“I’m still off sick for another week.” She just looked at me quizzaly. I pulled up my shirt, so she could see the obvious evidence. “I was stabbed in a parking lot a few weeks ago. Same guy came after me again last week, after the police let him go and never told me about it. Going to be a few more weeks before I’m fully recovered. Work’s Okay, since I only sit around there, but my GP knows about the assaults I had at school, and didn’t want to risk anything.”
She looked at me with a thoughtful expression, before finally sitting back down on the sofa.
“I’m not supposed to advertise this, but if that is all true ... have you ever thought about emancipation? If you can support yourself, you could petition the court.”
“Of course I have. But I read online that the petition needs to be verified by a parent. And I don’t expect them to give up access to my bank account.” I answered dismissively, after sitting down myself.
“That’s not entirely correct. The petition needs to be verified, yes, but not necessarily by your guardian. If you can get a lawyer, they could verify it as well.”
I blinked at her in shock. If that was true, it would mean ... that I was stupid. I could’ve started the whole process weeks ago and may be already free by now, if only I hadn’t made assumptions!
“Try it. If you have the savings, talk it over with a lawyer. Well, I think I have what I need. I’ll talk to your parents next.” I tensed up and swallowed hard. This was bad. And I was the one who pointed her that way with my thoughtless ranting. She seemed to misinterpret my reaction when she continued. “Don’t worry, Timothy. Right now, I don’t see any reason to force you home or even out of this place. There is no indication that you wouldn’t be able to care for yourself. And I get the impression you’d just turn into an actual runaway if we tried, making your situation worse instead of improving it. At least now we know where you are, and it is definitely not in some back alley or squatter house.”
Then she got up and left. What she had said last reassured me somewhat, but the main issue was something else. I pulled out my phone and scrolled through the WhatsApp chats. I was more or less forced to install it because all the guys at work used it, but it had the added effect that, after the Logan debacle, I was invited into the family chat. Though I suspected they had another one where I wasn’t included, because they never wrote any messages. On the other hand, maybe that was simply because the grandparents were at the house right now, so they could just talk instead of sending messages. I opened the group chat and posted a single image. The DJ Khaled Meme with the caption: “
I started the 3D printer for the new router casing, and then started looking for someone practicing family law to help me get the emancipation started. I had just gotten off the phone, making an appointment for the next day, when it rang with a call from Aunt Danielle.
“
“No. Definitely not. The opposite, actually. What’s this about anyway, Danny?” I had started calling her that just a few days ago, during one of her daily check-ins.
“
“Well, the Social Worker just told me she couldn’t find anything that would make her want to force me out. I showed her around, told her why I left, and she agrees that I’m better off here. But, uh...” I started, before pinching my nose and squeezing my eyes shut. Then I gave her the really bad news. “She’ll talk to Claire and Aaron next. You might wanna start coaching them, maybe Ava and Maggie as well, so they won’t accidentally say anything ... ambiguous ... about our relationships.”
The silence on the other end told me that she was just as nervous about it as I was. This was the exact situation we wanted to avoid when the whole Logan-shit started. A social worker interviewing them, and possibly picking up on the incest-orgies.
