What the Hart Wants

Mrs. Buckley was a short woman with vibrant red hair held tight in a pony-tail. Her eyes were a warm kind honey, that emanated warmth and compassion.
Her equally red lips seemed to suppress a smirk as she leaned next to a restroom. I didn’t know I was heading for. “I thought you wouldn’t be fully up to a meeting with me,” she said simply before taking in my appearance.
The smirk disappeared in a second, immediately replaced by a frown that radiated empathy. “What happened?” she asked.
Quickly I shielded my neck, sneaking a glance at it during passing period proved to show some bruises. “Nothing,” I answered a bit too quickly. “I’ve just had a real trying morning.”
“Hmm,” she mused, “Well follow me please, I’m sure if you need to use a bathroom the one in the office will suffice.” She didn’t wait for me to agree, but reached a tender hand onto my shoulder and led me.
“Now,” she stated as she sat me in a overly comfy arm chair closing her door, “I understand that you don’t know me, so why trust me, but I must tell you that I run things a tad differently than the school board would approve of.
First I do not tell unless it goes against ethical codes, i.e. you are going to kill someone or yourself. Secondly I don’t judge, nothing you say you have done will offend me or frighten me. And lastly I’m not afraid to lose this cushy job for the sake of a student. That means that if it comes out that something you have done-as long as you haven’t killed someone or yourself, and I didn’t tell I don’t care if they sack me.” She leaned back in her chair, “Okay?”
I gave a nod, and she pushed some tissues my way. “Now because I only got this job because of my sons and my brother-in-law, and you are my brother-in-law’s favorite student, I’d really like to know what’s going on,” she looked at me expectantly.
It was now my turn to muse of what she had said. Was she telling the truth? Was it worth the immense trouble I’d be bound to get in. “So no matter what you won’t tell anyone?” I asked hopefully. Maybe I could start slow, tell someone and see how to make a way through the bullshit mess Selsi dumped me in.
“Actually no,” she said finally. After testing my reaction- pure deflation and a death glare, she continued. “I am going to inform the police about those bruises on your neck, as well as the swollen lip.”
Quickly I covered them. “How do you know it’s not a hickey?” I asked. That be believable right, swollen lip and hickeys.
“Sweetheart-” she gave a slight chuckle “Hart,” she joked. After taking my silence she took a breath and became serious again, “Because hickeys, no matter how many don’t tend to appear as hands.”
My chest began to tighten as I thought back to the morning. Chills traveled up my spin.
“So Miss Hart, make it easy on me, and ease Mr. Buckley’s tension and tell me what’s going on.”
I opened my mouth and closed it several times over.
“Hey Mom,” a voice interrupted saving me, thankfully. A boy burst through the room, and without taking notice to me at all, “Dean wants to pick me up and I was wondering if you could donate to the ‘Your sons want food fund’?”
She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Jeff, I’m in a meeting,” she said slightly gesturing to me.
The boy turned toward me, his face a bit fuller than the profile view gave off. He had dark hair and his mothers warm eyes, but seemed slightly shocked at my being there. “Oh, shit, sorry Mom,” he said before closing the door.
“I’m sorry--
“But can you give me a few bucks, please?”
“Jeffery Alan Buckley! Get your arse out of this office immediately!”
“Geeze sorry, I thought since I already--
“OUT!” she yelled, clearly frustrated. He gave me a wink before closing the door and taking a seat at one of the chairs across the door. She gave a heavy sigh, “I’m sorry, that’s my youngest, do you know him?”
“Um, no, I don’t think so,” I answered, relieved at a different conversation but at the same time awkward.
“He’s a good boy, and is in need of friends, but scares all of them away with his mouth,” she answered in a slightly exhausted tone.
I gave a weird nod and tried not to offend the woman, but why was she telling me this.
“We just moved up here. My husband became ill and James had loaned us his guest house so we can be closer in case of emergencies or something, but my sons aren’t taking the move too well.
Jeff has a mouth that took years for others to get used too, and Dean’s too depressed to actually try and make friends,” she gave a heavy sigh. “Oh well, just goes to show you, no life is perfect.” I gave another awkward nod. “Hmm,” she mused again, this time taking a bit longer time in thought. “So please Lorelei, tell me about yourself.”
I tried to think of the truth. However everything began to play in my head. He’d hurt me, he’d maybe even kill me. Would I be able to get out of this mess alive?
She gave a heavy sigh at my silence. “I understand the fear that comes with what may be going on in your life, but only speaking out will fix it. It may take years, maybe even half a lifetime but you will be on the road to a happy life. A life you would be in control of Lorelei.”
My life what I hoped my life could be flashed before my eyes. Could I really be in control? A college student free to do as college students do?
“But I am only sixteen,” I whispered, afraid of the hope that would suffocate me.
She laughed. Loud and hard. She laughed for what seemed like hours, her eyes on the brim with tears and her face red as a tomato. “Sweetie, you will be under guardianship, however they will simply take care of you: clothe, feed, and make sure you are safe.”
“But, hypothetically, mind you; would my aunt and uncle be able to get me?”
“Hypothetically, absolutely not.”
Now for the hard question, the one that reached far deep into my core. I spoke through a tight throat, “What about their church?”
She gave it a thought, and as the seconds ticked by my heart began to race faster and more than I thought humanly possible.
“Well if you want to,” she then paused taking in my apprehension to it. “If you didn’t want to then no. Their church had could not get you.”
I took a deep sigh, realizing I had actually been holding my breath. The option of being free seemed to be forcing me to open my mouth.