the art of loving ; lord tewksbury

twenty-two

trigger warning: brief mentions of sexual assault.
there will be no graphic depictions, only brief mentions of it. if you feel overwhelmed, uneasy or uncomfortable in the midst of reading this chapter, please don't hesitate to pause. if you need someone to talk to, my dms are always open!

Chapter Twenty-Two

The police were in her house.

Two of them, specifically. It wasn't difficult to tell they were apart of the law enforcement. They donned the designated policemen uniform which consisted of blue coats and tall, strengthened hats. Both had a truncheon each, a weapon they carried in situations where they had to defend themselves. Being under the watchful eye of their authoritative presence was daunting enough on the streets, but up close? Up close, intimidation was truly an understatement, especially for a three-year-old girl who couldn't comprehend why they stepped foot into her house.

Her home, where nothing bad ever happened.

"Why are they here?" she asked her brother, who was busy soaking a washcloth into a pail of water. "Why are they in our house?"

Little Grant wrung the dampened cloth and approached his sister, who sat on a stool in the corner of the bathroom. He inspected her dirt-smeared face and tangled hair caked in mud, letting out a small sigh. He brought the cloth up to her cheek and began wiping at it gently.

"I don't know," he answered as he cleaned her up.

"Did we do something wrong?" she wanted to know. "Did mother do something wrong? Or father?"

"I don't know," Grant repeated.

"Are we—are we going to jail?"

He huffed in agitation. "I don't know, Daisy! I don't—I'm just as lost as you are! Please stop asking me what is wrong because I don't know."

Daisy clamped her mouth shut and stayed quiet after that. She could feel tears prickle the corners of her eyes as a spew of emotions flooded her chest all at once. The worry, the confusion, the need to know what was happening—it hit her like a tidal wave and submerged her entire being. The quiver of her lip was an indication that the waterworks would soon begin, so she lowered her head in hopes of hiding it.

She heard her brother sigh. He lifted her chin up so that she was looking at him again, and she could almost see the guilty expression plastered on his face.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to yell at you," he said. His eyebrows knitted together as he shut his eyes and let out another sigh. "I'm as scared as you are. I don't know what's going on exactly, Daisy, but my gut is telling me that it isn't a good thing."

The girl remained silent at her brother's words as she watched him intently, trying to read into his thoughts. If there was one thing she was certain about, it was his intuition. Whenever Grant had a gut feeling, whether it be a good one or the complete opposite, he was always, always right about it. His ability to predict the outcome of things never failed to fascinate her.

This time, though, she hoped his gut feeling was wrong.

"Where did you go, Daisy?" he questioned as he scrubbed at a stubborn dirt spot on her nose. Even though she was perched on a stool, she was still a lot tinier than him and he had to crouch down in order to be level with her face.