｡+.*𝗚𝗟𝗜𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗜𝗡 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗔𝗜𝗥*+｡ [𝘿. 𝙈𝘼𝙇𝙁𝙊𝙔]¹

V. HARRY & JEWEL [PART ONE]

OCTOBER 20TH - DECEMBER, 1989

[ almost ] TWO YEARS AGO

[ give or take three months ]

[ but close enough ]

[ time is weird ]

"And this, is Jewel."

"Hello, Jewel," a flawless Amazonian-looking woman(not a stitch or hair was out of place--from her meticulous braid to her black skirt and warm yellow buttondown to her stylish black pumps and her perfectly manicured fingernails)greeted softly, a warm smile on her tanned face. "My name is Dakota. And this is my husband, Alistair."

A tall man with blonde hair with little flecks of grey and a wiry frame, dressed in comfortable jeans and a white t-shirt with a colourful semi-circle printed on the front and the words 'data science and whisky' in bold black writing, wove at me with an easy smile.

I didn't say a word, nodding slightly and looking away.

"She isn't quite--talking, yet," Mr Soo, a stocky thirty-something-year-old Chinese-British man that had been my caseworker for the past couple weeks(and, unlike my last caseworker, had yet to give up on life), admitted. "But she's always reading," he added hastily, "can't keep her nose out of a book."

"Is there anything in particular that she likes to read?" Dakota asked, thinking better of asking me directly.

"Uh--" Mr Soo stammered, "anything. Everything. She's very smart."

I almost snorted.

Way to make me feel like a crappy used car you're trying to palm off, mate--'the engines screwed, but would you look at that paint job!'

"Is there anything you or social services haven't already disclosed?" Dakota checked seriously. "I know what happened in her--" she wavered slightly, "in her last placement, and I know things have been very--difficult for her. Is there anything we should know? Anything we could do to make things easier on her? We want her to feel as comfortable and safe as possible with us."

Mr Soo looked startled.

"I--uh--" he fumbled with his notes, "my predecessor did suggest therapy. When she starts talking, she might want to see someone to help her with--"

They all looked at me.

In retaliation for their pity, I shot back a resting bitch face.

Alistair looked amused.

"You a fan of the Clash?" he said, nodding at my shirt.

Under his British accent, there was a hint of a Scottish.