Page 36 of Surrender

"My mother and stepfather are addicts. They took every penny I made and used it to feed their addictions. Last Friday I got my hours cut at the cafe I work at, and my stepfather got upset and hit me. I left that night with the clothes on my back."

Johnson frowns but remains silent. I think about the restraining order.

"And this friend...?"

"…is the best thing that's ever happened to me. He took me in without question, and gave me a home, and food, andprotection..." I was grateful for Declan before, but hearing it all spoken out loud, to another human being, really drives home how grateful I am for that man.

"And you're safe with this friend?"

I chuckle at the thought. Sure, he's surly, and angry, but dangerous? No. I'd walk through burning coals to stay with him. My smile must be enough for Johnson because he smiles and nods.

"Alright, so you say you're you, you're not missing, and that you're safe." He frowns. "Except we, still need some form of identification."

I bite my bottom lip as I pick on the cuticle on my nail. This is it. This is where I decide the fate of my parents.

I look up, sheepishly. "I know where my ID is..."

Johnson's curiosity is piqued, even if he doesn't want it to be.

"If you went to 333 Parkland Place Southeast, Apartment 2 B, and maybe did, like a wellness check?" I swallow, nerves eating me alive. "You would find my ID, wallet and phone... and maybe some illegal substances..."

Johnson jots the address down in his notepad. "That's great, Serenity. Do you know if there will be any weapons found there?"

"Not as of two weeks ago, the last time I was there. They're too lazy for weapons."

More notes.

He stands. "Thank you, Serenity, I think we have enough to go on. And if we do pay a visit to your address and find your possessions, we'll be sure to let you know. Can you leave your name and phone number at the front desk?"

I stand, too, but I'm not completely settled. "Um... how much time in jail does a person convicted of possession face?"

I cringe. I'd hate to do all of this only to have them get out in two years, angry with me and vengeful.

He looks at me with regret.

"Depending on the number of offenses and substances we're talking about, anywhere from six months to ten years."

I roll my eyes and groan.

"Can I file a restraining order?"

"You can, but it's a more complicated process. I'm happy to walk you through it, though."

I check the street both ways, half expecting one of my parent's druggy friends to jump out from an alley. But nobody accosts me while I jog back to Declan's waiting town car.

"How'd it go?" Declan asks anxiously as I slide back into the back seat.

I give him the run down and he nods approvingly.

"I'm proud of you," he says lowly enough that Joseph can't hear, and I blush at his praise. A warm and cozy heat flushes through me and I look at him with wide eyes. In an instant I realize I'd do anything to hear him say that again. I don't think I've ever had anyone be proud of me. I was always a burden to my parents. During the best times they'd tolerate me and ply me with sweet words if it meant I gave them my paychecks. But once they got their high, I was back to being a burden.

But when I look at Declan, the normally angry, broody man sitting beside me and I realize he really means it, I can't help how much my chest aches to hear him say it again.

I wasn't seriously considering college. I'd done the research and presented it to him like he commanded but hadn't brought it up again.

I decide then that I will actually apply. If it'll make him proud of me, I'll apply to all of the colleges.

"Thank you," I whisper quietly. I don't know how this man became my entire world, but he is. He rescued me from homelessness, from my own ADHD and anxiety burnout, from the harsh world.

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