Taylor vs Reid (GxG)

Part 5 - {Prettiest Fucking Girl}

It's 3 pm, and it's time to meet our client, Abigail Clancy, and I'm not ready. Reilly is ready as fuck to go in there, but I can't move. It's as if I'm that girl on the other side of the one-way mirror again. As if I'm fourteen again, giving my statement. Alone, terrified. It feels too real. Why does she look like me?

"Taylor?" 

"Hmmm?" 

Mathieu's voice pulls me back to the present, but it's Reilly's subtle glance toward me that truly anchored me in the moment. There was an unspoken understanding in her eyes, a flicker of concern that she masked quickly, but not before I caught it. It was a look that said she was aware of the storm inside me, even if she didn't know its full extent. 

Mathieu nodded towards the door and I swallowed heavily, pushing forward. She needs me. I tell myself. She needs me like I needed someone back then.

Forcing a smile, I entered the room. It was empty aside from the table and chairs in the centre of the room. It was those uncomfortable chairs too. The ones they typically use in classrooms. Abigail sat on one and the other two were vacant, waiting for Reilly and me. I closed the door behind me and edged forward, well aware of Mathieu and the other officers still standing behind the one-way mirror,  watching. 

Abigail doesn't look up as we approach, doesn't really care. I get it. I sat in the chair closest to the black door we just came through and Reilly took the other next to me. The occasional brush of our arms as we sat side by side sent ripples through the air and small shivers up my arm. I ignored them to focus on the situation.

"Hi, Abigail. Is it okay if I call you Abby?" I asked. She shrugged and kept her eyes on the table, picking away at the edge. "I'm Drew and this is the devil herself."

I couldn't help but notice Reilly's careful observation of Abby, her gaze softening when the girl finally met her eyes. It's a small gesture, but it spoke volumes of her empathy. A side of her I hadn't fully appreciated before. 

As quickly as she looked up, Abby lost interest again and went back to the tabletop. "How are you doing today, Abby?" Reilly's question to Abby is gentle, her voice modulated to offer comfort without intrusion. 

When Abby responds with a mere shrug, I push a cup of coffee toward her, an offering of warmth in the coldness of our surroundings. Abby's long stare at me, before accepting the coffee, feels like a silent acknowledgement of our shared experiences, even if she doesn't know mine.

"Thank you," she told me, her voice soft and fragile.

"You're welcome," I told her, reaching for Reilly's coffee and taking a sip.

"Are you serious?" Reilly asked, glaring at me with a mix of annoyance and amusement for stealing her coffee. It helped to lighten the air around us a bit, but not for long.

I shrugged halfheartedly and watched her shake her head. The folder lay on the table before me and I pushed it to her, silently asking her to take the lead on this. I was expecting some resistance but instead, I was met with understanding.

She retrieved the folder and flipped it open, her eyes accessing the words before her. "So, you're fifteen?" she began. 

Abby nodded.

"And you've been in foster care since you were ten, currently being fostered by Marianne Williamson."

Abby nodded.

"Can you tell us how you know Mr Gribben?"

Abby looked at her confused then looked at me. "David," I tell her. "He goes by Dave sometimes."