I bite my lip, confirming he likely is the one.
My eyes scan his desk when it settles on the letter opener. I dart a look at them talking and then back at the letter opener. I reach out to it, taking hold of the handle, when the policewoman I recognised at the hospital comes out of an office.
I stand, head to the door, and swing it open. “Officer Kenzy!” I call.
She looks up from the papers she was reading and says, “Who are you?”
The young policeman quickly approaches my side and says, “She’s just a minor we found on the streets. I’m taking her home now.”
“My dad beats me every night!” I scream as if I’m screaming into the void. “John Taylor is my dad, a drunk, toxic man. If I go home…” I raise the letter opener and press it against my throat. I feel hot tears streaming down my face. “I’mnotgoing back to that hell. And if you try to make me, I am more than happy to take my life.”
Police Officer Kenzy raises her hands, and her eyes widen in horror. I’m unsure if it’s because of my threat or because I hold a weapon up to my throat.
“Office Cole, step away from the girl,” Officer Kenzy demands. He does as she says. “Your dad is John Taylor? That’s what you said?”
I nod repeatedly.
She takes a deep breath and opens her door. “I’ll listen to you.”
My heart lurches. But I’m not done. I step towards the young police officer and point the letter opener at the policeman I believe is working with him, when I hear a loud bang. My eyes widen, and a ringing stings in my ear at the sound. I look down at the blood seeping out of my chest, and when I look up, the young policeman has his gun directed at me.
My legs turn to jelly, and I land on my knees before the woman grabs me. “Why did you shoot?!” she demands.
“I… I thought she was going to attack me!” he cries.
What’s happening?
I gaze up at the fluorescent light above, which blurs as the tears slip down my cheeks.
I feel light… too light.
Maybe this was supposed to happen…
Life of–
“Noya!”I suck in a breath, my hands clenching the fabric, and my eyes fly open. Conner holds my face, his thumbs dragging across my cheeks. “Baby, it’s okay,” he breathes. “It was a bad dream.”
I gaze at the spinning fan, rotating around and around. My irregular breathing eases, and my shoulders slump.
I smile.
The fan. It’s moving.
66
LIVING
December 13th
The train ride is an experience.The last time I was at the train station was when Mum wanted to flee. Dad stopped us before we could step foot on the train, and we went home. This time, I sit in a seat smelling of urine. The train is crowded, so Conner stands, offering his seat to another woman. I cling to his hand, a grin brimming on my face.
Once we get to our stop, I notice a few dressed in punk/rock clothes, wearing heavy makeup, and moving towards the doors. I feel somewhat out of place, but in my head… the songs I know, well, I’m in my element.
We follow the group, and excitement and adrenaline fill me to the core. I clutch my bag. I’m a little wary, but overall excited about tonight.
The energy of the city is pulsating. Hot… boiling, but thriving. The street lamps are lit, and the waves nearby are rippling from the warm, soft breeze. I breathe salty sea air into my lungs. Cars drive past, headlights shining across the dry road. And up ahead, the stadium is a beaker–a shiny beaker in the night.
The group follows, forming bigger until it feels like the mosh-pit is outside the stadium rather than in.