Strength and Sensuality [Completed]

26 - All my eggs

Sunday arrives with an unusually cloudy sky.

My mood is unusually cloudy too. I don't feel like cleaning up. I don't feel like doing the shopping. I don't feel like leaving the house at all. I don't even feel like writing.

It's almost like a hangover. Without having drunk any alcohol.

Ben, on the other hand, is overly active. He's still exhilarated from yesterday's events. It was probably his best day since we arrived here, so I don't blame him.

I try to remind myself of the good things in my life. A roof above my head. A steady job. Better-than-average schooling for my son. And, first and foremost, the lack of shooting outside.

I achieved everything I hoped for, and more. What else can a girl dream of?

Certainly not of receiving a letter from the Immigration Aid Office early in the morning. They sent it as a registered mail, so it can't be a simple birthday greeting card.

I hit a new low when I open it. It's an eighty questions long official query, covering each and every aspect of our life in detail. Housing. Regular incomes. Hygienic circumstances. Social network. Sicknesses. Infections. Mental health. Some pretty straightforward questions about my intentions of being involved in future terrorist acts. Some others about my capacity of taking care of my child. And, my personal favorite, a section to state my will about his adoption, naming the possible caretaker, in case I happen to die suddenly.

I choose an elegantly elaborate and distinctively disgusting curse for the special occasion. The IAO deftly touched the spot of my deepest fear ever, I'll give them that.

Ben laughs out loud. I shrug and tell him that he's free to use it now, as no one will understand it, anyway. Then I send him to fetch Ms. Okoro.

While he's away, I consider taking a quick shot, just to stop the trembling of my hands. But I don't have any liquor at home, so I just keep on swearing and pacing until they arrive.

"Are the authorities pestering you, darling?" Ms. Okoro asks, after I brief her on the situation.

"Yes." I nod. "And I need a good citizen to testify to my statements. I believe you already have a firsthand experience of signing official papers for people in need, so if you may."

"Do you want me to adopt your child?" She furrows her brow. "I'm a bit too old for that, aren't I?"

"Of course I don't want you to adopt him," I groan. "I don't plan to die in the near future. You don't even have to read it, just sign it, okay?"

"Are you lying to the officers, girl?" she asks, looking more amused than bothered.

"Of course I'm lying!" I snap at her. "I can't let them know that I'm living in the slums, and the landlady can kick me out any time she feels like! I'm a fucking lawyer, and we haven't even signed a contract to present it to fucking IAO! How could I be so stupid?"

"You don't need to worry about being kicked out, you know," she says.

"That's not what I'm worried about." I breathe out loudly. "They are looking for an excuse to take my son into foster care. I can't leave an opening."

"Don't worry about it, girl." she smiles, touching my shoulder. "It's just your fears speaking. Now you're a big time lawyer again, not some tramp. You can't seriously believe that your friends would let anything bad happen to you."

"Big time lawyer, huh? My position is shady as fuck at the firm, just so you know. I'm employed as a legal assistant and I'm doing a lawyer's job, because your darling Mark won't pay me as much as to non-immigrants, who weren't hired out of charity. But it doesn't matter. I'd just prefer not to give my so-called friends a reason to intervene, okay? I just want to stay under the radar. And my weak spot is this fucking house. I should have listened to Ollie and move out of here."