casualty | m.c.

0.1

I sit alone, with only the muffled sounds of dogs barking every once in a while to prove that there is still life outside of these doors. I look at the clock hanging on the dull, grey wall, and then at the clock on my phone just to be sure that it's the correct time.

The lack of light seeping through the blinds of the windows is another source to tell me that it's late in the day. 8:45 P.M. to be exact, but I remain the only breathing thing here; not including the annoying fly that keeps buzzing around.

I've sat in this chair for nearly 6 hours now. Right when the dismissal bell rang at school, I headed straight here. Surprisingly and carelessly, might I add, enough the door was left unlocked so I didn't have to wait in the uncomfortable, humid spring air outside.

I sigh, debating on whether I should continue waiting for my mom to arrive or if I should just walk home. My patience is wearing reasonably thin.

The door bursting open answers the question for me. A soft breeze blows in, cooling the room only slightly. I realise that I should have opened up the windows to release the heat that had been building up all day.

Instead of seeing the familiar blonde ponytail, I see a mess of lilac. My mom stumbles in shortly afterwards, holding the lilac haired boy's wrists behind his back and pushing him roughly into the station.

"Hey watch it," He complains with a frown.

"I don't have to watch anything but your pathetic ass in that cell." She shoots back sternly. Whether she doesn't know that I'm here or chooses not to acknowledge my presence I can't tell.

As promised, he ends up behind bars in the far corner of the room. Mom turns to put the key in the drawer of her desk, but stops when she notices me for the first time since she entered the station.

I wave half-heartedly with a small smile to match.

"Hey honey," She breathes, almost incredulously. "Why aren't you home?"

"Dad left for a business trip this morning." I shrug. "Remember?"

"Yeah, yeah of course." She pushes up her sleeves before continuing. "Well you're old enough to stay home alone."

"I know. But I thought if I came here I wouldn't have to be alone." My voice doesn't sound like mine, but rather a desperate child. I immediately regret uttering that last line.

"Ouch," The boy comments from the metal bench in his cell, his arms crossed against his chest. He has an amused smile playing on his lips. "That's gotta hurt."

"You," My mom glares at him. "Have no part in this conversation."

He raises his arms as a gesture of surrender, but the look on his face says otherwise.

"But it's whatever. I was just seeing if you wanted to get dinner together or something." I shrug again.

"It's a little late-"

The little black box attached to Mom's shoulder beeps once. "Officer Jensen?"

She stops midsentence and presses down on the button on the side of the box before speaking. "You got me."

"We need your assistance down in Fillmore Park. Your location?"

"At the station. I'll be there in five."

She shoots me a sympathetic look before mouthing sorry and backing out the door. And although I am across the room, when the door shuts I feel as if it's been slammed in my face.

There's a reason the word sympathetic also has pathetic in it, and I'm pretty sure I just became a prime example of why that is. I'm left alone in this tedious station once again.

"Well that's a bummer." The lilac haired boy grins, showing a row of white teeth.

Okay, so maybe I'm not completely alone. But I sure as hell would rather be.

I narrow my eyes at him. "You're one to talk. At least I'm not in a holding cell."

"No," He says. "But you're more miserable than I am."

I scoff and turn away, ending our conversation there. I hear him chuckling softly behind me and ignore that too.

My schoolbag lies limply in the corner of the room, untouched since I came here. I know there's homework I have to get finished, but it's a Friday night and I don't want to worry about that until Sunday.

I look at my phone, which should be buzzing with texts on the night that starts the weekend, but isn't because I'm not the social type.

Or athletic.

Or academic.

Or anything, honestly. What am I even doing in school?

"So Lily is your mom?"

My attention refocuses on the boy, who now sits cross-legged on the cement floor.

"Officer Jensen," I correct him.

"You call your mom Officer?" He raises his eyebrows. "I knew she was tough, but really?"

"You're a douche."

"Actually I'm Michael, nice to meet you." He says with a sarcastic grin.

"Whatever." I roll my eyes and scoff.

"Mal, is it?" He continues to speak despite my obvious attempts at making it clear I don't want a conversation.

"How do you know my name?"

Michael points to a framed picture of Mom and me sitting on the desk. In the bottom corner, signed in a pink and sparkly pen, is Love, Mal.

I made that in second grade for Mother's Day. My teacher, who had six children of her own, took the holiday very seriously and dedicated a week of class time so we could make gifts for our beloved mothers.

I didn't think my mom still had this, but it made me happy to see it. The corners of my lips twitch up as I reach out to take the frame in my hands.

"Does she leave you a lot?"

The small smile drops from my face and I put the picture back in its place. He's been questioning me a lot in the past 15 minutes or so, but this is one thing I can't handle being asked.

"I'm out of here." I get up, grabbing my bag off the floor as I do so. "Don't hurt yourself." And without even a glance back, I shove the door open and step out into the cool night.