Perspective

Chapter 16

                 

A/N: I can't thank you guys enough for all thesupport! I'm sorry I couldn't update sooner, exams are rolling in and there'slots of studying to be done on my part. Also, terribly sorry if I left any mistakes...I haven't had the time to do much editing so bare with me lol. I really do hope you guys enjoy thischapter and please feel free to vote and comment! :) xo

It had undoubtedly been the longest day. Work was slow and the constant downpour hadn't helped one bit. Droplets of water trickling down the window across from her was most likely the most entertaining part of her day, only because each goblet had been enlisted into a competition, racing down to the bottom of the window pane until the blonde reigned one of them champion.

            Her imagination was always something she valued most about herself, as it always seemed to help relieve her from the hardships of reality. Especially as a child, when Emma was bounced around from foster home to foster home, conjuring up her own little family was the only way for Emma to cope. She spilled all her thoughts onto paper, filling up an entire journal when she found enough quarters to buy one. A black leather-bound notebook, the size of her hand, with rounded corners was Emma's world when the universe couldn't give her one. It had an elastic band to secure it closed and a thin red ribbon to mark the pages and if the fact that it was glued to her once teenage hands didn't quite hint that it was hers, then the silver "E" hastily drawn on the front did. A damn little journal, worth about three or four bucks, and not a soul in the world was worthy enough to be granted permission to read a word off those ivory-colored, lined pages. It was the only place she could escape to—the world within those connected sheets of paper—where everything went right and it was entirely her own. The blonde always liked to think that Henry had adopted his writing abilities from her but for all she knew, the stuff she wrote in that thing may have been complete crap. She hadn't read or even seen it in years—thinking it just got lost during her scandalous relationship with Neal—but it was a constant reminder of how far she's come since then.

            The majority of her day consisted of not only watching water stream down windows, but also filling out mind-numbing event reports that left Emma almost begging for another nuisance to make its way into their quaint little town. Now that Storybrooke lacked its Wicked Witches, flying monkeys, kidnapping psychopaths and God knows what else, the only action the blonde got was the occasional trip to Granny's in order remove Leroy and his gang after they've had too much to drink.

            Emma yawned deeply, unhooking the latch that kept her gun strap wrapped tightly around her upper thigh. Luckily her shift was over now and the only thing left to do before her day was truly done with was pick up Henry from Regina's house. Truth be told, the blonde was quite reluctant to head over there. The time they spent together two nights ago, was still left unspoken, neither of them daring to bring up such an intricate subject. The handful of times they've seen each other since then were filled with hesitant hellos, shy smiles and quick goodbyes. It was awkward, no doubt about it, and Emma couldn't help but think Regina was avoiding her.

            Enclosed by the three-quarter glass walls that divided her office from the rest of the room, the blonde sunk into her black leather chair, resting her head onto the back. She needed to decompress before even considering leaving the office because being a sheriff was no walk in the park. The minute Emma or any other officer stepped into the station, a whole new mindset took over, leaving their true personality at the door. Constant vigilance and valor would step in, while a weight would fall heavily onto her shoulders and her sole purpose became to keep the citizens safe.

Even though the clock hit five—indicating Emma's shift was over—the weight remained so she needed to allow herself ten or fifteen minutes to slowly shed it off. With her head against the back of the chair, she rested her eyes, the silence of the room pushing her deeper into her own pool of thoughts.