Not So Delicate ||18+

Atticus ~41~

[Warning: Mentions of rape and murder.]

I watched as they took my girl away, placing her in a car to take her for questioning. Then I watched my brothers get hauled into the back of another vehicle. I could still feel my baby's arms around my shoulders, her tears soaking my shirt. I did this.

They took us down to the station where I called our lawyers. They wouldn't let us see Brooklyn but I knew she was here. Despite the pungent smell that all cells have, I could still smell the faint smell of her perfume.

5 minutes turned into half an hour. Half an hour turned into two. Then finally, we were out and free. Yet Brooklyn was still nowhere to be found. Callan and Zachary spoke to our lawyers about something before walking over to me, their eyes searching the room for something. That something was no doubt Brooklyn.

"Uhm, sir," A female cop caught my attention, walking up to me with a slightly worried face. "Your girlfriend is Brooklyn Elisa, yes?"

"Yes. Where is she?" I asked, my question sounding more like an order. She looks over her shoulder and nods for me to follow. Zachary and Callan stay back, watching everything around them.

"I can't get her to wake up. She fell asleep a few minutes ago." She said, opening a door to an interrogation room. There, sitting in a chair, was my beautiful girl. One of her legs was folded up, her calf resting against the table as her head rested on her knee.

She looked so perfect.

I walk into the room, carefully running my fingers through her tangled hair. She was going to be upset with us later. I knew that. But it still didn't stop me from dreading it.

Dread?

Since when did I feel that?

The last time I felt something like dread, was when I was 13. My father stumbled into the house, his whole being reeked of alcohol and marijuana. He had grabbed my mother by the throat and slammed her head into a wall. Somehow she survived.

Then he came for me. I remember that night, and I'll never regret that night for the rest of my days. Dread had filled my stomach, bubbling over until it spilled through my mouth. My father, his pants to his knees, holding me down. My mother watched with half-guilty eyes.

Then the dread filled my lungs, my gut, and my heart as I saw the blood on my hands. The blood on the floor, the knife in my father's skull. My mother stared at me like I was a monster. I was a monster. I still am.

This time was different. The feeling of dread didn't bubble in my organs. It bubbled in my soul. The mere thought of her resenting me, resenting us, had my nose stinging.

I carefully picked her up in my arms, hiding her tear-stained face into my neck as I walked out of the interrogation room and to my brothers. I hated to be touched. I hated any caress against me. But her touch, her warmth, I didn't mind.

I got closer to Callan and Zachary who were chatting amongst themselves. They looked over at us and their eyes scanned her, their eyes holding an emotion I couldn't quite place. They looked like they might just get on their knees and beg for her forgiveness.

"Let's go home." Before I shoot this place up for wearing out my poor girl. We walk out of the station, getting into the car that came to pick us up. I held Brooklyn tighter in my arms, staring down at her with soft eyes. I look out the window for a moment before looking down at her again. My soul nearly died when my eyes were met with hers. "You realize how horrifying that looked just now?"

She said nothing, moving out of my lap and climbing over to the front seat. Our driver looked at her confused for a moment. I almost scolded her for being reckless but then again, what was I? She didn't even want to sit with us. How fucked over are we?