Page 3 of Zade (Den of Sin)

Veronica:No. Come. Home. Now.

This shit day has gone from bad to worse. I don’t bother texting her back because she obviously wonn’t tell me what the emergency is. Mom probably needs to go back to the hospital. She threatens to kill herself pretty much every day. I spend my time in a perpetual state of panic over whether she’ll still be alive when I get home. Some people have suggested since she hasn’t been successful that maybe it’s just a cry for help and she doesn’t really want to die. Even if slitting her wrists is only a cry for help, what if she cuts too deep and bleeds out? Before he even stops completely, I’m opening the door to hop out. I spot the ambulance and several police cars and my heart plummets to its death. Running up to the door, I nearly get pummeled by a group of men, carrying a stretcher with a body bag on top of it. But I know who it is. I press my palm to my face, as hot tears come unwillingly. Falling to my knees, the sobs overtake my body; I try to catch a breath but they are stolen from me, like my mother. I rub at my chest with shaky hands, as I try to catch my breath. My lungs struggle to get air as if I just ran a mile. A man comes over to me and touches my shoulder, “Miss. I’m Officer Dale. Try to breathe, honey.”

Once I get the sobs under control slightly I glance up at him, “How did she do it?”

He sighs, and squats down in front of me, his blue eyes on my green ones, “She overdosed.”

I shake my head; she waited until I left for school and did it. I grab my chest, the pain piercing, there are voices but they are sound far away. My chest feels like it’s caving in, my spine curls forward as my eyes fill with tears. An echo of a pained moan sounds out and I realize it came from me. My emotions are all over the place until the numbness sets in. It’s over.

“Do you have a relative you can stay with?”

It’s strange to have gotten to know a police officer so well. He has been to my house almost every time she has tried to hurt herself. It’s funny, because every time he introduces himself as if I don’t know who he is, but I do. He stares at me with profound sadness in his expression. Officer Dale always wants to help but other than taking her to the hospital this couldn’t there was no preventing this.

Sighing audibly I admit, “I have no one now.”

That’s the cold hard truth. When she divorced my step dad I never heard from him again. It’s been five years since the last time I saw him. I sincerely doubt he’ll show his face now. I’d slap it if he did. He left a twelve-year-old to deal with severe depression. No matter how mature, no twelve-year-old is equipped to handle that. I certainly wasn’t. A fucking child dealing with grown up problems because all the adults were too fucked up to notice.

Officer Dale walks away, and I overhear bits and pieces of his conversations with a lady cop. ‘CPS’ is all I need to hear to know the immediate direction my life is about to take. The sound of a deeper third voice tickles my eardrums and sends a shiver down my spine. Within seconds he’s towering over me.

“Zade?” I whisper, not believing my own eyes.

I stand and he pulls me into his arms, “You poor sweet girl.”

Although I probably should push him away from me, I don’t. Pressing my face to his chest, I inhale his scent of oranges, something spicy, woodsy. Did he smell like this the last time I saw him? I wriggle out of his arms, remembering he left me high and dry. He gazes at me questioningly but instead of asking me anything he makes a statement, “You’ll come home with me.”

My green eyes look into his dark foreboding ones, “No.”

He sighs audibly as he runs a hand through his hair visibly annoyed, “Would you prefer foster care,baby girl?”

I choose to ignore what those two words do to my body when he literally says them in a low growl.

Shaking my head, with irritation I say, “I’m practically an adult.”

Zade steps forward grabs my arms, and glares at me, “You are a child.”

Tilting my head back so I can stare right back I grit, “No. The person you abandoned was a child. I’ve been running this house for five years, taking care of my mother, doing everything an adult is supposed to do. Where were you? Not here. So don’t call me a fucking child. I’m a grown ass woman.”

He releases his grip from me, pain fills his eyes as if I stabbed him in the chest. They say the truth hurts and I hope it does. The day he left everything changed, I was no longer safe and secure. Zade clenches his jaw with an expression of something that looks like guilt, “There’s a lot you don’t know. I didn’t abandon you. We can talk about things but it’s best if you come with me. I can take care of you.”

I nod because what else can I possibly do? Even though I can take care of myself, I know they won’t allow it. For the next three weeks I’m seventeen. Once I’m eighteen, I can leave but until then I’m stuck.

Zade narrows his gaze at me, “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”

I roll my eyes as he turns to the officers and walks toward the officers.

Trying to pretend I’m not listening to them, I fold my arms over my chest and turn away from them. Zade asks the female cop, “What do I need to do? I know CPS can be a gray area at her age.”

The woman doesn’t answer, instead Officer Dale does, “We aren’t wasting our time getting them involved. By the time the hearing date arrives, she’ll be eighteen. As you know, the backlog is long.”

Do I want to go live with Zade? Not exactly but it’s got to be better than foster care. A few years ago, I knew a family of three sisters who were in foster care after their parents died in a house fire. It was terrible, the foster father raped the oldest one. I’m sure they’re not all like that, but I’m not interested in finding out for sure.

I turn back toward them after I hear them say their goodbyes. Zade says, “You know where to find me.”

He walks back over to me and I don’t remember him looking this way. His dress shirt, stretches over obvious muscles, rolled up to just below his elbow, exposing his veiny forearm. The last time I saw him, I was an awkward twelve-year-old girl who looked at Zade as a father figure. He did everything for me that my mom couldn’t. I’m nearly an adult now, things have changed. I’m not a little kid anymore. Yet, he still sees me that way. I’m seventeen and as he’s already stated he thinks of me as a child. He clenches his chiseled jaw, his dark gray eyes focus on mine, intense with the lightest gold flecks around his pupils. I wonder momentarily if he always has the five o’clock shadow he has now. My step dad is sexy as fuck. Tall, muscular, dark hair, that Adam's Apple that bobs when he swallows. How is that attractive? Even his hands, large, masculine, with visible veins, strong forearms, all have me wondering if he always looked like this. Wouldn’t I remember that?

“Go pack a bag.”

I glare at him, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

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