"Miss Weller, the sheriff is available to meet with you now." An officer sitting at the reception desk brings Mr. Potts and I down several hallways to what I assume is the sheriff's office. She knocks on the door and it opens from the other side. We are met by a rather tall man with a bushy black beard and piercing green eyes. His bulky broad shoulders are rather intimidating as he motions for us to sit down in the chairs facing his oak desk. He folds his hands on the table while eagerly waiting for us to begin.
Mr. Potts speaks up when he notices I'm too embarrassed to say anything. "We would like to take a restraining order out on Greg Schmidt. He has physically abused - my uh - Miss Weller." I can tell he is struggling to find the right familial connection to call me.
"So why haven't you spoken to our detectives about that? I do have a lot of important duties to take care of than to waste time doing a restraining order that one of my employees can easily take care of." The sheriff speaks in a stern tone and I can feel my heart drop to my butt.
"Sir, he has been arrested several times and somehow finds a way to get released every time. I know you have people under you that have their own jobs and this seems like a simple matter but it isn't. That's why we had to start with you. We are hoping you can execute the orders and stick with Mr. Schmidt following the restraining order. He has always put Miss Weller in danger and this isn't the first time he has hit her. He has also beaten her mother and countless other women and men. You can check her records it's about eight inches thick with reports and incidents since she was a child." Mr. Potts is standing at this point, clearly agitated.
"Please sit down, sir." The sheriff motions for him to have a seat. My eyes wander around the room and I notice a family photo with two familiar faces in it. The pink haired girl and the brooding boy in the car along with an older lady, presumably their mother. My eyes lay upon the name tag on his chest reading sheriff Rose. Of course. I knew it. My life is turning into a fucking sitcom.
"I can assure you that I will have it handled. We will execute the restraining order that Mr. Schmidt shall not be in a hundred foot radius of Miss Weller and we will see that if she ever needs help she will be top priority. I want to apologize for the sheriff before me not doing as he was suppose to during his employment. However, he has now retired and I have taken over this precinct so things will start running differently. We will take some photos of her bruises and eye and make sure your statement is documented. I will call for deputy Connor to show you guys where to go. Feel free to wait in the hall, there's a bench there." Sheriff Rose speaks in a stern tone yet again. He signs some documents and types onto his laptop for a couple of minutes.
"Thank you, sir." Mr. Potts shakes his hand. I smile softly at him, thanking him under my breath. Although, I don't have high hopes for actually being protected.
We say our goodbyes and exit his office but not before bumping into Heather. Who else?
"Aspen! Hey! Is everything alright?" She says in an excited tone holding a bag full of to-go boxes.
"Hey, Heather. Yeah, I'm doing okay."
"I'm bringing lunch to eat with my dad. It's nice you guys have met!" Sheriff Rose meets us in the hallway in front of his door and smiles at his daughter. His mood completely shifts from tense and stern to almost happy?
"Daddy!" She wraps her arms around his neck and they embrace. "I brought the burgers from Taylor's! I'm starved. My nursing course was exhausting today. I even worked on this one, a little bit." She motions toward me.
"And she's still alive? That's great!" He jokes with Heather and I let out a pity laugh. "I thought she was gonna kill me too." I say in a monotone. They all laugh thinking I'm joking. I was serious.
The woman who brought us back to the sheriff's office has returned to take us to get my photos taken and the statement recorded. "Bye Aspen! Call me sometime!" Heather and her dad disappear into his office and I can hear them tearing into the plastic bag as Mr. Potts and I follow deputy Connor to a different room. After having my photos taken she begins printing them out and I cringe at the look of them. My pale skin contrasts with the deep blue bruises scattered along my skin with a few cuts and scrapes. I look nothing like myself. I can see my collarbones and hipbones protruding underneath my skin. Maybe I need to eat a burger too? Bulk up a bit. No wonder Greg can throw me around like a rag doll.
Mr. Potts and I arrive back to his home and he hands me some towels and says the bathroom is all mine. I walk upstairs and start drawing a hot bath. I lock the door behind me out of habit of Greg busting into the bathroom my whole life and just violating my privacy by trying to catch me naked after or during my showers. I undress and slide into the scalding water as it soothes my damaged body. I lean my head back onto the cool porcelain and let out a breath of air.
"You know, honey, everyone has a soulmate. Mr. Potts and I met very coincidentally in a completely different state. That's how I knew it was fate. We met at a fair in Georgia. We were both nineteen years old and were on trips with our families. We locked eyes at the cotton candy booth and the rest is history." Mrs. Potts explains to me as she brushes my hair one day after a long day at school. My mother never talked to me about love or soulmates. It's so interesting to me.
"I wonder if there is someone out there for me." I whisper. Fifteen is the prime age of everyone to start experiencing love and relationships and here I am. Fifteen and never been kissed nor even held hands with anyone.
"I know there is the perfect man out there for you, Aspen Marie. Don't you ever let a man neglect you or determine whether your day is good or bad. Be a respectful and independent young woman who knows her value and worth and just know you don't have to take crap from anyone." She continues to brush my hair and I just feel at home as I sit in the floor between her legs as her hands run through my wet hair making sure there are no tangles left.
"Aspen, honey? Are you alright?" Mr. Potts knocks on the bathroom door and I jump a little in the bath water automatically covering my bare chest in fear.
"Y-yeah! I'm good. Sorry!" I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding.
"It's okay. You've just been in there for a while so I just wanted to check in." I can hear his footsteps get further and further away from the door. I didn't realize just how long I have been in here until I feel a cool draft against my skin. The water is lukewarm. I quickly wash my hair and body and rinse with fresh hot water and wrap a towel around my body. I dry off and get dressed in the bathroom. I notice Mrs. Potts hairbrush on the counter and twirl it between my fingers. It's an old brush from the seventies with a tye dye design and psychedelic flowers on the handle. I've always loved this brush. After brushing out the knots in my hair, I find Mr. Potts sitting in his study reading a book.
"Make yourself at home, honey, of course. This has always been your home." Mr. Potts goes back to reading and I walk down the hallway to the guest room which I guess you could say has been my room. I shuffle through the dresser and see if I have left anything in here over the years. Unfortunately nothing interesting except a sock and a pair of flip flops that no longer fits. I'm not sure why they're inside the dresser though. I pull the journal out of my duffel bag and flip through the pages looking over my penmanship and photos of the Potts' and I.
My favorite photo is the one of us at Christmas when I was twelve years old. In the photo, she was wearing a shirt that said 'Santa's wife' and I always thought of Mr. Potts as Santa. Mrs. Potts surprised me with a tea set that year. We played dress up and read poetry as we drank fake tea and ate fake scones. These memories I have with them I will cherish forever.
The bed feels comfier and comfier under me as my eyelids begin to droop. I clench the photo in my hand as sleep overtakes me.
YOU ARE READING
Drowning
Teen Fiction"I wouldn't mind a tattoo. Perhaps a portrait of Mrs. Potts, the tea kettle from Beauty and the Beast with the little teacup, Chip, in memory of my beloved Mrs. Potts and my younger self. I try to reminisce of happy memories of her as I make my way...
