Survive him, Thrive with him.

Chapter thirteen

By the time I get to my mom's house, I was all over the news. Reporters fled to the fresh scene of child abuse, asking questions along the lines of how long it has been going on, and the worst thing he did. I tried to keep things simple, tried to make him seem like he just had anger issues instead of the sex offender some reporters asked if he was. I denied their worst questions and only requested a ferry home from the police as I watched my father get shoved into the cop car for domestic violence.

I didn't care anymore. I didn't care if he was put into jail or set free, I just didn't want him to be in control of my life anymore.

I was old enough to handle things by my self, yet he still tried to lock me in a box.

No more.

I knock on her door and she answers it several minutes later. I could hear my voice on her TV, and she smiles when she sees me, pulling me in for a hug.

"Hey! When did you drop off your stuff?" She asks as I step inside, leaving my shoes by the door. She was a wealthy person, a good lawyer who won cases as much as I won state fair art competitions. She had a dominant personality and wasn't afraid to show her opinion, which is why her and dad broke up right after I was born.

I'm fine with it, though.

"A friend brought it over." I explain, thinking of Slenderman. She passively nods her head and presses a button on her ear phone, arguing with someone, not even thinking that a person just walked into her house with my stuff.

That's just how my mom is, passive in some things, cut throat observer in others.

Now, if I brought up a boy...

I smile to myself and shake my head. I wasn't willing to be sat down and interrogated anytime soon.

I step into the entry way and watch as mom goes upstairs. I've been here for selected holidays over the years, enough to know where everything was. I'm guessing that I was going to be staying in the room that I usually slept in whenever I came over.

My thinking comes to a complete stop when I hear a male's voice from upstairs. I kick off my shoes by the door and quietly pad up the stairs, peeking over the top to see what was going on.

A man, new stubble on his jaw, brown hair loose gelled down, was casually sitting in the kitchen, glass in hand. His business suite was crisp, but his socked feet didn't fit the picture. Was he a friend? Colleague?

No, mom doesn't do stuff like that. He was important, he had to be.

"Hello." I awkwardly greet. He looks at me and smiles, standing up as mom walks over to him, clicking her ear phone again. I never knew what those were called.

"Claire, this is Devon Goodspeed. One of the best lawyers at the firm, other than myself." She muses.

"Why is he here?" I ask, straight forward.

"He's my boyfriend." Mom quickly rushes out bracing herself for my response. I cock and eye brow and narrow my eyes playfully.

"Oh, mother. I hope I'm not interrupting anything." I tease, continuing up the stairs and stepping into the hallway right next to them. My room was down the hall, next to the other guest room.

When I open the door and walk in, I know that I'm going to have a lot of work to be done. White walls ached for color, and the brown carpet screamed lifeless. This wasn't going to do, this wasn't going to work for me at all. I needed to fix this.

I ponder what I will do in the future as I spot my bags on the brown colored bed. I would have to fix that later as well.

I'm not sure why, but I wanted to make this look like a tree house. Have a platform bed, make it whimsical and earthy with twisted vines carved into the wood, paint everything green. Add details of a forest.