Chapter 226: Answers
*I’m here to help you and your family, Ryanne. If there’s anything I could do for you or you need, you can reach me at this number. – Endless line of social workers*
RYE’S THOUGHTS
Questions are dangerous.
How many times had Rye heard that? A few hundred times every year. Several thousand all together. It was drilled into her from the very beginning.
When she was little, she would ask about mom and her bad days. Don’t ask questions, baby sister, it only makes it worse. She would ask how long daddy would be gone, only to be told not to ask mom. It would make her cry and then she would have a bad day.
She made the mistake of asking why they had to leave Japan. Then her mom went ballistic on her, and Leigh Anne told her that the world did not revolve around her.
Rye learned not to ask questions.
Being asked questions can be even more dangerous.
Where’s your dad? Why is your mom like that? Why did your sister go away? Why do you look like a skunk?
Most questions, she did not have an answer for. Some she ignored. Others still stung.
But the most dangerous part about questions, were the answers.
He died.
She’s sick.
Grief.
Genetics.
Those were the easy answers.
It was the ones that the social workers asked. The ones that the observant teacher asked. Or ones asked by an unsuspecting classmate. Those were the extremely dangerous questions.
Didn’t you wear that shirt just the other day? It’s my favorite is better than I only have four.
I need to speak with your mother, can you have her call me? She works nights is a polite way of saying my mother is a whore.
Would you like a second helping? Yes, please. Don’t mention that you might not eat again until the next school day.
Your mother looks very skinny. Is she okay? She’s been sick. Don’t tell them that the disease is addiction.
You look tired. Is there anything you want to talk about? The neighbors at our apartment were really loud last night. The neighbors were on the other side of the closet door. They were also my mom and her clients.
The social workers all looked the same. Nondescript. Unintimidating. Over worked. Under paid. Stressed. Fake smile. Eyes that said that they really wanted to help when they started out. Beaten down because the system worked against them.
They all asked the same questions. Gave the same smile and answers. Then moved on to the next case.
They all asked if Rye felt safe at home. They never asked if she felt safe because her older sister offered herself up to the perverts that were in her life.
They asked if she had food to eat. They never asked if it was paid for by her mother and sister selling their bodies.
They asked if her mom’s boyfriend was nice. They never asked if he was her pimp.
They asked what brought the family to insert name of current town here. They never asked if her mother was running from a pimp.
Whether it was because they already knew the truth or because they knew that they really couldn’t do anything to change it, they asked the standard questions. And wanted nothing more than the standard answers.
Once in eleventh grade, she tried to ask for help through a paper she wrote for class. Her teacher sent her and the paper down to the counselor. The social worker there at the high school met her just outside the office.
“Rye-Anne? I’m Melinda Hargrove. How are you doing today?”
The young enthusiastic brunette was still naive enough to believe she could make a difference. The instant they walked into the office, any hope that Rye had died.
Sitting at the desk was the bald man who had gotten high while Leigh Anne gave him a blow job. She could still hear his voice as he told JC, Donna Leigh’s boyfriend and pimp at the time, watching high school girls all day made him horny.
“There’s a few sluts up there that I can call to my office during the day. None can suck a cock quite like this one.”
Looking intently at Rye, the man held up the paper. “Rye-Anne, this is a very dark paper. Are you trying to tell someone something? Maybe ask for help?”
He was saying everything *just* right. And his eyes warned that she needed to do the same thing.
“We’re reading Poe in English. I guess it influenced me more than I realized.”
“If there’s anything that you want to talk about, you can come see me.” The bald man smiled, and Rye wondered if the woman could see what she was seeing.
Rye knew exactly why he wanted her to come see him. The same reason that the football team watched her so closely. They knew what her sister did. They believed that she would be the same way.
When she continued to turn them down, they began telling lies about her. Whatever it was that they had done with Leigh Anne became what they did with Rye-Anne. Even the teachers heard the stories. It became so prevalent that she couldn’t wait for this relationship to implode.
It was so bad that when the male social worker said that he could take her away from everything, his look and actions told her she would be going into a worse situation.
She feared the social workers. She despised them. Didn’t they know that she and Leigh Anne promised to take care of each other? To take care of their mom? To keep each other safe?
How was she going to do that if she was taken away? Who would sober them up? Who would cook and clean? Who would lie with her in the closet floor and tell her that she would be safe?
She knew the answers to give. She knew what to say. Donna Leigh made sure that she did. They knew how to put on a good front. They all knew how to smile when they wanted to cry.
