by Bethany-Kris
“I just ... want to be here,” Penny murmured.
“Here as in alive or with them?”
“With them.”
Naz.
And Roz.
Their soon-to-be born baby boy. The family that welcomed her. All of them.
Luca, too. Even if the strange connection she felt to him was just something she had made up in her own mind.
“And alive,” Penny added quieter.
Tangler smiled again. “Each person in your life—at the moment—has given you a reason to want to be here. Eventually, that teaches you to find reasons why you want to be here as well. Beyond them—it’s about you and your needs.”
“That’s scary, actually.”
“Why because you need someone else?”
“Maybe.”
But also, because she couldn’t remember a time when she hadn’t been suicidal; or when those dark thoughts chased her day and night. She hadn’t cut in months. She hadn’t had an active suicide plan since her last attempt in Europe. Were things perfect? No, but ... Penny had come to learn life wasn’t about creating perfection. It was about finding the perfect moments amongst everything else.
“Are you happy?” her therapist asked. “Is that what you’re trying to figure out?”
Was she?
Penny blinked, replying, “I’m not ... depressed. I don’t want to die.”
“But are you happy?”
“I’m not sure I know what being happy looks like.”
Honesty was the best policy, right?
“Despite how it might look from your perspective like it’s something you can’t obtain,” her therapist said, “happiness is something most people fall into naturally. In your case, it’s yet another thing for you to learn, Penny. As long as you’re willing to keep trying—and clearly you are—then it’ll all fall into place. You simply have to give it time to do so.”
Well ...
She would certainly keep it in mind.
At this point, what did she have to lose?
Another thought smacked Penny like a slap to the face. A lot, actually.
Now more than ever, Penny had a lot to lose. Maybe that’s what scared her more than anything else ever had.
As the second hand ticked down the final minute of their session, Penny stood from the chair she always used while she was there, ready to leave. Dr. Tangler offered her another smile, but this one felt ... different.
“And for the record,” the therapist told her as she shrugged on her coat, “despite the impression you might have left here with after our last discussion, I am going to recommend that you stay in the care of your current guardians. It’s where you have been—and will do—your best. Anyone who can’t see as much is a fool and isn’t looking hard enough.”
Good.
One more thing to get through, then.
That’s all that mattered to Penny.
13.
Penny
LEADING up to the meeting at the school with the principal and Penny’s caseworker—who decided when they walked into the office that everyone should call her Amanda—Roz continued to tell her not to worry about anything. Naz wasn’t any different. Despite how they tried to calm her fears, she still headed into that meeting feeling like the whole world was about to crash down around her.
She sat between Naz and Roz on a chair that didn’t look—or feel—nearly as comfortable as the ones provided to her guardians for the meeting. The principal observed them from her seat behind the desk. All the while, the caseworker flipped through her file, seemingly fine with being silent while the principal laid out every single issue that had been noted about Penny since the last time she was there.
Yeah, it was still a whole list.
Penny could apologize ...
It was probably the right time.
But she didn’t.
“However,” the principal said, making Penny look up from her hands to meet the woman’s gaze from across the desk, “we’re also aware that this latest problem was not entirely ... Penny’s fault.”
“She shouldn’t have hit him, though,” Roz said to her left. “Right, Penny?”
“Well—”
“Penny,” Naz murmured.
“I could have handled it better,” she settled on saying.
After she hit him.
He did deserve that.
“And I apologize for Caleb’s insensitive words that I’m sure hurt and did nothing to help you with moving beyond the things you’re currently dealing with, Penny,” Mrs. Tippens added. “Taking all of that into account, and everything else, we’ve decided that a two-week suspension is most appropriate—”
“Two weeks—”
“And,” the principal said, arching a brow to silence Roz, “while it’s what we would do to any student for the same behavior Penny has shown, this is also to her benefit. It will give her more time at home with people who clearly care about her and have been making progress with her where it counts. I do notice those things despite what you two might think. During her two-week suspension, she is expected to do daily online classes. It’ll allow her to still graduate on time. When the suspension is up, she can continue classes online and report to the school twice a week for two hours of in-class work.”
Hey.
Penny didn’t mind that at all. She would have done that from the beginning had someone given her the option. For the most part, they kept pushing her to be at school more than outside of it. Like being around people and other students her age would ... help.
It hadn’t.
“As long as she passes her classes and finals,” the principal continued, “then she will be allowed to walk in the graduation ceremony with her class. Or we can mail her diploma, but I will leave that decision up to her, and you. That’s all I have to say except, Penny ...”
“Yeah?”
Mrs. Tippens smiled softly. “I am trying to give you the legroom you need to move and make this work. Please, make it work.”
Fair enough.
“I will.”
“Good. I’ll allow you four to finish this meeting without me as I have other things to attend. Miss Carine, you can take my seat if you would like, or stand. That’s up to you.”
