That word is love (Demi Lovato fanfic)

That Word Is Love: Chapter 29

I'm sorry at the way foster homes are talked about. Those are the characters' opinions, not mine. There are some wonderful people running and part of foster homes and care homes. And now, onwards and upwards!

HAPPY LATE EASTER BAHHAHA

THURSDAY

Tap. Tap-tap. Tap. Tap. Tap tap tap-tap.

My toes bounced along the floor, beating out a rhythm on the cold stone floor of the police station. It was early in the morning, and it's obvious that the cops really didn't care about this case, or they were too tired to, anyway.

Cling-cling. The wind-chimes above the door clinked as an old man stumbled in, reeking of alcohol. He leered at me, but I ignored him.

My fingers kept reaching out and tugging at my shirt, a nervous habit, as I stared down the corridor to where I knew Dad was being held. He was in the same building as me. It was over, but it would never be. I felt a sudden rush of relief that I hadn't told Simon about the rapes... or even the torture, the burning and the choking and the humiliation in my nakedness that took place every weekend.

Simon had dropped me off and introduced me to Wendy, but then he'd left as well, saying he was going to try to call some people he knew. After that, I'd been dragged to the hospital by Wendy, and they'd documented my injuries. They hadn't given me a rape exam, because I insisted it wasn't necessary.

They were none the wiser.

Cling-cling. In walked an old woman carrying a little girl in Dora the Explorer pajamas.

"How're you doing, love?" The social worker held out a glass of water for me. Wendy was nice enough, I guess, but she was so damn pleasant and cheerful and the knots in my stomach just intensified while she was here, with her papers and her books full of the faces and names and stories of people like me, children like me. I wanted Simon. I didn't even know if I believed what he'd said about finding me a good foster family, but I wanted him here.

"I'm okay," I replied quietly to Wendy, taking the water. It was the polite thing to do, right?

Cling-cling. A young man in uniform entered the precinct, nodding at his colleague and then heading straight to through to the back rooms.

"I've made some calls," Wendy told me. "We're just waiting for some people to respond, alright?"

I nodded. I knew that already. She'd only reminded me seven times. The first call had been made two hours ago, so I doubted anyone was going to respond any time soon.

My eyes drifted to the police officer sitting at his desk opposite the entrance, hunched over his paperwork. His head kept drifting down to his scribbling hand, down- then back up, and he shook himself.

Wendy caught my gaze. "That's Officer Eastwood. He'll be handling your case."

Oh, joy.

I slumped backwards in the hard plastic chair I was sitting on. I was alone for now.

Cling-cling. I didn't even look up this time. Out of the corner of my eye I saw the police officer in the corner drop his pen and sit up tall, straightening his uniform.

"Found anyone?" a low British voice asked, and my eyes snapped up immediately.

"Simon!"

Dave was next to him, arms folded. Shit. What was he doing here? I pushed the fear away, knowing he wouldn't hurt me in front of Simon and Wendy.

"Hi, darling." Simon looked so tired. I knew it wasn't good news.

Wendy raised an inquisitive eyebrow at him.