𝟰𝟭. THE KIDS ARE NOT ALRIGHT

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"𝗔𝗡𝗬𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗛𝗢𝗪?" were the first two words Spencer heard, words attached to a voice that she didn't recognise in the slightest

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"𝗔𝗡𝗬𝗪𝗛𝗘𝗥𝗘 𝗛𝗢𝗪?" were the first two words Spencer heard, words attached to a voice that she didn't recognise in the slightest. After spending half the night frivolously painting, and successfully managing to finish off what she'd been working on for school, the girl had barely gotten any sleep. She was a dead man walking, or more appropriately, a dead chick walking.

Eyes weighted down with her normal lethargy plus the mounted worries and regret she had started to feel after having heard Odessa confirm her relapse, and subsequently doing nothing about it. She could've talked her into alternatives, told someone, told Knox, but she knew from experience that over helping normally always led to lash outs, and more than a couple feelings being hurt.

She didn't want that anymore, all she wanted was normality, peace. A picket fence life that consisted of mellow skies and that close dexterity that was apparently supposed to exist in strong family units. Emphasis on strong.

"Up your shirt, up your ass, I don't fucking know, just go! Now!" There was a crack in in the lining's of Andrei's roar, fierce but unsure. Spencer wondered when he'd just give the jig up and admit that he was shitting bricks about being under the police's radar.

She wouldn't have blamed him, in fact, she would've felt sorry for the man because his livelihood was crumpling like a sandcastle being kicked in his face. Then again, admitting defeat to him was worse than getting caught in itself.

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