“But then you first have to pull them off.”“Okay.” I answer. “So where can I clean them?”“Take a guess.” He says with a strange smile ...n his face. I walk to the door. But it won’t open. The next moment I realize he locked me up. He never wanted me to clean my clothes. Maybe his friend even spoiled those drinks on purpose. Why would he order red wine when he doesn’t want me to drink alcohol? Where is Anna when you need her? Why did I even leave the club without telling her? Did his friend take. " She said without looking up, obviously not pleased that I had been sent to Mr. Anderson for the second time in 6 weeks. My legs did not seem to want to move, as I stood walked down the corridor to the door with the gold plaque that read "Principal". I entered quietly. Mr. Anderson was sitting on the edge of his desk, his right leg crossed over the other, filing his thumbnail. It was not quite the whip-cracking, pistol-shooting, whore-fucking behavior the sheriff Anderson on my fantasies. More

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