How She Came Home

Chapter Fifty-Three

Midnight came and went from the holdings of the cell, the New Year rolling around with little fanfare in the quiet precinct. A heater shuddered as it blew out warm air, even though Becca's arms still prickled with goosebumps from the cold, and officers and detectives typed away at reports at clunky computers. 

A drunken man swore and cursed them out from a different holding cell and Becca felt her eyes grow heavy as she seemed to sink further down on the bench.

No one spoke to her, no one questioned her or gave her a phone call or even a sip of water. She wanted her bed, her pajamas, her dark room and Freen, growing restless and uncomfortable in the cell as the hours dragged on. 

Eventually, it got so late that it started verging on morning, dawn just a couple of hours off, and it was as she was yawning, rubbing at her itching eyes when footsteps stopped outside the cell door.

A key turned in the lock and Becca blinked owlishly at the officer opening it, sitting up as a spark of hope shot through her. The man gestured to her, a sullen look on his face. "Armstrong."

Quickly climbing to her feet, Becca balanced on one leg as she shoved one heel on and then wobbled unsteadily as she got the next one on. 

Hugging her coat to herself, she followed after the man, and had just stepped out into the open office of desk and overnight shift workers when her stomach jolted at the sight of a tall woman standing near a noticeboard and the door leading to a short hallway out to reception. 

Rawee.

"Mom--"

"Thank you, Officer," Rawee cut her off, taking a step forward.

She was quiet with anger, yet it rolled off her in waves and Becca felt small and pathetically childish in her shadow as she walked over to her. 

The officer spoke to Rawee for a moment and then Becca's things were returned to her, her cell phone showing a text and two missed calls - one from Mind and another from Nam - and she shoved it into her pocket as she was allowed to leave with her mother.

Neither of them spoke as they passed the reception area and pushed their way out into the cold pre-dawn morning, and Becca climbed into the front seat of the luxury rental and slammed the door shut behind her, slinking down in her seat as she buckled herself in and watched sideways as her mom similarly did so. 

The car engine was a quiet purr as it came to life, the radio quickly silenced by the irritable twist of Rawee's fingers, and Becca swallowed, her mouth dry and the sour taste of tequila at the back of her throat.

"Mom, I--"

Her voice was a low rasp, coloured with guilt and shame. Rawee didn't even look at her as she softly replied. "Don't talk."

Clamping her mouth shut, Becca bit back a sigh and leaned her head back against the headrest, staring out the window as the dark city passed them by, still illuminated with Christmas lights and near-empty at the time of the morning. 

The drive back to Becca's brownstone was quick, headlights cutting through the dark as Rawee made turn after turn, silent, yet brimming with pent up anger waiting to be unleashed.

Bringing the car to a stop behind Becca's Porsche, Rawee yanked the handbrake up with a little more force than was necessary, unclipping her seatbelt and making a brisk exit from the car. 

Feeling mildly hungover and more than a little put-out at Aulora getting one over on her, Becca followed after her mother at a slower pace, not particularly eager for the incoming conversation.

Walking into the open kitchen and dining room, Becca kicked her heels off and draped her coat over the back of a chair, fishing out her phone and staring at Rawee with wariness. Shoulders slightly hunched, she swallowed, her mouth dry as she licked at her chapped lips, red lipstick faded and smudged.