Extended Family - A G/t Shorty

Ch. 8 Keep me out/Let me in

Insomnia had robbed me of another night of decent rest, and I just couldn't fall asleep. I thought my music would supply me with the remedy to lull me into some kind of slumber, but it did nothing for me. I turned over for the umpteenth time, allowing my eyes to catch a small form happily curled up under a warmer blanket in his bed next to mine and lost in the realms of a dream-filled sleep without a care in the world.

Can't say that I wasn't envious of him.

Casey kept my blanket because the room we were in was still cold, so I just used the bedding to cover myself and wore the warmest sweater I had. The bitter chill within the bedroom walls was not what kept me awake but the thoughts that lived inside my head rent-free, making a ruckus around my head and ultimately rattling my senses, feelings, instincts, you name it.

I couldn't find peace.

I ruminated over the past three days that followed that incident, diving into what I could've said, acted, or done differently. Since then, I carried myself around as if my body just went on autopilot. Call it a natural response or even trauma, but whatever it was, it had constrained me against my tenacious demeanor and only allowed me to visualize my life during those moments through a dark and narrow lens.

That day, with the Sheriff's help, we got the place cleaned up and piled the bags of our new, broken stuff that needed to be taken out to the curb. As I moved about the house, I uttered less than a sentence to both Casey and Rusty. I felt that if I said more, I was going to lose it and I'd just fly into a panic. It was so bad that I couldn't sleep at all the first night, even when the Sheriff declared he'd stay the night to make sure things were okay.

The day after I remembered wandering into the kitchen and making a passing glance at the now-unplugged telephone; I didn't want to hear that thing chime, knowing exactly who'd be at the other end of the line.

I never wanted to talk to him again. Not after the last phone call going on three nights ago.

Even when Sheriff Rusty would stop by to do his daily check-in, he'd plug the jack back into the wall, and less than a literal second later the phone would go off, making my spine stiff enough to snap. I couldn't move much less breathe as each ring sounded louder than the last, striking my ear canal repeatedly with its blaring chime, and pressuring me to give up and answer the daunting call. Thankfully, Sheriff Rusty would answer and provide some update on us, but that conversation could be carried on without me. Hell, even Casey can take a turn and talk to him.

Leave me out of it.

Since that phone call, I was more than vocal about how I felt and was convinced that I had found an ally in Sheriff Rusty.

I was wrong.

I spoke—or rather cried to Sheriff Rusty in private about finding out the truth and begged him not to tell Casey about it. He looked at me bewildered and tried to assure me that the Taylors were good people who loved us and wanted us to be a part of their family. My outcries turned into frustration because no matter how many tears I shed, how explicitly vocal I became, how much I threatened to run away, nothing seemed to stick to the old bastard. An aged gaze grew more somber the longer I spoke, and the only thing he could offer was the one thing that made my blood boil...

His fucking pity.

What did I expect? He sided with the Taylors! Of course, he was going to say what he needed to get us to comply with the adoption. Some part of me didn't blame him because I wouldn't want to go against giants that were tens of feet tall. Something in my gut screamed that this wasn't a normal adoption. It was some kind of illegal auction to buy human children. Only to collect us, just like limited edition dolls or toys to have displayed in their giant home. Nothing but mere trophies to display for their world to see.