Disturbed Mind 3 Dad's Distress

Slowly we walked through the large garden, whose contours and details we could only guess. Had he changed since that our childhood? It is indeed very possible, but bathed in darkness, it was not possible for us to contemplate it.

The house was the same as I remembered. It was possible to note some exceptions, such as the disappearance of our childhood photos or the new television, but apart from that, its general appearance had remained the same. Mom's grandmother's furniture was still enthroned in the living room and worse, the ugly yellow-p.i.s.sed kitchen of which Dad had sworn to get rid of always offended everyone's eyes.

Unable to move forward by myself, Dean carried me like the Princesses in fairy tales. At the time I was reproaching myself for my cruel lack of reflection. Holding on to his powerful shoulders, I curse myself for not simulating an inability to walk from the beginning. Sometimes I can be very stupid. Note: Dean and I have a pure relationship. Possessing the same blood, we have set very strict limits not to cross. Anyway, I was over sixteen and still a virgin.

Dean gently put me down on the couch in the living room and without a word, he went back. I let him do it. Without asking him, I already knew about his projects. He had to free his own demons, his own well-being depended on it. It was not very long. After less than five minutes he came back smiling triumphantly, presenting me which made me think of car keys. I had just realized that I had just lost my father. After kissing me very tenderly, he took me back in his arms and then we left without regret the house that had held us prisoner for so long.

According to Dean, it is difficult to drive an car. I nodded and laughed after he kicked down the garage door and ripped out the mailbox. Note that before he starts it, the car was outside.

After consultation, we decided to do things in order. Three parked cars. .h.i.t, two other mailboxes attacked, Dean understood more or less how to handle a car and we went to the next town to file a complaint. Indeed, not trusting the police in our city and fearing that they would turn us over to our mother again, we considered him our only viable option.

Driving at night was a little chaotic. This episode, without too much bounce, came to an end, we didn't hesitate for a moment. As I entered the police station, I looked at these men for a long time, who had ignored us for ten years with growing resentment. I put this feeling aside knowing that for the time being, two sixteen-year-old children with no legal rights had to take the lead in order to free themselves from their chains.

A fatty policeman, whose oily hair repelled me, was the first to consider us. Four unoccupied men, a 16-year-old boy who carries a girl of the same age whyle her ankle bruised, ten minutes waiting. Helping others or playing cards, their choice was undoubtedly the first.

It was a very long time. We told him what we had been going through for ten years. So he offered us a coffee. We insisted on the most dramatic moments of our lives. He suggested we take a break while he was ordering two pizzas. That fat b.a.s.t.a.r.d was only thinking about his belly. That's what I thought until he sent two men to check the truth of our statements. A senior officer? Well done.

The next day, the press was already taking over the case. When they smell a pile of s.h.i.t somewhere, flies are always the first to land on it. In ten years, it hasn't changed. With tears in my eyes, I kissed Dean languidly. These monsters took my love by force when that I swore to them that one day I would drink their blood and that of their children. I learned that afternoon that someone would soon come to see me. He came, no interest, nothing could hold my attention.

First I was placed in the pediatric ward of a New York hospital. Under the supervision of a physiotherapist, I undertook a rehabilitation in order to be able to move again without crutches. Soon my strength returned and I was able to walk for more than five minutes.

I now had to leave the hospital, but there was a problem. Where would they put me? After seeing me again, my first aunt said of me that I had become a risk to her relationship, a potential husband thief. My second aunt did not want a cripple and the third considered that I needed above all to rest well in a suitable place. In short, my aunts considered me a handicapped, crazy b.i.t.c.h. It is so pleasant to see that you can always count on your family in the hard time.
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A family more than reluctant to take care of me, a well-meaning judge considered that having been locked up for so long, the most appropriate thing for me was to lock myself up again in a psychiatric ward until I was eighteen, so that I would be under the supervision of people who could take care of me. That's how I was presented with the facts, before I was taken to my new prison. The system is so well done. That day, my infinite grat.i.tude to that judge made me wish for only one thing: to slit his throat.

"How are you today, Emy?"

Dr. Bergen is a good man. He antic.i.p.ated my release by offering me sumptuous gifts and a more than decent amount of money. I think I really enjoy being in his arms. This was done very naturally over a period of one and a half years. As soon as I turn eighteen, the moment I leave this place, I will have my own apartment with a bank account containing more than forty thousand dollars. It was not generously offered. My evenings were often hectic but he always wore condoms so everything is fine. In fact, by opening his pants zipper, I'm about to add a thousand five hundred new dollars to my bank account. Fortunately, the Doctor loves me very much, he takes good care of me and he is very rich.

"Well, thank you, Dr. Bergen."