The principal gathered the items she wanted from her desk, and then left the room without a glance over her shoulder at the people she left behind. The caseworker, Amanda Carine, didn’t take the seat behind the desk that had been offered to her. Instead, she rounded the front of the desk and leaned her backside against the edge as she opened a folder and pretended like she was actually reading the contents inside.
Penny knew it was for show. Especially when the woman started listing things without even looking down at the papers inside the folder.
“Lack of willingness to participate in school, or therapy, even if she does regularly attend both. Fights at school. Issues with teachers, students, and anyone within breathing distance. Now, a suspension can be added to the list of issues that have cropped up since Penny moved into your home as well, Mr. Donati and Miss Puzza. Also.” The caseworker glanced Roz’s way specifically, her gaze narrowing when she said, “I see the two of you still aren’t married. I thought that was happening sooner rather than lat—”
“We’re not here to discuss our marriage plans,” Naz spoke up. “But by all means, continue with the other bullshit. We will listen to that at least.”
“Excuse me?”
Roz sighed, looking like she was over the entire day. Being heavily pregnant, anybody could understand why. “Penny has also managed to maintain a decent grade average despite the trouble she’s found at school—and not all of that trouble was her own fault, either. She does attend therapy, and even her therapist says she’s made progress during sessions as far as opening up is concerned. We’ve not had a single incident at our home that needed attention. No violence, no self-harm ... nothing. She even plays the piano again, of course, when she wants to. But I think it’s important to note that Penny hadn�
��t even touched piano keys for almost two years before she came into our care. Not without being forced to, anyway.”
“And what does any of that have to do with this?” the caseworker asked, tipping the file in their direction like the lists she had inside of there should mean shit.
“Well,” Roz replied, “I think it’s only fair that if you’re going to name every bad thing that’s happened, it’s equally important for you to list the positive, too. Weigh the good against the bad, so to speak. Because really, the only issue that’s caused us real problems with Penny since she’s come into our care is you.”
“What—”
“You,” Naz repeated for Roz, although stronger that time. “Penny has no issue with causing a scene when she’s unhappy in a situation. As your file probably shows. And the only thing that’s truly upset her progress with us in these past couple of months is your incessant need to step in and suggest we weren’t capable of taking care of her. That upset her, in turn, causing us problems that we had to fix.”
“You have to understand,” the caseworker tried to say, “that I only see what is shown to me. I’m also looking out for the best interests of the two of you as well. You’re both young, you have a baby on the way, and Penny is ...”
The woman glanced her way. She did smile, but it didn’t feel entirely true. Like most people, this woman looked at her and saw a mountain of problems that she didn’t know how to begin fixing let alone help. Naz and Roz weren’t the same. They didn’t try to fix shit for Penny. They let her do it on her own and when she needed them, they were there.
That’s why she wanted them.
And to stay with them.
“Is she appropriate for your current circumstances—that’s all I want you two to consider at this time,” Amanda said, closing the folder.
“Do we ignore that literally everyone except you has said she’s better with us than without?” Naz asked. “Her therapist. The school. Even her physician that has only seen her three times, and one of those were for a check-up. We just, what, pretend like their recommendations don’t exist?”
The caseworker exhaled heavily. “Yes, everything seems to fall right into place for any Donati in this city, doesn’t it?”
For the first time during the entire meeting—because Penny promised Naz and Roz she would stay quiet and let them handle this entire thing—she spoke out of turn, but only to tell the caseworker, “I want to stay where I am. I want to stay with Naz and Roz.”
“Considering the circumstances, I don’t think they’re the right place for you to be, Penny.”
And?
“Well, I do,” Penny replied sharper than she intended.
“I believe you would be better placed where you could receive more specialized care,” Amanda said, shrugging like she didn’t care to hear a thing Penny had to say about it. “And that’s really what it boils down to.”
Oh, really?
Penny had tried hard since coming to live with Naz and Roz to keep her more spiteful and cruel tendencies under control. But before them, her mean streak had been infamous with anyone who knew her well enough to stay far the fuck away. Did she get stuck with a roommate she didn’t want at one of her private schools? Fine—she made it impossible for the girl to even breathe the same air. A boy spreading rumors or making jokes with his dumbass friends? All right—let the games begin.
She could ruin a life.
She had.
Penny was also just mean when she wanted to be—for no other reason than she could be. People made it too easy and when she didn’t like them to begin with, she felt little to no guilt about doing what she had to do.
Except she tried with Naz and Roz. Hard. After all, they only wanted to help her and so, she really couldn’t justify being more trouble in their life than she already was. Yet, for the first time in more months than she cared to count, Penny felt that all too familiar pull of her vindictive side coming out to play as she stood from the chair. Every gaze in the room turned on her, including her guardians, but she only stared at the caseworker standing in front of the principal’s desk.
