Deep Red Relief

Sensitive content; substance abuse, physical violence, gore.

"They'll call you in soon," said the receptionist. "You can have a seat wherever you'd like until then."

"Thanks," I mumbled. The waiting room was empty, except for one young woman who sat in the center. She was a brunette with clear skin and didn't look older than nineteen or twenty. I remembered when I was that beautiful. Before my eyelids got puffy and my hair began to shed.

I made my way to the seat in the corner, the least visible in the room. My eyelids were heavy. My head was floating. My muscles were weak. I threw my purse onto the ground and noticed the orange, unlabeled bottle sticking out. I covered it with some loose napkins and slid it under my chair.

The room was too quiet. No music, no TV. I leaned my head against the wall and prayed this wouldn't take long. I craved my sofa, some snacks, and The Kardashians.

The door opened with a creak. "Jamie Hartley," a soft, familiar voice called out. "Come on in."

Sydney was a tall blonde, and although I'd only met her a handful of times, I'd never seen her without red lipstick or high heels. She led me to a room with wooden walls, a wooden table, a wooden floor, and wooden chairs. My eyes hurt from the shit-brown color that defined the room. "It's good to see you again, Jamie," Sydney said, pulling out her notebook and pen. She wore glasses, which I thought was strange. I'd never seen her wear glasses before.

I never paid much attention during these appointments. I stared at the wall, infested with certificates and degrees labeled Syndey Elsbree. Flaunting her achievements like she was so high and mighty. I doubted she had the slightest clue about the reality of raising a child.

"How has Addie been doing?"

"She's great," I said, certain to add a grin to my response.

The room fell silent for a second, and Syndey looked at me like I was supposed to say something more. "She's been doing much better in school," I added. "Sophia's been telling me great things about her behavior. I'm very proud. And Sophia takes great care of her."

I could see that there was anger in Syndey's eyes. I guess my statement hadn't satisfied her. You can never satisfy a social worker. I'm not sure why I even bothered with the facade; I was never going to get her back anyway.

She pulled out a yellow file with Addie's name written on the label. Files were never a good sign in places like this. Files are novels of lies and exaggerations. They're nothing but stories, all fabricated to make me into the devil and the kids into demons.

"This is a copy of Addie's report card." Syndey used her two-inch pink nails to point to the bold letters written beside each subject. "A C, a D, and four F's. We are extremely concerned about her performance in school and her ability to socialize with peers."

"Addie has tons of friends," I argued. "And a C is an improvement. Last year, it was all D's and F's."

"Mhm." She paused for a second. "When was the last time you visited your daughter at her foster home?"

"It's been a few weeks."

"Sophia reported that you haven't stopped by for a visit in about two months."

"Yeah, a few weeks, a few months. Same difference."

She scribbled something down on her stupid little notepad, and took a deep breath before asking her next question. "If Addie is to be placed back in your custody, what do you intent to do to improve her academic performance?"

"If she doesn't want to do her work, that's her fault. She can always go back when she's older. I'm not going to beat my daughter for refusing to do homework," I said with a snicker.

"Well," Syndey smacked her lips and inhaled before writing something else down. "No one is asking you to beat her."

I ignored her statement. She clearly couldn't take a joke. "Can I ask what you're writing down?"

"No, ma'am, these are my notes." She continued before I could ask anything more. "Your daughter is in eighth grade and has only achieved a fourth-grade reading level. Is there anything you feel you could do to fix that?"

"In my defense, I never graduated high school," I said. "There's only so much I can do. We can't all be sophisticated social workers with a good education like some people." I threw her a side eye. "Addie's growing up. She wants to be on her phone all day. That's normal. I'm not going to force my kid to read."

"When would you say your daughter started losing interest in reading?"

"She was young. She hasn't picked up a book since third grade."

"Perhaps that's because she wasn't encouraged to," Syndey said, pushing up her glasses with her index finger. "You admitted to the court that your drug use began when Addie was eight years old, around the time she would've been entering third grade. Do you think there's any correlation?"

I felt my veins beginning to sizzle. "Are you saying it's my fault that my thirteen-year-old doesn't want to read a book?"

"I'm asking if you think her lack of motivation may be influenced by your substance abuse."

"She's thirteen! No thirteen-year-old kid wants to read a fucking book!"

"Jamie, there is no need to swear."

"Shut up, Sydney," I said. My hands made their way to my pockets. "You're trying to paint this picture like I'm a bad mom. Your whole fucking job is to make me look like a bad mom!"

"Jamie-"

"Shut up, Sydney! I am so tired of watching you guys judge me and write your little notes about me and make decisions about my life." My hands stayed in my pockets. "You have no idea what I'm capable of."

"Jamie, if you don't calm down, I'm going to have to call someone and have you removed."

There was cold metal on my hands. I slid them out of my pockets. Syndey's eyes widened when she saw the gun.

"Jamie, don't."

"What the fuck are you going to do? Take my kid? You have taken everything from me!" My face was soaked with tears. I tasted salt on my tongue as they crawled through my lips.

Sydney's hands were in the air. Her feet shuffled on the carpet as she tried to subtly make her way to the door and escape. But the pleading did not cease. "The judge won't be happy about this. Please, put it down. This won't fix it."

"This will fix it!" My thumb was on the trigger.

"Jamie-"

Bang!

My eyes felt relief as the shit-brown color that defined the room was taken over by a deep red. The room was still just as silent, but now, the silence was beautiful. My senses frolicked with joy.

But it was all a dream.

"She's not waking up!"

"Are you sure she's alive?"

"She's breathing, but it's shallow."

The voices faded in slowly, but the sound of the slap and the stinging on my face hit all at once. My eyes were met with the sight of a beautiful brunette leaning over me, no older than nineteen or twenty. The receptionist sat at her desk, holding the phone to her ear. "She's awake now. I think she's okay."

I put my hands in my pockets and felt warm cloth on my fingertips. No cold metal.

The door opened with a creak, and a soft, familiar voice called out, "Jamie Hartley, come on in."