Darkness Will Come to Light [1]

XIX. No One

A/N: Hi, lovelies. Updates on Mondays and Fridays (and possibly Wednesdays), so I don't get too ahead of myself. Thank you for being here♡

~*~

Two raps on the door woke a mending Mel from her drug-induced sleep. A head of dark braided hair poked out from behind the opening door.

"Hello, Miss Jackson. I am Anita Discher, your new social worker from Child Protective Services. May I come in?"

The girl stared blankly at the cocoa-skinned lady with a large clipboard in hand. Anita let herself in and closed the door to the bustling hall behind her.

Anita made herself as comfortable as one can be in a hard plastic chair. "Let's talk."

Being that Mel had no where else to go, it seemed that they would be talking whether she liked it or not. Mel pushed herself into a sitting position against the headboard of the bed. "Okay," she whispered when she was settled.

The Anita lady charged straight to the point: "Usually in child abuse cases, I would file a dependency petition with the court for a hearing before a judge. Your physical harm and written statement are evidence enough to move to the next phase without you needing to attend a court session."

There wasn't a question when Anita paused so Mel just nodded silently.

"Now, your file says that you recently stopped going to your weekly therapy?" Anita crossed her thick legs and stared at Mel expectantly.

Mel narrowly avoided rolling her eyes at the unexpected reminder. "Yes," she muttered, angrily picking at stray strands on the hospital blanket. Why were they talking about this?

When she was eleven, her parents decided that she was too emotional for them to deal with, so they sent little Mel to therapy sessions once a week. It began as her emotions swayed from her period, then it was about her anger. Through the years, the focus shifted to her depression and anxiety...

Mel bounced from counselor to counselor as her parents pleased. No one got her; no one made her feel comfortable enough to share what she had for lunch, much less bare her soul and demons.

When hiding her struggles and "troubling" emotions seemed to add more time between visits, Mel started to bottle more within herself. This left her as a bottle of diet Coke with a minty Mentos candy looming above the opening--at any moment, she could explode.

Anita was talking, but Mel interrupted. "I'm not going back." She was adamant. "It never helped me." It only pushed her to be less open, to fend for herself, and to hate her own emotions.

Her social worker wore a frown. "With your condition, we find it best to--"

"No."

"Melaina, sometimes talking it out--"

"No. No." Mel turned her head away to face the wall. "Get out. Please, if that's all you want to talk about, then leave."

Anita hesitated before rising from the bright yellow chair. "We'll talk more later." She left.

~*~

A tall frosty vase of flowers sat on the hardtop counter beside Mel's gift from the police officers. She noticed it first thing when she cracked open her eyes at an early hour. The nurse who had been too loud and woken up Mel flitted around the room, checking her patient's vitals and looking over the screens by her bed.

A tall figure moved outside Mel's hospital room. "Good morning!" Mel groaned at Anita's chipper voice. The nurse passed Mel's social worker in the doorway as she left. "I'm here to discuss your options with you."

Wonderful.

The thing was, Mel didn't actually have options. She had no living grandparents, no siblings. There were no aunts or cousins to take her in, and Uncle Simon had a criminal record, which prevented him from being a valid candidate.

Anita asked about her biological father, to which Mel responded by laughing bitterly. Her deadbeat father wouldn't want to care for her now when he never did before. Since she was legally adopted by Jeremy, her biological father had no rights or connections with her. Best of all, she had no idea who he was, where he was, or if he was even alive.

In conclusion, Mel had no one.

"We're still in the process of looking for distant relatives on your mother's side, but in the meantime, it looks like you will be going into foster care."

Foster care. The thought hadn't even crossed Mel's mind before Anita mentioned it. Of course she had to go somewhere with a guardian until she turned eighteen. She gulped nervously. "How does that work? I've only read about it."

Anita explained how she would have prospective parents visit to see if she was a match. They would be chosen from a list of people with the right certifications to take a child into their home. Once a couple chose her, she would be handed over like a used car after papers are signed. Melaina would live with them until she aged out of the system or was relocated, or the family could adopt her.

Melaina's head spun in circles. Anita sprouted more information to her, but Mel could hardly pay attention. She felt sick.

~*~

When Dr. Cullen came to check on her, Mel was alone in her thoughts.

"How are you feeling today, Melaina?" he asked warmly.

"I'm okay." Her head felt much better, but her ribs still throbbed.

Carlisle changed the bandage on her self-harm wounds while she stared blankly at nothing with her arm out for him. He noticed how withdrawn she was becoming. No one but state workers had visited her during her entire week stay.

"Alice has been asking to visit," Carlisle said to Mel as he walked over to the sink to wash his hands. "She brought you those little blue flowers, but she didn't want to overwhelm you if you weren't ready for visitors."

"Oh," Mel said, surprised. "That was kind of her. The flowers are very pretty."

"She chose them to match your hair," he told her with a light chuckle. "Do you want her to stop by and keep you company?" Carlisle dried his hands and adjusted his stethoscope.

Mel wasn't sure. She wished Sav could visit, but her phone still sat on the charger in her bedroom and she couldn't contact her.

"If she wants to, I'd like that," Mel finally agreed. Alice was a fun girl; maybe she would lift her spirits somehow. Carlisle was thinking the same thing.