I push the many inappropriate responses to that question out of my head and sit down at my desk, studying her.
“Is everything alright at home?” I ask her.
Immediately, her shoulders draw in, and she glares down at her nails.
“Why would you ask me that?”
“After I dropped you off yesterday…something just didn’t feel right. I’m concerned about you,” I finish. I can’t tell her the whole truth, that I went back past her place hours later, without looking like a real creep.
“I don't want to talk about it,” she says sharply, her flashing eyes warning me from prying further.
I sigh. “If I suspect that you're in trouble, it's my obligation to call child protection.”
“I'm not a child,” she replies stiffly. “I'm eighteen.”
She’s right. She is an adult. Which means there isn’t much I can really do.
“Fine,” I relent, shaking my head. “But there's help available if you're struggling.”
“I don't need your help,” she insists, and pushes herself to her feet.
“Okay,” I say, and hold my hand up to stop her from storming out. “Just. Here.” I reach into the top drawer of my desk and pull out a small piece of paper, then I scrawl my number on it and hand it to her. Giving my personal number to a student feels all kinds of wrong, but I need to make sure she’s safe. “Here's my number. If you're struggling, or need help, you call me, okay?”
She looks down at the note in my hand, and then up at me, biting her lower lip.
“Fine,” she mutters, taking the card, before turning on her heel and leaving the classroom.
After she’s gone, I head down to the school office, concern lapping at me. At least, that’s what I’m going to blame this inappropriate interest in my student on. I am genuinely concerned for her safety, but that’s only a piece of this puzzle.
A bored-eyed assistant offers me Chloe’s file, and I open the folder and flip through the loose sheets. There’s not much inside. She’s an orphan. That checks out with what she’s told me—that she moved down from Sydney and she’s staying with an aunt. The minimum has been filled out for her to attend school here, and there’s nothing that I can really use to learn beyond what I already know. The address on file is the same shill address she gave me to drop her off at. Is that where she really lives? If yes, why was she in that abandoned house?
As my mind struggles to fit all the pieces together to form a complete picture of Chloe’s life, I find myself facing more questions than answers. There’s something about this girl that I can’t figure out and it’s getting to me.
She’s an enigma that I desperately want to solve.
* * *
It’s latewhen I finally leave for the day, and I realize there’s no reason to go home. Kelsie will be asleep, and I don’t want to see Marissa, if only to avoid another argument. I know my wife well enough to be sure she’ll goad me into a fight every chance she gets, then use what I say against me in court if it comes to that.
Hell, knowing her, she’ll make me out to be some kind of abuser if I dare lash out at her for treating me like shit. Because she’s the only one allowed to yell, curse, and abuse. God, if I treated her even half as bad as she treats me, I have no doubt she’d call the damn cops on me.
I don’t even realize I’m cruising past the address Chloe gave me until I’m in her street, staring at the house. There’s not a single light on inside, no signs of life at all. Parking my car up the road a bit, I get out and hike back to the old, abandoned house I saw her in.
A peek in a window down the side of the house shows me graffiti and a dirty place that’s clearly been abandoned for quite some time. There’s not even anything that leads me to believe Chloe is still staying here.
Did my prying make things worse for her? Am I the reason she left?
How the hell can I fix this situation and help her when she doesn’t even want my help?
Fuck.
I need to figure out a way to help this girl.
CHAPTER4
SAM
When I finally arrive home, a note greets me on the table from my wife, telling me she and Kelsie are spending the night at her sister’s. Her words are as cold and impersonal as the look I’ve come accustomed to seeing in her eyes whenever she speaks to me.