rewriting the scars | slow updates

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REWRITING THE SCARS | CHAPTER THREE

“GET ME A file up, right now.” The woman stood broad, her eyes mad with irritation as she squinted making her large nostrils flare. Staring at this man which tapped away at his computer, the whole room was full of people, their fingers attached to keyboards while the other sound was pure silence other than Imani's orders. The silence was power, as she was the only one talking, she classed it as a privilege.

“Did you hear me?" he nodded, making sure not to talk in the presence of the room he sat in. Typing quickly as she peered over his shoulder, Imani gave him the name of the file. “Chase Maveric,” flicking the man on the ear lobe, he dragged up a file; full of information on the boy.

Age: 17.
Birthday: March 5th 2003.
Height: 5'9 feet / 69 inches.
Address: 39 Wyoming Close.
School: Wyoming Academy.
Parents: John Maveric, deceased.
Laura Maveric, deceased.
Siblings: None.

“Yes, that's him,” her voice rasp with anticipation to find the boy,

“Thank you,” she said before walking out and leaving the silent typewriters alone.

~

A delicate cigarette hung from his bottom lip as a small trail of smokey mist escaped from the corner of his opened mouth and danced its way to the clouds above them. “Why the hell do I need to find that boy?” Imani shut her eyes in disappointment as she took the mans cigarette.

“He needs a home and you're gonna find him.” Her lips clasped to the paper as the man aside from her watched, “You'll get the earnings, twice as much so dont worry Itsuki,”

“Just find him? You already know where he lives,” he said sarcastically snatching the cigarette away before stomping on it.

“Quit talkin’ to me like that. You'll simply take him to the orphanage and make sure he gets a new family.”

“Fine. Anything else I should know?” Itsuki picked up his leather bag from the floor as Imani stopped him.

“Yes. He's prone to put up a fight, nothing too much for you to handle.” they both sighed thinking about their undercover jobs,

“What if he's fine on his own?” Itsuki paused waiting for Imani to but in, but she stood there, still, waiting for him to carry on, “What if he's fine by himself, as he's seventeen and can get support by his friends; cant he lives with them till he gets a part-time job?”

She laughed vigorously.

“You didn't read his file properly, did you?” she stopped getting herself together before taking a deep breath and explaining: “He can't get support by his friends. He only has one. And that one is helpless as can be, she's dealing with her family members problems herself, I dont think Miss Denton needs another problem on her mind. Living with her? She can't even live with
herself—”

“—You will do the job, and get it done.”

~

The rain tapped gently on Quinns window as her tears fell on her lap. The room around her stank of the smell of faint alcohol, while the windows and doors creaked every time her father moved downstairs. She rested her head on her tatty pillow as the voice of her new stepmother echoed through the crack under her door.

“Bahaha, oh god Mason,” they were both drunk and laid on the sofa, kissing deeply but doing it horribly as Mason slobbered all over the woman's breasts before trying to clear it up with his tongue. Quinn sat on the top of the stairs debating whether to go down and get something to eat.

“That's if we have anything in.”

She thought, as she hadn't had enough money to go out and by any real food because she only had enough for four bottled up cans of beer.

Mason and his ‘thing’ of a girlfriend sat on the sofa, ignoring Quinn as she slowly and peacefully walked towards the kitchen, she stopped at the beginning of the kitchen tiles; staring at the enormous amount of empty beer bottles along the kitchen surfaces.

“Oh yeah— ‘ur bins full.” His voice, full of energy that didn't belong in a household where children lived. “Go empty it,” he said before going back to kissing the woman intruder.

Quinn opened a draw and took the last bin bag before collecting all the bottles, cracked or in pieces she picked it all up the same. As she picked up the last bottle it's jagged edge cut her finger, she carefully put the bottle in the bag with all the other ones before sucking the blood which oozed out the top of her finger.

Carrying the bag, she walked past the kissing mess and put on her two-year-old trainers and a tatty raincoat before opening the door and into the rain.

Whether she chose to run away now, it wouldn't matter. She wouldn't or couldn't be able too. Her father works, (when he isn't hungover—) as a builder and his colleagues know police officers who know Quinn, probably more than her father.

She opened the small black box, and stopped, feeling someone watching her, as the rain battered down on her hood; she turned around to see Chase standing there by a lamp post.