FicWad

I fidget with the locket of my necklace in my left hand as I stare at my computer screen. I rest my chin on the knuckles of my right hand while leaning on my desk. The nightmare from earlier this morning was still clear in my mind. Where was I in the nightmare? Who was the man? Why did his eyes glow crimson and mine also? My grasp on my locket tightened and my stare toward my computer screen deepened.

"Here's the file of a new intake," a man's voice brings me back to reality as he places a manila folder in front of me. "I didn't scare you, Michelle, did I?" he lightly jokes.
"Hm? Oh, no!" I shake my head calmly. "I was...just in deep thought..."
"You're more aloof than usual. Is everything okay?" his British voice says with concern.
"Yea, just...thinking. Anyway, thanks for bringing me the file, John," I quickly change subject while looking through the documents inside the manila folder.
"No problem!" he pats my shoulder before heading away.

I read through the first page of the case. Sophia Marbles. Age: 5. Reason for intake: Abusive foster parents. It was all too familiar. I've worked with many children who've had mental disorders, behavioral disorders - but these kinds of cases were the worst.

-----

"So tell me, Sophia: do you love doing anything fun?" I ask with a warm smile.

Sophia sits on the small couch with her knees up to her face, cradling her legs with her arms. I sit in a chair a few feet away, waiting for her answer patiently as I hold a pen and ledger in my hands.

"I like to draw..." she finally says.
"Oh really? Do you do it often?" I ask.
"Um. Only when I'm not around Jane and Rob," she answers with worry in her eyes.
"Your foster parents... You kept it secret from them?"
"Yes..."
"Why would you do that, honey?"
"Because...they didn't like it."

Typical in abusive behavior. Abusive foster parents won't let you express yourself in order to have control. It's a threat to them.

"What would Jane and Rob do when you'd draw?" I ask.
"They'd get...they'd get mad..." Sophia answers with fear.
"How mad did they get?"

Fear grows more and more in her eyes.

"They'd...yell at me..." Sophia answers. "I got scared... They yelled. Got mad. Got very, very mad."

With those short repeated answers, she begins to cry softly.

"I could not draw anymore..." she says through tears. "They got mad. I'm scared to draw. No more drawing. I'm scared."

As she says that, she raises her long sleeve and reveals large purple bruises and red marks. I feel myself tear up, recalling my own memories as I stare at Sophia in awe. The bruises. The cuts. The slaps. The punches. Instinctively, I jump from my seat to her, my arms embracing her little fragile body.

"It's okay, Sophia. It's okay," I choke back tears. "They can't hurt you anymore. You're safe, baby. You're safe."

I caress her hair and pat her back as she cries into my chest. Just then, John opens the door.

"Session is over," he gazes at the scene in sadness.
"Thanks, John," I say while still holding Sophia. "She'll need regular therapy. Sign her up with a psychologist. She'll need attention first before she's put back for adoption."

He nods and closes the door, leaving you to hold a crying Sophia.

----

It's been a long day at the office. I've lost count of how many kids I'd seen today, as always. Working as an intake psychologist in London is devastating but crucial to me.

"You okay?" John asks as he adjusts his black scarf.
"Yea. I'll be fine," I reply while adjusting my black jacket.
"I can't imagine how difficult it was to handle Sophia's case...considering it's very similar to yours."
"I'm not gonna lie. It hurt. Bad."
"I haven't seen you like this. It worries me. You're not your cheery sarcastic self. Perhaps...a week or two off would be good for you."
"I knew the effects this job would have when I took it. I can't waste time while there are children in need of love and support. Some things I didn't have as a child."

John stays silent, knowing I'm not going to back down. I tilt my head up and let out a deep sigh.

"Perhaps you're right," I say. "Maybe I do need a break. I haven't taken a vacation in over a year."
"You work so hard. I know you're devoted to these children. But you can't help them when you can't help yourself. Give yourself a break every now and then."

John's words stay in my head for a bit.

"I think I'll submit my vacation request tonight. I'll be out for a couple of weeks," I say.
"Atta girl," he encourages. "And what better day to submit a vacation request than Friday!" John points to a calendar with today's date, Friday, October 24th. "I think a drink or two at the old tavern wouldn't hurt."
"I don't know..."
"Come on, Michelle. We haven't gotten a drink in a while!"
"Okay. But this isn't a date," I smile.
"As always," he chuckles as he leads me down to the exit.