“Do you know what used to happen when someone tried to put me in places with more specialized care?” Penny asked, twisting the words with enough venom that she hoped the woman knew she wasn’t fucking around. “First it was my parents—they tossed me into whatever private school they could just to hide me away. But no worries, I always made my way back one way or another. One problem at a time. But then it was the schools ... I needed more structure, they said. I needed a stricter environment. Whatever. I started cutting deeper until I was doing real damage, and they didn’t have a choice but to move me again.”
Penny laughed, the sound tired to even her own ears. “See, then they all just gave up. Institutions and mental health wards were the only things left, and even that shit didn’t take. So, let’s make sure we all understand where each of us stands here, Miss Carine—or do you want me to call you Amanda? Never mind, don’t answer. I honestly don’t give a fuck. I like where I am. I don’t cut, I’m finally safe, and for once, I’m happy. As long as you understand that if you remove me from Naz and Roz’s home things are going to get a lot harder for you where I’m concerned, that’s all that really matters.”
The caseworker’s jaw dropped.
Penny smiled back. “Everything clear?”
She didn’t actually wait for a response.
“Great,” Penny said, snatching her coat from the back of the chair. “I’ll be waiting outside.”
She turned to slide between the chairs and head out of the office.
“Penny,” Roz started to say.
On the other side, where Naz had been seated, he quietly said, “Just let her go, babe.”
Penny didn’t stop long enough to say thanks. She didn’t want to leave just because she showed her mean streak. No, she simply wanted distance between herself and the caseworker because she truly couldn’t stand the sight of the woman at the moment. It had been a long couple of months since Amanda started suggesting Penny be removed from the home, and she finally hit her limit.
At least she knew it.
Wasn’t removing herself from the equation—even if she did throw a tiny fit first—some growth? Penny thought so. But who knew?
She didn’t bother to stop and talk to the principal waiting outside the office with her assistant, instead opting to slip past the women and leave the outer section of the reception as well. In the hallway, empty of students as classes were in, she found a bench and sat. Pulling the phone from her bag, she stuck EarPods into her ears and within seconds, music filtered through the small speakers straight to her brain.
Everything disappeared, then.
It was just Penny, and the piano.
She still didn’t play as much as she used to—or as much as she should, according to Roz. And when she did sit down to play, it was only because she wanted to now. The piano wouldn’t be a source of pain for her ... not if she had anything to say about it.
It was a few minutes later when a familiar presence joined her on the bench. She didn’t even need to glance up from her lap to know it was Naz just by the scent of his cologne. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched him fold his hands in his lap and lean forward a bit. At first, he said nothing, seemingly content to sit in silence beside Penny until Roz joined them.
Where was Roz, anyway?
Despite the music filtering through the ear pods, she still heard Naz clearly when he did finally speak. Only to say to her, “You know throwing threats doesn’t actually help us here. You don’t need me to tell you that, Penny.”
She shrugged.
What did he want her to say?
“Even if it is only you trying to get your way,” he added, chuckling like he found the whole thing amusing.
She dared to glance his way.
Naz grinned. “You don’t need to attempt to blackmail the caseworker—emotional blackmail never works very well, anyway, unless it’s someone that r
eally gives a fuck about you. It wasn’t needed. The blackmail, I mean. I already had that side of things handled. I went the bribery route, of course.”
Penny opened her mouth to respond. He arched a brow to keep her questions silent.
“She put on a good show, though, didn’t she?” he asked.
“I hate her.”
“Yeah, us too.” Then, Naz stood from the bench, adding, “You’re not going anywhere. I promised, remember?”
“I remember.”
“Good. I always keep those.”
Penny still wondered ... “Does this mean everything goes back to normal now? Is this over?”
Naz smirked, saying, “Well, normal for us, anyway.”
Yeah, but she liked their normal.
Didn’t that count for something?
INTERLUDE: 2.
Present Day ...
“THEN why did you leave?” Cross tipped his chin higher, that sharp gaze of his looking Penny up and down without pause. Considering, she knew. Considering her. Waiting to find her lie. Like maybe he could sense it before it even passed her lips. Could he? “I’m little, even though I don’t like it, but they know I’m not little, too, in some ways. So they’re careful when they talk. But they still do or I still hear it. You were with my parents for more than a year. You said you loved me—they loved you, I know. And then you left. Why?”
If only Penny dared to close her eyes, she imagined that she could pretend this was a conversation between two adults. Certainly not one between a grown woman and a five-year-old boy. It was a strange thing to hear wisdom in the voice of a child. She had to wonder if that was how people felt talking to her as a child that had seen and knew things that were far beyond her comprehension.
“That’s not an easy answer,” Penny replied in a whisper.
“The truth is always easy,” Cross replied, folding his leather-clad arms over his small chest. There was something to be said about being stared down by a child. Especially when it felt like that child was also judging you. “Because people lie—all the time. Everyone does it. But they always have to think about it, make sure it sounds right ... it’s a choice to lie. Like Uncle Luca says, shit’s a process.”
