Chapter 11: Magic Theory
I sat on the small wooden bench in the plain hallway. Instead of idly tapping away on the linoleum floors like they used to, my sneakers were still. I leaned onto elbows that braced on my thighs and let my head dangle to stare at the yellowed floor. Through the door behind me, I could hear muffled conversation. Bits and pieces, really, but enough that I could fill in the gaps.
"We don't know what to do,"
a female voice said.
"Hannah never leaves her room when she's home, and I'm pretty sure the other kids at school are picking on her but we don't know for sure. She even walked out of class yesterday when the teacher tried to wish her a happy birthday. Can you believe that? She grabbed her backpack and left."
A male voice, this time.
"I understand if she tenses up a little bit if I'm ever in the same room as her, but this goes so far beyond that. She isn't eating. She doesn't sleep. She doesn't go outside. Her grades are nonexistent now. The therapist, Mrs. Carmichael, says that Hannah will open up and allow herself to become vulnerable again in her own time, but it's impossible to tell when since Hannah hasn't spoken once. Not to the police, not to the doctors, not to Mrs. Carmichael, not to her teachers, not even to us. Nobody."
I idly touched my fingertips together. I hated it here. A little bit less than I hated everywhere else, but it still meant that there were expectations. I wanted to go back to the house. At least in my room, I could leave everyone else outside. There was a pause before a third voice, another male, spoke up.
"Mr. and Mrs. Vedojah, the thing to understand is that this is an extremely delicate situation that has no simple solution. I believe that all you can do at the moment is bide your time, try to ensure that Hannah feels like she's in a safe environment, and let her decide when she's ready to trust again."
"Mr. Baxton," the lady began, "it's been six months. Terrance is in prison, measures have been taken to ensure that Hannah didn't get pregnant, and we have given her every possible thing we could to make her feel safe. Nothing's working."
Mr. Baxton spoke again.
"Please, I understand your concern, but trauma can be especially difficult to deal with from a young age. Most victims of rape are over twenty. Hannah was thirteen, and her experience was a violent one. None of us can even begin to imagine what's going on in her head. All we can do is let her decide the pace she wants to walk at."
Silence. Eventually, the man's voice appeared again. "We're sorry, but we can't do this anymore. A week and a half after we adopt her, she gets abducted? The police and the courts have been breathing down our necks thinking that we had something to do with it. We're out over twenty thousand in legal fees alone. I've had to pick up a second job to pay off these debts, and then we get home to a kid that won't even look at us."
"Mr. and Mrs. Vedojah, please think about-"
"We
have
thought about it,"
the woman said.
"We've been thinking about it for six months. We know that it's awful to leave her after what happened, so we've been holding out for as long as we could, hoping that she'd get better, but she hasn't. We were prepared to build a home with the young orphan girl that was a little sad and quiet, but friendly. That first week was amazing. Now... Hannah isn't the girl we adopted anymore. We don't know how to care for her."
So
that's
what this was about. I sighed through my nose. They were doing fine- I just didn't want to deal with the people. Everywhere I went, people always looked at me like the victim. I could see it in their eyes- pity. I was the girl that got abducted, drugged, and raped. I was the one with the problem. I didn't want to deal with that. I just wanted all of this to be left behind but nobody would let it die.
The next words from Mr. Vedojah's mouth were clear even through the closed office door.
"Mr. Baxton, we're terribly sorry, but the two of us would like to revoke our adoption of Hannah Mayhew."
When sleep started to fade, nothing seemed quite right. The pillow I was cuddling didn't have the same texture. The sheets weren't the right fabric. The blanket was a bit more
puffy
than usual. Even myself was odd. I just felt... different. I groaned. If I was sick, that would make the Saturday inventory management a nightmare.
Maybe I could call Marcus? He was off today- I could ask him to do the inventory... Wait, no. He was attending his daughter's dance recital today. There was no way I was going to make him choose between work and family. I could still call him to let him know I'm sending little Emily the best of luck. Yeah, I'll do that and then double check to see if Brandon was available...
I cracked my eyes open and paused as my mind tried to wrap comprehension around what I was seeing. The sheets rustled as I quickly sat up and snapped my head from side to side. This wasn't my room. Instead of white drywall, it was beige wooden planks. Instead of a desk with a laptop and cluttered papers, it was a short, flat chest to hold belongings. Instead of a single light fixture in the center of the ceiling, there was a candlestick on the nightstand.
I scrambled back on the bed, pressing my back against the headrest while I tried to piece together what was going on. It looked like I was in some weird Dungeons and Dragons-themed hotel. The hair clinging to my face was different, too- much, much longer. Was I wearing a wig? Why did I feel shorter? Why was I naked? I never slept naked, especially not in a hotel! And what was painted on my stomach? Was that a tig-
It was like a switch had been flipped.
Samirah
. I was Samirah now. Yesterday was revealed in my mind like a fog lifting. Allyah. Port Lexin. The guild hall. Training. Bianca. The
Blushing Reply
. Vander.
I let out the breath that I didn't even realise I was holding. The concerns and worry that seemed ever-present in my chest were so thick that I could
feel
them evaporating away like grease under a pressure washer. I took several moments to gather my bearings.
Getting ready for the day was a simple endeavour. The inn room may have been medieval, but that didn't stop the existence of a shower with lovely, warm water. Despite having seen how resilient the paint was, I was still surprised that I could scrub the bar of soap over my stomach and see zero discolouration from the image. The only consolation that it wasn't permanent was the single vial of yellow liquid in my satchel that was said to be a 'thinning solution' capable of removing the paint.
I dried off, got dressed in the shirt that I soaked yesterday which was now dry, and peeked out the window. There wasn't a clock in the room, so my best assumption based on the rising sun was 'early'. The sky was still a gorgeous shade of violet-orange. Welp. Time for breakfast.
I opened the door to the hallway and was immediately greeted by a sight I did
not
expect to see.
"Bianca?"
She backed away suddenly, as was the nature of almost bumping into me as I stepped out of the room. Just as quickly, her eyes went wide. "Samirah?"
"You're staying here too?" I asked with a grin. Bianca nodded and seemed to regain her composure.
"Of course. It's inexpensive, right next to an all-day restaurant and quite close to the guild hall. It shouldn't be that surprising."
