Chapter 2 We are done trying

Vee's POV

When my father’s gaze catches mine, there’s no warmth in them. His expression is hard, his silence loud enough to let me know he's beyond livid.

I've probably just made the biggest mistake of my life. But can anything be worse than what I did years ago?

I turn my eyes to the floor, unwilling to hold his glare a second longer.

I know that going back home with him is a death sentence but who do I tell? Who would believe that my parents, the very same people who sponsor several orphanage homes, have kept me chained to a bed for a month? Who would believe me?

My father politely pulls one of the officials aside, and their voices drift toward me from the corner of the room.

"Detective Harrison," the officer says with an apologetic tone. "I know this is just one of those phases every parent goes through. Kids act out. They test boundaries."

"She has been testing mine for years," my father replies in a calm voice and a sad smile. "Rest assured, I will keep a closer eye on her from now on. Now I understand she needs discipline, not coddling."

"Of course, sir. I have no doubt you'll straighten her out. I know what to do about the files. There will be no trace."

"I will teach her better," my father assures, and something in the way he says it causes me to stiffen. "That is a promise." He adds.

When he saunters back to me, he jerks his head toward the door. "Follow me."

I hesitate.

My eyes sweep across the station, searching for any face that might look kind, any officer who might see the bruises on my wrists or the hollows in my cheeks. But no one meets my gaze.

"Vee!" My father commands, my whole body jerks, sending a sharp pain through my hip.

Shakily, I get to my feet and move behind him. I know what happens when I slow down. I know what happens when I go against his will.

As soon as I step outside, loud shouts cut through the night air. A woman in an expensive red coat shouts in the face of a much younger man, bent at her mercy.

"Fuck, Ma, this shit hurts!” He cries out dramatically, twisting in her grip.

She twists his ear one last time before releasing him.

I look closer, and my stomach squeezes. It is the same dark-haired guy whose shoulder I cut with his own knife. It doesn't look like he has been treated at all.

"Every time you show your face, you drag this family's name in the mud!" the woman snarls. I notice how she doesn’t bother lowering her tone even though we are standing right in front of a police station. "Do you know how much I had to pay to cover this mess up?"

"I've barely been out for a day." He throws his arms up in exasperation. "If you had let me in, none of this would have happened."

His mother's eyes narrow into slits. "You've barely been out yet you've done enough damage for a damn year. A generation even! You leave me no choice, James. Tomorrow you'll return to the Academy. I won't have you ruin my campaign again this year. This is why I never wanted you."

"If you never wanted me, why not just shoot me." His voice rises with a hint of bitterness. "There's no need sending me back to that hellhole when you could just..."

He stops talking suddenly because the woman pulls a gun from her purse and points it directly at his forehead.

I look around at the officers standing near the exit, but every single one of them suddenly finds something fascinating to look at on the ground or in the distance.

They're pretending not to see this?!

"Say it again," the woman hisses, "and I swear I will grant you the peace you seek this instant."

The young man goes rigid, his jaw clenches so hard I can see the muscle twitch in his cheek as his fake smile completely disappears.

He looks up and instantly catches my eye across the lot. With enough disgust, he rolls his eyes before getting into the black tinted car beside his mother.

When I look toward my father, he is already standing by his car, his deadly eyes fixed on me with an intensity that makes my legs want to buckle.

Perhaps I deserve the hate from everyone.

After what I did, I should never expect better treatment from my parents. I deserve every hatred I get. My chest burns at the memory, hot and shameful, as I walk toward my father's car without fighting.

Because it's unfair that I want to escape from the agony I brought upon the family.

The door pins shut behind me with a click that echoes in the warm car.

The engine starts, and mom who has been silent since I entered, only now finds my gaze through the rearview mirror.

Her eyes hold nothing but cold emptiness, as though she is looking at a stranger she prefers dead.

"We're done trying to make something out of you," she spits. "We are done trying. People as wicked as you deserve to live with your kind."

Then she slams a heavy file in my face.

I don't pay mind to the scratch on my face, taking the document instead, I open it slowly.

The words blur in front of my tired eyes until I force myself to focus.

The Deranged Mind's Academy.

I read the name again, inhaling shakily.