20. Serenity
Chapter twenty
Serenity
A t work a week later, Madame approaches the bar where I'm waiting for drinks to be made and Declan's sitting at the stool next to me. We haven't explored each other any more, but I feel as if we're both waiting the other one out. We've talked about our mutual attraction. We had that moment in the hallway where we learned that I am, in fact, a sexual person, but we haven't crossed any more physical lines.
We sleep in the same bed together every night, but we never touch. I've imagined all of the ways I want him, all of the things I want to do with him, but it's like we're at an impasse, neither one of us willing to take the next step. We wake up every morning together, go for a run, have breakfast, work in his office for a few hours before Joseph drives us to the club.
It's a comfortable routine.
Madame Kline steps up between us, drawing our attention.
"It seems we have a problem." She looks between Declan and I, indicating me, too. I set the drinks on the tray and turn to give her my full attention.
She's speaking to Declan when she talks, though. "You know that site that I watch?" He nods. "Serenity popped up on it last night."
Declan tenses.
"Site?"
"I monitor a list of missing persons and compare it against a list of trafficked women on the dark web. If I find matches, I have a friend who can do more research, that we then provide to the police. The police department monitors these lists, too, but they don't have the manpower to keep on top of it all...and they have to follow legal channels where my...friend...doesn't."
I glance between them, noting Declan's frown.
"So, what does that mean?" I ask.
"It means your parents likely filed a missing person report with the local PD. They're trying to flush you out."
"They tried to get at you at the club, but when that didn't work, they had to try something else," Declan adds. I wait for the anger, for the outrage I'd expect from him, but it doesn't come. He's tense and unhappy, but not angry.
"So, what do we do?"
Madame raps her knuckles on the bar top. "Let me know if I can do anything to help," she says before leaving.
The longer Declan remains silent the more my anxiety increases. I want to grab him by the shoulders and shake an answer out of him.
Instead, he wraps a large hand around one of my wrists, something I've noticed he does when he wants my full attention. The pressure and feel of him is grounding.
"That's up to you, Ser. We obviously need to let the police know you're not actually missing, so they don't waste resources looking for you. But whether you want to turn your parents in or not is your choice."
Turn my parents in?
I wonder what they've gotten into in the two weeks I've been gone. I wonder how bad it's gotten. They're certainly out of food by now. I try to recall if the water and electricity were due yet, but I honestly haven't paid that much attention to even what the date is. That alone sends me reeling.
A squeeze on my wrist brings me back.
"I... I don't know..."
I appreciate that he's here for me. That he knows how to ground me when I need it the most, but this information is just too much. They're clearly drug addicts, and Gary hit me, which is completely unacceptable, but they're the only parents I have. My mom did her best to raise me, even if that meant I raised myself more often than not. And yeah, they took my ADHD and anxiety medication, which made things harder for me. But what are the options? They get arrested for possession and go to jail?
But then they had their friend try to... what? Abduct me? Drag me back home? Kidnap me? Is that all he would have done? Lord knows the unsavory people Gary hangs out with.
And I'd just gotten my first paycheck. My bank account actually had a balance in it. I was just starting to make a way for myself. I don't know what I'm going to do with the money, but staring at the black numbers had started to shift something inside of me. I wasn't simply surviving anymore, and maybe I could start to see a version of a future that was more than struggle. If I gave them the money, it would be eaten up by their addiction. Maybe it would pay the rent for a bit longer? But to what end? Their addiction wasn't ever going to end, because they didn't want it to end. They made no attempts to get sober or even feel any remorse for what they were doing.
But maybe that's the answer.
The best way to help my mom is to help myself. They'll never give up harassing me, trying to get me to go back, to get money out of me. Especially now that I have Declan. They'll figure out who he is. They've already seen his car, driver, his expensive suits and watch. They'll never stop harassing me now that they know I have access to real money. Think of what they would do if I had more than my measly paycheck from the cafe. If I made good money. They'd buy more and more drugs until they eventually overdosed.
I hate that my mom is an addict. I hate the shame and the anxiety and disappointment that came along with that. But I'd hate even more if she died because of her addiction. I understand that addiction is a disease. She's not completely to blame.
