All Those Words

Epilogue

Calysta

It's been two years since I got over my social anxiety. It's been two years since I left for college to find my passion in helping children into homes where they can be loved by people even when they feel like they've been abandoned by the only ones who could. It's been two years since I was shot.

I button up my shirt, covering the scar the bullet had put in me – right in the middle of my chest. My eyes flicker to the scar as I look at myself in the mirror. I tuck my shirt into my pencil skirt, I straighten my clothes, I tie my hair into a neat bun at the top of my head and I tell myself that I'm ready. I know I am because I've worked hard and gotten the highest grades in all of my classes and that's how I had snagged this chance of getting an internship at one of the social service's offices. I've visited several orphanages, homes and even helped handle foster kids before.

I push down the anxiety as I walk to the bus stand. I tell myself that I'm not about to throw up as I stand in the over-crowded bus. I repeat the steps in my head over and over again.

One – show your face.

Two – let people in.

Three – talk to a few people.

Four – let your emotions through with your words and explain things to people before they misunderstand.

I walk into the office, plaster a smile on my face and greet the lady at the front desk. The formalities busy me for the most part but two hours later, I find myself sitting in an office with the woman who gave me the internship. I'm so grateful to her for the opportunity that I can't even express it. I know I'm going to learn so much from her. Another few hours later, she tells me that she's going for lunch and to pick up any calls that come. She's giving me another chance to do something important and I know it so I agree.

She hands me a few files and information to go over and tells me to remember as much as I can because these will be the kids that I have to take care of. I tell her that I will and she leaves. I find myself reading every line as carefully as I can when I hear someone come in. But I'm too concentrated on the words in front of me that I don't look up.

"I'm looking for someone," a male voice says as my eyes skim over the information of a little boy. "The last time I saw her was two years ago. She has brown hair and green eyes with little gold specs in them."

I'm startled by the words I'm hearing as well as the words I'm reading. My heart skips a beat when I think that it might be him. But it can't be right? He left me in the hospital room two years ago. He didn't say when he'd be back. He didn't even say that he would be. I had told him I loved him and he had left.

My heart throbs painfully against my chest at the thought of seeing him again. My hands start to sweat and I let go of the papers in my hand. And when I look up, I'm looking into grey – almost colorless eyes.

"She went by the name Callie and I really need to find her," his voice is barely a whisper. "I think she's been waiting for me."