|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
*Nightwhisper
"And guilty I may be, but don't give up on me... We will still be thick as thieves."
|
Post by *Nightwhisper on Sept 30, 2022 15:17:04 GMT -5
Alright! Then here we go!
"Until you turn eighteen, you will be living with the Risings and helping repay the damages to Chickadee Ranch."
Those words echoed through Winter's mind as he scowled at the window. Usually, he would just brush them off. The young man had received so many house arrests that it was pretty much a normal part of his life. This time, however, was different.
Beside him in the driver's seat sat Tim, his social worker; a man in his late thirties, short black hair, a five o'clock shadow covering his lower face, and a pair of thick framed glasses perched on his nose. Tim rambled on about rules and expectations of the household that would be his prison for the net eleven months. Do not steal or break anything, do everything that the family asks to do, and for the love of God, don’t try to argue with them. It was always the same words and message, no matter how the man worded it. How long had he been trying to get the words to sink in? Was it six, seven years? By now, winter had pretty much memorized everything Tim would say, how he would say it, and his reaction when the confirmation to follow his instructions never came. Therefore, Winter refused to pay him any attention this time around. It was not as if it would have changed anything. If he had never followed his orders before, why would this time be any different?
“Are you even listening to me, Jace?” Tim asked. Winter didn't have to be looking in his direction to know he was irriated by the lack of response.
“What do you think?” came the muttered response, every ounce of annoyance Winter could muster lacing his voice. At least that’s the effect he was going for.
Tim sighed. “For once, I wished you would just say ‘Yes, Tim, I understand, and I swear this time will be different.’ I guess that’s too much to ask from you.”
“Really?” Winter asked, turning his head to look at the social worker. His face was neutral, but the young man saw that he was doing his best not to react to the lack of attention. In the last few years, it had become a game to him. A gained pleasure in seeing how quickly he could push the social worker to his breaking point. “You think this time is going to be any different than the others? The last time I checked, I'm here for community service, and community service alone. You and I both know that's all this is going to be.”
“It might be if you just tried to make it better,” Tim returned. “If you just did as you were told and didn’t try to picking fights with everyone who was trying to help you, you might find that staying here won’t be that bad.”
With a scoff, Winter waved him off and turned his glare back to the window to his right. Another sigh sounded from Tim as the man fell silent once more. Only the sound of the Camry’s engine broke the silence around us. That is, until Tim reached over to turn on the radio. Immediately, some pop song blared thought the speakers. Tim hardly listened to the radio, how it got to that station was a mystery. It didn't stay there for long. Reaching over, Winter turned the dial until a loud, steady drumming and screaming guitar rift of a rock station blared through the speaker. Smirking with satisfaction, Winter leaned back in the seat, ignoring the glare. The reason Tim didn't like to listen to the radio might have been because of his habit of finding the most aggressive sounding music possible to put on.
The rest of the ride consisted of the radio being the only source of noise, playing one song after the other. Every now and then, Tim’s grip on the steering tightened when a particular song played. There were plenty songs that, even Winter admitted, were not the most morally sound, but he didn’t bother to change the channel. Neither person spoke. There was nothing to say that wouldn't start an argument, so Winter occupied himself staring at the houses. They were entering the side of town he normally didn't like. The side of town with richer families with their perfectly manicured lawns, multitude of cars, and just an over all feeling of unified neatness. It was just too orderly to be normal. Yet it became apparent pretty soon that this was where he would be spending his time.
Before long, the pair finally pulled up to their destination. Winter cringed at the sight of it. This was the most "American Dream" house he had ever seen, completely with a white picket fence and everything! This was not a place for him, not with his track record. This house screamed prim and proper, and he could already feel the suffocation of all the rules just looking at it. He didn't want to leave the car, but he had no choice. If he didn't get out, Tim would make him, and he didn't want to have to deal with the embarrassment of that. This day was going to be awkward enough as it was. So, shoving his hands into his hoodie's pockets, he followed his social worker up the front steps to the porch, waiting behind him as Tim rang the doorbell.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
*Nightwhisper
"And guilty I may be, but don't give up on me... We will still be thick as thieves."
|
Post by *Nightwhisper on Oct 4, 2022 12:21:01 GMT -5
Tim answered every one of the questions, and even made sure that there was nothing that their daughter was concerned about. He knew children already in a household can have their own issues with things, and he wanted to be sure that everything would be as smooth sailing as possible for everyone.
Winter cut a glare towards the woman, Angel as he learned. He was trying to keep his opinion of her as low as he could, but it was hard when she obviously could bake pretty well. That made her somewhat better than most, but not by a lot. His answer to her question was no. He didn't want to see his room, or the rest of the house, or anything. He just wanted to leave. Yet that wasn't possible. "Whatever gets me out of this conversation," he muttered.
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