But if she were cut off completely? If she were in jail? If the state could help her detox? Maybe she'd be able to get away from Gary. Get a new start on life. Learn a skill or get a hobby. At the very least she'd be healthy.
And that's all that I really want - for my mom to be healthy and maybe someday happy. Without drugs.
I haven't fully decided yet if that's the best choice, but at the very least I know I need to speak to the police and let them know I'm not missing. They don't need to waste any resources trying to locate me.
"Can I call the police department and just talk to them?"
"We can try, but they may want proof that you're not under duress."
We call, but just as Declan suspected, they want to see me in person and get a statement. I guess I understand if I really had been kidnapped or something they'd want proof that I was who I said I was and that I wasn't being threatened.
Declan cuts my shift early, leaving Madame to ferry drinks. I protest at first, but she rushes me out of the door with a smile on her face.
Just after ten PM, Joseph drives us to the police department. On the way there, I nervously play with the hem of my club polo, thinking of what to say. What to do if they're there when I arrive. I should have changed into something less recognizable. But if Todd grabbed me outside of the club, I'm sure my parents already know I'm working there.
Declan wraps his warm hand around my wrist again and squeezes.
"What do I say?"
"Well," he says thoughtfully. "I would tell the truth. Cops are trained to spot liars, and you, my dear, are a shit liar."
A half-chuckle, half-sigh escapes me, but I appreciate his attempt to lighten the situation.
"So, I escaped a bad situation with my family and moved in with my... friend?" I offer. He smiles.
"I think that's the best explanation of events, and completely true. Only go into as much detail as you want. The Envelope is above board on all things, so don't worry about trying to protect it, or us. Just worry about you."
"Okay," I nod as we pull up in front of the police department. Joseph puts the car in park before Declan undoes his seatbelt.
My hand shoots to his arm. "You can't come in."
His frown is immediate.
"If your parents are there..."
I shake my head.
"If they're in there and they even suspect you have money they'll come after you. They’ll threaten you, stalk you. They'll try to manipulate you, manipulate me. They can't see you." I can tell he wants to argue with me, and he looks over my shoulder at the old building. His instinct to protect is warring with what he knows to be true. They called in a missing person’s report to flush me out. They're around here somewhere, or one of their druggy friends is.
But they can't see him. It's a hill I'm willing to die on. If he thinks he's protecting and providing for me, I feel the equal amount of protectiveness over him. He may be grumpy, grouchy, and prone to anger, but he's mine.
When did I start thinking about him like he's mine?
"The second you're uncomfortable or worried you come to me. I don't care what they say. You.come.to.me," he growls.
It's a small walk to the front of the police station, lit by streetlamps, and within view of him, Joseph, and the entire Alexandria police department.
"I could escort her, sir." Joseph offers from the front seat.
I put a hand on his shoulder, affectionately.
"No, offense, Joseph. But you scream bodyguard. It's not much better."
Joseph locks eyes with Declan in the rearview mirror, looking for his boss's direction.
I can feel Declan simmering next to me. He hates this, but he gives a tight nod to Joseph and looks away from me.
Feeling bolstered, I exit the car and walk into the police department. A stern looking older woman manages the desk, while men in uniforms work around her.
"Um..." I say, getting her attention. "I think someone filed a missing person's report for me. But, um, I'm not missing?" I start. What an awkward damn conversation to have.
"Name?"
"Serenity Jones?"
She shuffles some papers around before calling to man behind her. "Johnson, this is Ms. Jones from the missing person's report. She says she's not missing."
A tall, muscular man with a handsome face takes the papers from her and shoots me a smile. He's nice to look at, but I prefer Declan's suits and frown, surprisingly.
"Great, Ms. Jones. Would you please follow me?" I don't know what I expected but I didn't expect to be taken to an interrogation room. I'm told to sit on the hard metal chair on one side of a hard metal table.
"Sir, I... uh... I don't think I've done anything wrong?" I offer, suddenly incredibly anxious.
"No, of course dear, we just want to cover our bases and make sure you're not under duress. Do you have a form of ID we can use to verify you are who you say you are?"
"Um, no... when I left my parents' house, I left my wallet and cell phone."
