I Still Need ✓

30. I'm not a criminal and I have hope

Olivia sat on the couch, staring ahead of her, eyes glazed over in deep thought, for quite a while. She didn't seem like she was doing very well, but the only thing I could do was hug her and tell her that it'd all be alright in the end. She kept nodding, the tears ever-present in the corners of her eyes, refusing to tip over the edge and fall down her cheeks. She would not cry.

When my mother got home, Olivia promptly stood up and announced that it was time for her to go, and Dylan eyed my mother as if she was a demon dragging him to the fiery pits of hell. I nudged him with my elbow, which made him quickly plaster on a smile. The ride to the police station was silent. Dylan had his head on my shoulder, adjusting every ten seconds because I was bony, but he had whispered to me that I smelled nice, so that made it okay.

What exactly did I even smell like? Was it anything like how my family members smelled? How my house smelled when I came home after a vacation or how the laundry detergent my mother used smelled? Or how my pillow smelled when I hadn't washed it for a while? I suppose I'd never find out.

I rubbed my thumb over the back of his hand and gently squeezed when I heard him let out a soft sigh.

"What do you think they're gonna do?"

"Who?" he murmured.

"North Korea," I replied. "No, the police, obviously."

He let out a short, small chuckle. "I don't know. I'm wondering about that, too..." He paused and played with my fingers in his lap. "I'm mostly curious how my dad is going to react."

"Well, whatever happens, it will all be alright," I tried to assure him. I seemed to be saying that a lot today and I didn't even know if it was true. Would it even be okay?

"Yeah... I guess it will." He turned his head to look out of the window and I put my hand under his chin to pull his face up to mine. I smiled as I leaned forward to give him a kiss, simply trying to let him know that I was there for him through the touch of our lips. He smiled back, though it didn't quite reach his eyes, and a few minutes later, my mother announced, "We're here."

Dylan lifted his head from my shoulder once again, gazing out at the police station. I could see how he fought the reluctance and the fear, and told himself to just get out already. Slowly, he unfastened his seatbelt and said, "Okay, let's go."

My hand slid out of his as he got out of the car, but he quickly grabbed it again when we walked towards the station. It was weird that Floyd wasn't here to support him, but we all knew it wasn't essential for him to be here. I didn't even have to be. The only reason I was here was because it was my mother that'd brought him.

When he spoke to the police officer, she said they could talk in a private room and even though I thought he'd go in alone, he didn't loosen the grip on my hand even the slightest bit and pulled me straight into the room with him. Mom wordlessly followed behind. She was the only one that accepted the drink that was offered to us. Dylan looked like he already had trouble swallowing the nerves down, let alone a drink.

"Very well," Officer Stokes spoke softly, taking the seat across from us. She casually leaned back in the chair and flipped open a notepad. "What shall it be then? What has your dad done that's so bad that you're bringing it to the police?"

Dylan cleared his throat and folded his hands on the metal table between him and the woman with her kind, light-blue eyes, before looking up to meet them with his own sad, chocolate brown ones. "He kicked me out."

Officer Stokes looked up at that. She scribbled it down on her notepad and asked, "Why?"

"B-because I'm gay."