. They hand me jailhouse slides to put on. I throw them. [ It is a very small jail. I later come to realize I had driven into Dawsonville]. I was the only inmate in the small area, I assumed to be the drunk tank. The protocols at this jail were very different from my experience at Gwinnett. It was a lot smaller, newer, and cleaner.

I stand at the door, yelling "It is my right to a phone call."

Now, I am the damsel in distress. The officer at the desk opens the door. "Ms. Mims. Who do you want to call?" I need to get my phone. I do not remember the number. Will you please get my phone so I can get a number? He got my phone. I am calmed down and he is being very nice. I unlocked the screen to write down a couple of numbers. He hands me the phone from the desk. I make a couple of phonecalls. No one answered. I asked if he could please keep dialing Maverick. He did. I go back to the jail cell, curl up in fetal position and cry. The officer turns off my light.

Early the next morning, the jail cell door opens. Ms. Mims, Maverick is here to pick you up. I smile with relief. Thank goodness. I knew I could count on Maverick. I walk out to get my belongings and meet Maverick and the bondsman. I signed the paperwork. Opened the plastic bag full of my belongings while inside the jail and grabbed my Clonazepam. I took the remaining pills from the bottle and chewed them up. Maverick, I believe, was in shock. He had only known sober "Hope."

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