He frowns. "May I ask why?"
"Oh... uh... I didn't have a great home life with my parents, so I left and moved in with my... friend. I didn't want them to know where I was."
"Is there any reason why?"
I think for a moment about how much detail I want to give.
"They... um... aren't nice people."
"Did they hurt you?"
I bite my lower lip but don't answer. That seems to be enough for him. "Would you like to file a restraining order? I can still see you have a bit of a black eye. Why don't you tell me exactly what's been going on so I can help you?"
He seems genuinely interested in helping. He feels friendly, down to Earth, and doesn't have that arrogant, power-tripping aura that some cops have.
"My mother and stepfather are addicts. They took every penny I made and used it to feed their addictions. Last Friday I got my hours cut at the cafe I work at, and my stepfather got upset and hit me. I left that night with the clothes on my back."
Johnson frowns but remains silent. I think about the restraining order.
"And this friend...?"
"…is the best thing that's ever happened to me. He took me in without question, and gave me a home, and food, and protection..." I was grateful for Declan before, but hearing it all spoken out loud, to another human being, really drives home how grateful I am for that man.
"And you're safe with this friend?"
I chuckle at the thought. Sure, he's surly, and angry, but dangerous? No. I'd walk through burning coals to stay with him. My smile must be enough for Johnson because he smiles and nods.
"Alright, so you say you're you, you're not missing, and that you're safe." He frowns. "Except we, still need some form of identification."
I bite my bottom lip as I pick on the cuticle on my nail. This is it. This is where I decide the fate of my parents.
I look up, sheepishly. "I know where my ID is..."
Johnson's curiosity is piqued, even if he doesn't want it to be.
"If you went to 333 Parkland Place Southeast, Apartment 2 B, and maybe did, like a wellness check?" I swallow, nerves eating me alive. "You would find my ID, wallet and phone... and maybe some illegal substances..."
Johnson jots the address down in his notepad. "That's great, Serenity. Do you know if there will be any weapons found there?"
"Not as of two weeks ago, the last time I was there. They're too lazy for weapons."
More notes.
He stands. "Thank you, Serenity, I think we have enough to go on. And if we do pay a visit to your address and find your possessions, we'll be sure to let you know. Can you leave your name and phone number at the front desk?"
I stand, too, but I'm not completely settled. "Um... how much time in jail does a person convicted of possession face?"
I cringe. I'd hate to do all of this only to have them get out in two years, angry with me and vengeful.
He looks at me with regret.
"Depending on the number of offenses and substances we're talking about, anywhere from six months to ten years."
I roll my eyes and groan.
"Can I file a restraining order?"
"You can, but it's a more complicated process. I'm happy to walk you through it, though."
I check the street both ways, half expecting one of my parent's druggy friends to jump out from an alley. But nobody accosts me while I jog back to Declan's waiting town car.
"How'd it go?" Declan asks anxiously as I slide back into the back seat.
I give him the run down and he nods approvingly.
"I'm proud of you," he says lowly enough that Joseph can't hear, and I blush at his praise. A warm and cozy heat flushes through me and I look at him with wide eyes. In an instant I realize I'd do anything to hear him say that again. I don't think I've ever had anyone be proud of me. I was always a burden to my parents. During the best times they'd tolerate me and ply me with sweet words if it meant I gave them my paychecks. But once they got their high, I was back to being a burden.
But when I look at Declan, the normally angry, broody man sitting beside me and I realize he really means it, I can't help how much my chest aches to hear him say it again.
I wasn't seriously considering college. I'd done the research and presented it to him like he commanded but hadn't brought it up again.
I decide then that I will actually apply. If it'll make him proud of me, I'll apply to all of the colleges.
"Thank you," I whisper quietly. I don't know how this man became my entire world, but he is. He rescued me from homelessness, from my own ADHD and anxiety burnout, from the harsh world.
I just know he doesn't feel the same about me.
And that thought pops the bubble that was in my chest.
But instead of letting me shrink, he laces his fingers through mine and squeezes my hand. A silent reassurance. Of what, I'm not sure, but it feels incredible to hold his hand. Like I mean something to him. Like I mean something to anyone. Like I matter.