Loving You Differently

Twenty Six

A/N: as if the photo above doesn't already tip you off: things get steamy towards the end of this chapter. you've been warned. but also, you're welcome.

Aria Adkins

The lightness that I felt after walking out of Angela Farrish's office doesn't last long, and it unfortunately shows.

With only T-2 days to spare until Savannah's eighteenth birthday, I find myself a nervous wreck, with what feels like a ball of anxiety permanently lodged in my throat.

I make the choice to take off of work from both RJ's as well as Vice. A part of me stews over how much money I'm potentially losing, my mind racing with mental calculations and the small fear that we might not get all the bills paid next month. But then another part of me throws that notion completely out of the fucking window. I realize that nothing matters to me more than doing absolutely everything in my power to ensure that Savannah isn't ripped from our household.

It doesn't fucking matter to me if Savannah is legally an adult in two days time. The thought of being in this house without her carefree and exuberant attitude to lighten the place up leaves me feeling hollow and empty. She's my flesh and blood, the only fucking DNA that I can stand to be around. I refuse to let her be even one night away from me with someone that isn't me. Someone that she doesn't know or trust.

During the day, while Savannah is at school, my only friend is at work, and my boyfriend is at his apartment sleeping in order to prepare for an all-nighter at Vice, I quickly realize that the silence that echoes off of the walls is deafening. So, in order to distract myself from the scattered thoughts that keep taking my mind to the "worst case scenario" zone, I take it upon myself to stress-clean.

I spend the entirety of Tuesday morning on my hands and knees in the kitchen/dining room area harshly swiping at cracked, dirt-stained linoleum. A mop bucket full of a diluted bleach and tap water mixture that stings my nostrils sits next to me, my hands are adorned by a pair of hideous yellow gloves, and I wipe furiously at the stained floor with a big foam sponge. I then proceed to mop the kitchen, organize the pantry and refrigerator, wipe down all of the baseboards that line the living room, and lysol the shit out of the furniture.

As the afternoon drags on exceptionally slowly, I text back and forth with Savannah, letting her know that Angela still hasn't called or stopped by. I do my best to brush off her concerns and urge her to go in for her shift at the grocery store after school. My number one concern throughout all of this has been making sure that Sav's normal routine hasn't been touched by the uncertainty that hangs over our heads.

I'm standing on a chair in the middle of the living room, my arms stretched up high with a duster in my hand, attempting to clean the ceiling fan when a loud, sharp knock rings out against the front door. My head swings in its direction, noting that the window beside it tells me the sky is significantly darker as nightfall approaches.

I pause for a moment, one hand in the air, my heart in my throat. I jump down from the chair and hastily wipe my dusty hands on my leggings. Straightening up, aware that I'm covered in sweat, dust, and grime, I tentatively walk towards the door, nervously tightening my ponytail as I inch forward. My skin feels flushed and my heart is racing.

I timidly open the door to reveal none other than Angela Farrish herself. My heart immediately sinks to my stomach.

"Aria," She smiles, sticking a hand out. "It's good to see you again."