𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐓𝐈𝐌𝐄 𝐒𝐀𝐃𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒, 𝐨𝐮𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐬

FOUR| diver down

EDEN'S eyes opened to a soft but firm voice speaking.  She was still on the couch, blanket curled up with her, and the sunlight hitting her right in her eyes—how did she even end up lying in the terrible spot if JJ wasn't hauling the better one?

She slightly looked down to see a hand on her shoulder.  Eden couldn't tell who it belonged too—she was also still waking up, so her mind definitely wasn't in the right spot—but after the voice spoke again, she knew just who it was.

"You awake, sweetie?"

"Sheriff Peterkin?" Eden muttered, rubbing a hand over her face to try and wake herself up a bit more.  Why was the Sheriff here bright and early? If anyone would be here, it should be one of the Pogues or DCS for that matter, but no.  Sheriff Peterkin had invited herself in, and awoken Eden for reasons she didn't know yet.

"Mhm." The woman replied, "Where's your friend at, hon? Or is he up and out already?"

"Oh, uh, John B.'s in there." Eden pointed towards the room where—from her angle—she could slightly see the boy's still frame.  "He's probably sleeping, though."

Peterkin nodded and walked over to said room, coming in and standing right in the doorway.  Eden's eyes furrowed in confusion, but she didn't ask any questions.  She was sure whatever Peterkin had to say was important, and she probably shouldn't butt in.

Her fingers tapped on her phone screen—lock screen being a picture of her and the Pogues, of course—and the time blared in her face; 9:30.  After the night they'd had, she would have preferred at least an hour more of sleep, but the missed calls from her mother and father said it was probably better that she was up now.

Peterkin walked out of John B.'s room, and leaned up against one of the walls, fingers draping over some of the photos.   Eden had stood up, eyes trailing across the room in a small amount of disgust.  She was finally noticing how dirty the house actually was, and with Peterkin here, it didn't seem like a good look for John B., or any of the Pogues.

"I'm sorry about the, uh, mess." Eden cleared her throat, walking right past the Sheriff and towards the small kitchen that the house held.  Grabbing a glass and setting it down beside her, she spoke again. "We weren't really expecting anyone."

"I don't mind." Peterkin responded rather dryly, crossing her arms over her chest as she eyed over the countless beer bottles—underage drinking was definitely not the best look, but hopefully she passed over that part—and random items tossed around. 

"Good." She replied, before scanning through John B.'s cabinets, eye darting to find where he kept the bottle of aspirin, or some sort of painkillers.  She knew that he'd probably have a bad headache, or something along the lines of that, so the least she could do was give him something for it.  It took a minute—John B. was not an organizer—but eventually she found a bottle and took two out, setting them on the counter.

"You might want to get home." the Sheriff continued, watching as Eden filled up a glass of water,  "Your mother called the office. Said you haven't been home in a few days."

Eden took a sip of the water, nodding as she did so.  When she put the glass right next to the pain, she spoke again.  Of course her mother called the police department.  Why wouldn't she? At least she didn't for the party, like she threatened. "Well, she's right." 

"Can I ask why?"

"Because I don't like my home." Eden replied simply, lips in a straight line. That was the true answer, whether Peterkin believed it or not.  She didn't like her mother or her father, didn't like the two story house she 'lived' in—yes, she lived in a two story house, how kook, right? She didn't like anything about her home life.