The first semester in Oxford has already started. Balancing between studying to become a lawyer and life in general, Julia Eden has found herself sitting across from a shrink, or in better words: a psychologist.
It only gets worse when the old man s...
(whenever I read the last part of this chapter where Julia's parents have a fight, this is the song that plays in my head. i hope you feel the same way about this song)
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"It's your fault," Darien Pryce murmured with a resentful glare thrown at Ibrahim Nizami as they sat on two aeron chairs facing an empty desk. The boy was looking towards the window shutters, at nothing in particular, his black eyes lost and unfocused. He only hummed a yes to Darien's accusation.
Resisting the urge to slap him, she looked around the cabin. Each of the walls were hidden behind bookshelves made of Partex, bearing stacks of files. She wasn't imagining the cobwebs behind a few files. The light blue paint on the wall was peeling off. One time coffee mugs were scattered on the top of the desk, smelling sickly sweet, inviting trails of fire ants. It almost made her gag. They were in the Notting Hill Police Academy now, having been caught with a police patrol car. In these nineteen years of her life, Darien had never thought she would be in a police station for a reason like that or she would be in here at all.
But she was here, with the last person she wanted to be with. Ibrahim Nizami hadn't spoken a word after they were bounded and brought here. The middle-aged officer, with brown eyebrows so thick that they were covering half of his eyelids, who had caught them, had abandoned them here half an hour ago, saying nothing.
When he returned, he was grinning as if still thinking about a joke his co-worker made minutes ago. Darien made an ugly face at him, her nostrils flaring in the process.
"You lot look decent enough," he began as he sat on the chair behind the desk with a loud groan. "What were your plans with that car?"
"Nothing," Darien protested immediately, her pretty doe eyes wider than usual.
The officer, the name tag said Hanlon, reached for a pack of Marlboros from his shirt pocket and stuck one in his mouth. "I can say that the boy here can be thinking of stealing. But how does a girl like you..." He pointed his chin towards her attire to emphasize. "... trap herself in a situation like this, missy?"
"We were just messing with the car," Ibrahim finally spoke, his voice as always calm, his eyes void of emotions. "We weren't planning to steal it. Can I get my phone back? I'd like to call someone."
"Now, how old are you, son?" Officer Hanlon dragged deep and jetted smoke from his nose.
"Nineteen," Ibrahim responded, his voice too steady for someone guilty. This is how a privileged spoiled brat sounds like. Darien rolled her eyes.
Officer Hanlon leaned forward, gray eyes gleaming. His face was almost predatory as he asked, "And what is your name?"
