Ch.24 - Predicaments Over Interrogations

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AOU IS SO AMAZING AND CAN'T EVEN PROCESS THAT I'VE SEEN IT FOR REAL AND IT WAS THAT GOOD. Tony, my gosh, my love, my one and only, you special snow flake you, I love him. Seriously amazing I have so much more to say but I'm literally on the run right now, well not literally, but I have to go, nooooowww. I'm really sad and upset but urg, guess things will be okay.

Enjoy this chapter! Next is coming Wednesday.

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She really should have seen this coming. It was laid out in front of her just so simply in view. The road ahead, the wandering in like bait, yet each time she was seated down at this damn table, and still a bit surprised. Stricken with her burning red ears and tight brows as she sits quiet listening. And maybe, just maybe she's a bit frustrated by it all.

"Well. Do you have anything to say?" Her mom questions, pony tail extra tight this afternoon, seated by her uncle across the table from her.

She bites at her lip, looking frustratedly between them then off to her dad who's looking rather uncertain yet concerned, pacing back and fourth with a hand pressed to his lips, silent as Charlotte is but round eyes watching over her.

"W-What you're implying, It's," shaking her head, looking at the oak table before her, searching for the right word. She doesn't know how to respond because it's all just so "...ridiculous."

"Doesn't answer my question, Charlotte." Her mothers lips pressing into a thin line, a crease between her brows.

"I'm not--" Shaking her head, mixed with conflicting feelings and trying to speak truth but it feels a bit like a lie. But what's being insinuated, from them, that's a lie, that's not truth, but she still feels guilty. Probably because her crush is whispering the defensive tone onto her tongue. "I wouldn't do that--He wouldn't do that.." Trying to defend herself to the convinced jury.

Her uncle leans forward, folding his hands on the table rather confidently. "Listen, you're nineteen. You're so young and although I wasn't my soberest, I think I know what I saw." His tone sounds soft, gentle, maybe even concerned to those who thought he's a good man. An honest man, but she knows better. She sees the deceit past his manipulative words.

"You saw n-nothing. You were drunk and if anything--" Fisting her hands agitatedly in her sleeves because this is the predicament. Her parents already know what she thinks of her uncle, she had expressed it a few times in Miami and was met with frowns from her parents. They'd actually grounded her when she had said the word creep to describe her uncle. A week of no phone, no nothing.

She wants to reiterate those statements again but ultimately she knows that if she says that her Uncle had made her feel pressured last weekends party, had gotten into her personal space and scared her, that he would simply come back with he was trying to comfort her because of her mental episode. She could see the rebuttal written on his old aging features. Waiting. Testing. Daring. She can't say anything because she can't let her parents know that she has regular panic attack (couldn't let them know what was done to her).

But now, here she sits fighting against her own words (st-stuttering), trying to turn that fucked up pointed finger from her Uncle back on himself. The game of cat and mouse.

Her mom is mad. She's holding together, sorta, but when she doesn't get what she wants it irritates her and the line between asking and demanding answers is waring thin. "Did he or did he not touch you?" Her mother asks again and a lot more bluntly.

"No." She grits, blushing from the outburst of emotion clouding within, but the frustration not subsiding, agitation rising. "He didn't--wouldn't ever touch me. He's my-my professor! Nothing more than just someone, out of the many people I didn't know at that d-damn party, that I did know."

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