Salted Caramel Coffee (COMPLETED!)

Chapter Twenty Two} F¡ręfł¡ę$

I smile sweetly, my arms tightening around my chest. Very hard. "Emma Jane Wolfe."

She scribbles something down on her sheet of paper, her fingers moving so fast they're nothing but a blur. "Occupation?"

This is my shot. This is my chance to flip everything around. If the police don't know I'm a writer, then I don't have to be one, right? "Don't have one." I lie.

Jansen cocks an eyebrow, her pencil frozen over the page. She looks just about done with my bullshit. "You what?"

I shuffle up, stretching my back. It hurts from slouching so much. My heart begins to race faster and faster with every second that passes with Jansen sitting with her hedgehog ass looking eyebrow cocked like she's got a fish hook caught in it. "I said I don't have one. Are we done here?"

Jansen glares at me for one more second before the light completely goes out of her eyes. She slams her pencil on the table so hard, the table rattles. Her jaw clenches, showing all the sharp muscles in her face. "Listen to me, Wolfe. You either tell the truth, or we throw you in the Graveyard like you're the one sitting in here covered in blood. I'm not here for you. I'm not here to throw you in prison, I'm here to help you. Grace is the one who's in trouble, not you." She shouts desperately. "Now, I've had a very long day, so I'm gonna need you to tell me that you're a writer so I can put it down on this goddamn piece of paper!"

A lump rises in my throat, and suddenly I can't breathe well. How does she know all of this? Jansen wasn't outside- how does she know about Blaze? How does she know about the blood? How does she know her name was Grace? How does she know I'm a writer?

I want to panic, but my lips won't let it happen. They just press together, begging me not to make this too hard for myself. My heart tells me to just answer the questions, but my head tells me to stall- to make the person who's making me miserable even more miserable than I am.

But Jansen isn't the one making me miserable, is she?

"You gotta write to be a writer," I mumble, swallowing hard. My voice shakes, but I don't allow my words to become sobs.

Jansen opens her mouth, then closes it. I wish she'd just spit it out already. It feels as if the space around me is shrinking, closing in on me, crushing me from the outside in. I want out. Now. "Are you, Emma Wolfe, telling me that you do not do your given and required job as a girl over the age of fourteen?"

I click my tongue, looking away from her. "A piece of paper doesn't tell me what to do with my life, I do."

Jansen nods, a snort sounding through her side of the room. She sets her pencil down, leaning toward me with a smirk. "Do you realize what happens to girls like you who won't work?"

"Well I suppose the only correct answer to this would be that they all die in the end," I say, leaning to mirror her, "oh wait, that's the joke answer."

Jansen picks up the pencil again, twirling it between her fingers idly. She flips it in a figure eight around her thumb and middle finger with perfect skill, not even looking down at her hand. "This isn't a joke, Wolfe." She flips the pencil one more time before jamming it through her bun. "You could get up to seven years at The Graveyard for this. Three at least."

"Unless..."

"Unless nothing." She raises her eyebrows. "You're going to The Graveyard."

My stomach drops like I'm zooming down the tallest roller I've ever been on. The Graveyard? No! I don't belong there. I'd die by the end of the first day, period. "Bullshit." I choke out, trying my best to keep up the wall of stone I've build in front of myself.

     "What do you mean, bullshit?" Jansen asks, a little taken aback. Yeah, okay- you've never seen a teenager who swears before. That's not my problem.

     I stand up, my face so close to the glass that I can see my breath begin to cling to it in front of my eyes. "Alright, Señora Mol Wol J. Jansen, we both know you won't send me straight to The Graveyard without any warning. The government isn't that fucked yet. You tell me what I can do right now before I zip my damn lips for the rest of the session, got it?"

     Even the glass dividing us can't stop me from being an asshole.

     Jansen sits stone still, not so much as blinking. Hell, I don't even think she breathes. No signs that she's listening to me are shown for a solid thirty seconds of pure tension that you could cut with a knife. Silence screams in my ears, her face twisting and making me trip harder the longer I have my gaze locked on hers. Finally, she lets out a huge breath, standing up to stand on the other side of the glass, face to face with me. If there wasn't glass, I'd be able to move my hand out like an inch and touch her.

     "If you don't want to end up in The Graveyard, you are going to have to write."

<><><>

panic
the moment you can feel
that sinking in your chest
panic
when you're stuck in a bubble
separated from the rest
panic
is unavoidable
is horrible
inescapable

unless it's not

<><><>

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     AHHH SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG TO POST THIS CHAPTER!!!!! Anyway it's not a lot of action but I worked super hard on it so I'm praying you like it💗 What did you think??? What are your predictions, thoughts and/or suggestions? I love hearing from you guys so much! Muah!

     -Shayna