Don't Touch Me. [ON HOLD]

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴏɴᴇ - ᴍᴏᴍ

THE POLICE STATION was quiet. As if time sat still. Well, things had already felt like that even before I got to the station.

Mom was dead. Finally.

That sounds cruel, I know. But with everything that she had done, everything that she had fucked up, I didn't feel even a little bit sad. All I felt was frustration. Not only did she leave me when I needed her most, she can't even keep a roof over my head now.

Because she's dead.

She probably overdosed on crack or something. I never understood how someone could love getting high so much. I mean, fuck, she ended up loving it more than her own daughter. And her life, I guess.

Scoffing at the thoughts of my mother, I leaned back into the chair I was sitting in and looked at the room around me. It was a waiting room of sorts; gray plastic chairs similar to mine sat against the walls, with small stands in between them every now and then. Lamps, magazines, and a few potted plants decorated the room.

How long was I going to wait like this? It already felt like hours since I arrived. Who was I even waiting for? A social worker? A cop?

Family?

Yeah right.

"Mrs. White?" The door opened slightly, a pretty face peeking in. Wow. She had beautiful light brown hair, tied up in a tight bun, and smooth olive skin. A navy blue blazer sat atop a perfectly white blouse, with a blue pencil skirt to match. The most beautiful thing about her, though, was her smile. It was the kindest face I had seen in a while. She almost reminded me of my mother. Except for her youthfulness. And her smile, of course.

I suddenly felt very insecure. Sitting up in my chair, I nodded quickly. How did she know my name? And why was she looking for me?

"Can I call you Ana?" She said tenderly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her gently. I nodded again.

The pretty woman walked over and sat in a chair next to me, and grabbed my hands, holding them gingerly in her lap. I tensed up, my eyes finding their way to the hands holding mine, nervousness tying knots in my stomach. I felt like throwing up.

Ugh, what are you doing? You're fine, Ana.

It's just hands.

"Are you a social worker?" I questioned, raising my line of sight to look her in the eyes. I was trying my best to take hold of the conversation, but the knots in my stomach were seriously not helping.

"Yes, dear, and I have wonderful news for you!" She smiled again, wider this time, squeezing my hands.

I shut my eyes, trying to prepare myself. I mean, what a joke. How could I possibly have 'wonderful news'? I haven't had 'wonderful news' all my life. Did she mean some random strangers were willing to foster me? Or was I being sent to an orphanage?

Or was Mom actually okay?

My chest tightened. Why was I thinking about that? She's gone, that's a good thing. Even if I was sent to a foster home full of abuse, at least I wouldn't have to watch her get high and ruin herself. I wouldn't have to watch her drink herself to sleep, or get with random men, or cry and scream.

Or pretend I didn't exist. Pretend her problems didn't exist.

"Ana, sweetie, I promise it's great news. You don't have to worry about a thing anymore." My eyes snapped open as I was brought away from my thoughts. The fuck? Why am I shaking? Since when did my chest hurt so much?