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Also, I keep the dog.
“Carol,” Lane says cheerily as my personal prissy bitch of a social worker walks into the house.
“How are you all getting on?” she asks, straight to the point as Lane leads her to the breakfast table for coffee and treats.
I sit in one of the wooden seats and fold my arms across my chest.
“I checked in with her teachers and she seems to be getting on with her schoolwork. A first for everything.”
What a pompous, snobby bitch. “I was locked in an institution for a fucking year, Carol. There was no schoolwork.”
“Has she been taking her meds?” Carol asks Stanley who only got in from work twenty minutes ago and is covered in grease and paint. He runs a body shop in town, he took me to see it on the way home from school on Thursday. It was alright, his coworkers are funny and kept me entertained for an hour before we went home. Stanley was cool too; he gave me a few bucks for the vending machine and taught me how to change a tire.
“We took her off them,” Stanley replies, his voice a deep rumble.
“I can tell, she’s jittery.”
“My leg’s bouncing because I’m irritated by you, you fucking dick,” I snarl at her. I cannot stand her. She is one of the few people in my life who I would gladly kill or injure badly and never regret a thing. If only the purge was a real fucking annual celebration. I have a list.
“Language,” Stanley barks at me and Lane gives me a wide-eyed look.
“She’s much nicer on her medication.”
“Stop speaking about me like I’m not a person in the room,” I growl at her and she still doesn’t even acknowledge my existence.
“I thought you said you had her under control?” Carol asks Stanley as she scribbles in her journal. I want to beat her over the head with it, wipe that smarmy smile right from her face.
“Go to your room, Scandal.”
I don’t need telling twice. “With pleasure.”
I glare at the uppity bitch with her stupid inverted bob and glasses too small for her eyes.
“Go fuck yourself,” I mouth at her as I pass.
Then I head up to my room and slam my door.
Ah, what a way to start a Saturday.
As expected, I’m called down less than an hour later and Stanley and Lane are both sitting at the table without the skanky-doodle dickhead known as my social worker.
“That was not okay,” Lane informs me, her voice ever soft but her gaze harder than it ever has been. “She could have you moved if she doesn’t find this place suitable, she has that power.”
“So?” I ask and I see genuine hurt flash through her eyes. I don’t feel guilt, not really. I’m still over here waiting for the other shoe to drop. “Wouldn’t that solve all your problems?”
“Why can’t you trust that we want you here?” Lane asks, looking even more hurt. “Have we done anything to show you otherwise?”
“Why the fuck would you want me here?” I laugh humorlessly and look between them both. “What am I, a broken car? Are you getting a kick out of fixing me up?”
A muscle ticks in Stanley’s jaw and I know he’s fighting his temper.
“If you don’t want me here for sex, then why the fuck am I here?”
“Jesus,” Stanley mutters and he looks at Lane. “I don’t think I can do this.”
Here we go.
“I really don’t. She’s—” He shakes his head but not at me. I know it’s not aimed at me. “Just deal with her.”
They all talk about me like I’m the third person eventually. It’s easier to pretend I’m not human.
“Did men often keep you around for sex, Scandal?” Lane asks, sounding braver than her usual meek self.
At her question, I stand and head upstairs. Neither of them follows and for that I’m grateful.
“There’s something not right with her,” Lane hisses. “She needs therapy. We are in way over our heads.”
My bedroom door closes, I don’t torment myself by listening to them. Instead I stand in front of my bedroom mirror and practice a few dance moves that I have yet to perfect. My bed gets in the way so I push it against the wall, making a bigger space for movements.
Curlyfry watches me from the middle of the bed, having not moved when I pushed it. I press my forehead to his, clammy from all the activity, wishing I had a bigger space.
“They made me come here,” I say to the reverend after he asks me what brings me to his church and flock.
He laughs a startled chuckle and Lane hurries me along. There are no hard feelings, they can tell I’m joking… kinda.
“I’m probably going to burst into flames,” I hiss at her and she fights her own laughter. “You know that, right? I’m going to take one step inside and your lord and savior is going to blast me straight to hell.”
