"Ruin the world?"
"I mean yeah, we could do that."
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When Faith - a 21 year old detective - finds herself wrapped up in one of the most life threatening cases in New York, the last thing she expects to do is take in 15 year old Alyona - th...
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✼ ҉ ✼ ҉ ✼
"SHE'S MY MOTHER." I say.
Faith lets go of my shoulders ever so lightly, drifting back to her own space as she continues to stare at me - an entirely confused expression on her face.
"Why do you have pictures of her?" I whisper.
"She was a cop working against your father." Faith answers softly.
Then there's silence some more. There's me trying to contemplate wether this woman is even my mother or if I'm just hallucinating. If maybe there's something off.
Because my whole life I never mourned her death. Not even after I watched a bullet fly straight through her head at the hands of my own father. I never mourned nor really dwelled on her death, because I only knew her five years. And because if she had a child with my father? If she was his lover? She must have been just as bad as him.
But her working against him and being undercover their entire relationship? That makes her a good person. And it was so much easier getting over her death when she wasn't.
"This means your mother got pregnant whilst working undercover for us," Faith speaks up, "That must be why contact was lost. Because she had you."
"Ouch, thanks." I mutter, still shocked.
"I didn't mean it like that." She shakes her head and scoots closer.
"I had no idea she was a cop," I'm starting to crack, my voice, everything, "I promise, you have to believe me-"
"Shh, shh, it's okay." Faith brings me in, arms wrapped around my head as the tears I didn't know were there seep into her work shirt.
"He's done too much," I whisper, stuttering, "He's done too fucking much."
"And he'll pay. I promise, he'll pay." Faith soothes.
I'm still crying, and for some reason I can't stop. I don't think I've ever been this vulnerable in front of Faith before. I know she's seen my fear and my nervousness - but now she's seen the sadness in me.
The only thing she's yet to see is my anger. Which is surprising given my anger issues. I'm not good at many things. But anger, I'm good at.
The ring that lays on my pinky finger comes into use at times like these. It's a good fiddle thing, the long item useful when I'm having panic attacks. But I guess Faith is pretty useful as well. I've never been held maternally until now, and let me tell you, it's pretty nice.
"Did she have family?" I whisper. Do I have family.
"None left." Faith shakes her head.
"Oh." I sniffle, leaning out of her embrace.
"But there's a chance there could be some cousins. Or uncles and aunts. Hold out hope for that." She tries to smile.
"I think hearing the words 'hope' leave your mouth is the most ironic thing ever." I chuckle, wiping my eyes.
