They locked me in suicide watch, back at the first hospital I'd been in. I was angry, so they had me cuffed to the bed. They couldn't exactly put me in a padded room, after how it had gone down the first time. Candace was fired, by the way. It turns out that cop did break my arm, too. "This fucking blows," I said, looking around the room. No entertainment, a guard outside. What have I gotten myself into? I thought. I should have escaped when I had the chance.
Someone entered the room. It was a woman, maybe 25 years old. She had wavy, cascading red hair, and an hourglass figure. She wore heels and a business woman's suit. She sat down next to my bed. "Hi, Dalton," She said. "I'm Johanna. I'm your new social worker." Social worker. The words kept running through my head, like a planet orbiting the sun, only faster. Oh, boy, if I had a trigger word, it's social worker. I wanted to get up and run, or at least get this lady out of my presence. The most I could do was look away from her, my eyes narrowed. She kept talking to me, but I was blocking her out. I could give two fucks less about anything she was going to tell me.
I guess I'd sealed my fate, though. I'd ran away, stolen a car, hidden, evaded the authority, and attempted suicide. And, if you count my fleeting moment of angry adrenaline where I gave the one cop a bloody nose as assaulting an officer, that too. Johanna kept talking, "Sweet family..." "Here for you when you get out..." "Lanes..." blah blah.. "Chicago..." blah blah fucking blah. I'd really had enough of this bitch. I turned and laid on my side, looking the opposite direction of her.
"Dalton? Are you listening?" She said.
I flipped her the bird. There was silence, and she eventually left. I fell asleep.
YOU ARE READING
Through the Wringer
Teen FictionDalton Versailles' life was going great until the accident. He thought the Lanes foster family could be the worst of it, but it was the exact opposite. The worst was yet to come, even over the tragedy that befell his family.
