“She was my girlfriend.” I sighed, looking at the photos of me and Tess. “She died almost three months ago. I take it my grandparents didn’t tell you about that either?”
“No ... I’m really sorry to hear that, Timothy.” she sounded sincere.
“Alright. Wait here.” I said, figuring the casual pretense for her visit was over anyway, before walking into my bedroom and getting copies of some relevant documents. I resumed talking when I held it all out to her. “Here’s a copy of my employment contract. You’ll see I make enough to not have to squat in someone else’s property. I didn’t get a report card that would reflect if or how the move affected my grades yet, but I’m a solid student. I never got A’s, but I’m not stupid either. And finally, here you have a copy of my lease and bank statements of the rent transfers.”
“Oh! Thank you, that makes this a lot easier.” she complimented my thinking ahead.
“Here’s the deal. Over the last year, I spent months in my girlfriend’s apartment, and the family didn’t even notice I was gone. So, after she ... I got this place and lived here for a full week before the grandparents came to visit and asked where I was. Only then did they notice that my room was empty, and started to look for me. I’m just better here than in the house they don’t even want me in.”
“I ... also wasn’t aware of that.” she just said.
“I started working at fifteen to pay for my school textbooks. Not because the parents had money issues, but because they simply refused to pay for them. And once I had money, I had to buy my own food to cook for myself, do my own laundry, organize my own transportation, and all that while paying rent to them. The only thing that changed for me after I moved here on my own, is the amount of rent I have to pay. Talk to my boss, if you have to, I’ll tell him that he can disclose my information. He’ll tell you how he was the one who had to help me get over the bullies my siblings had set on me, after the parents couldn’t even be bothered to call the school about it. I’m not going back to live with the people who didn’t care about me. Same goes for the oh so concerned grandparents that called you. They knew what was going on in that house, but never gave a shit about me until they recently found out that I have money.”
She was eagerly scrabbling on her clipboard again, her brows frowned, and mumbling something that sounded heated under her breath.
“Now,” I continued. “You can see that I’m not squatting like they claimed. There’s actual food in the fridge, no drugs lying around, I earn a steady income that is more than enough to support myself, and I’m six months ahead on rent. I’m good. So, if you have what you need, I gotta prepare something for work tomorrow.”
“Work? Not school?” she asked, after thinking for a few seconds.
“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: “Congratulations, you played yourself.”
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.
“I suspect it didn’t go well?” was the greeting she gave me.
“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.
“I ... seriously don’t know. I’d like to say they’re just trying to do the right thing, but I told them this was the wrong way to go about it. We can’t force or pressure you to come home. I told them to remember the reasons why you left in the first place, and coming back has to be what you want, otherwise it won’t mean anything and just get worse than before.”
“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.
“Shit! Of course she’ll need to talk with your parents. I should’ve thought about that!” She sounded exhausted.”What did you say about why you left?”
“I told her about the general neglect and that I was working while doing my own shopping, cooking and laundry for years already. I didn’t even think about what I was saying, I just wanted her to know that being self-reliant wasn’t anything new to me, so she had less reason to force me back. I completely blanked on her having to check my story out! I mean, fuck ... if Ava wasn’t eighteen already...”