Gold to Dirt

(Tuesday Morning, June 18th)

Ben lays on the couch in the brick living room, the large television lighting up the room in blue. He's been waiting for it: for the story to break, how he came forward about his parents not being in a healthy relationship and how they'd abused him. The moment it does they will find out, and the moment they find out they will take it out on him. He sits up. His mother would want to hear it from him first. She would want to be prepared to dismantle his father, but he can't. He can't let them know more than they need to, not about this. If they find out he's still not completely better, then his father will insist on becoming regent— take control of the crown until he can convince him he's better. His mother would send him to the doctor, and that would just open a whole other set of problems.

When the news anchor says they have a long-awaited interview from King Ben he turns up the volume. To give them credit, they don't take him out of context; however, they had no need to this time. The full video makes him look bad enough. He catches a word he'd said wrong, his mannerisms are all nervous, and further in his facial expression appears hostile. No one would be surprised that he'd actually thought about killing the reporter in that moment. The piercing look of his eyes, he could be a real predator, and it surprises him that the man hadn't acted like prey during a single second of this.

It makes it to the part where he starts to divulge that personal information on Mal, something which he's been sincerely regretting. It doesn't matter if he doesn't want to press charges. The fact is Mal is already on parole for sexual assault, and if they think she's committed another, then she will get in trouble whether he wants her to or not. It doesn't even matter that he's hurt her. Physical assault will be taken more seriously than psychological abuse, just because it's more clear-cut, and even if it weren't then they'd both be in trouble, not neither.

Ben's eyebrows furrow. The interview's ended, and now they're commenting on his thoughts about carnivores not needing a contract from a human to feed from them. That's the story they're playing. He'd given them gold, dirt that any journalist would figuratively kill for, and yet they didn't take it. Why didn't they take it? He doesn't have a clue, his mind a fog. All he knows is he's tired and he needs to rest.

Ben walks up the stairs of the living room pit, and when he opens the door he squints at the blinding light. Yes. It's definitely time to sleep. The light is telling him to; however, as he walks towards the stairs, he hears the voices. There's two men talking to his mother. Ben slowly steps down the stairs, until he can see the alcove sitting area between the two white staircases. The black-haired man's blue eyes notice him, and he smiles, "Looks like he's up now."

His mother turns in surprise, "Ben."

Ben eyes between the two police officers, before he notices their concealed guns. He hates guns. "What are you doing here?"

"Ben," his mother sighs. "Please, be polite.

Polite, whatever that means. Ben stays silent, and the brown-haired officer answers, "Someone contacted us about possible signs of abuse here. We're just checking in." He smiles at Ben's mother, "Do you mind if we speak to your son alone?"

His mother fails to immediately answer, and Ben suggests, "We can talk in the office." before stepping down the stairs.

His mother uneasily breathes, "Of course." before the officers stand from their seats.

Ben guides them into the office, the sunlight dimly passing through the heavy curtains, but one of the officers turns on the light anyway. "Turn that off, please," Ben warns, before he sits down at the desk, the officer turns the light off, and they sit across from him.

"It's a little hard to see your face," the black-haired one unsurely comments.

Ben switches on the desk lamp, "Is this better?"

"If we were reading those papers, maybe," the brown-eyed officer answers.

He furrows his brows, "Does the light not light the room for you?"

The blue eyed one on the right glances between the papers and him, "It's just a circle on the desk. It doesn't cover the room."

"Hmm," Ben hums in interest, before he bends the head of the light towards him. "Is that better? Or do you need more light?"

It takes a moment for the brown-haired one on the left to accept, "This is fine."

"So," Ben notices the bin of soda cans and slides it behind the desk. "What are you doing here again?"

"We know French, if you'd like," the man on the right informs.

Ben switches languages, "If you know French, then why didn't you speak it while talking with my mother?"

"We thought it would be beneficial for your parents not to know," he answers.

"And why's that?" Ben cautiously asks.

The man on the left speaks, "We don't mean you or your family any disrespect, my king, but you should know that we received the video to that interview you just did."

"You're here, because you think my parents have been abusing me," Ben understands, and when they fail to confirm he comments, "You have to believe me, I'm fine."

"Keeping a child from an education is abuse," the black-haired one concerns. "You admitted that much."

"But it's not like they kept me out of school," he asserts.

"So, they've never done anything else to you?" the officer questions. "The reporter was right. You do seem to get hurt a lot."

"It was an accident," Ben breathes.

"Which one?"

"All of them," he loudly whispers, and he gulps. "Okay? I just stepped on some glass from the coffee table once, and I didn't catch a ball when my father was helping me practice tourney that summer."

"That was your father?" the brown-haired man surprises.

"Look." Ben stresses, "You can't be here. This is his place. He won't like it."

"King Ben," the black-haired man slowly asks, "does your father hurt you?"

Ben feels the tears intrude his eyes, "He would never want to."

"I know you're used to political answers," he frowns, "but I'm going to need you to be honest with us." He pauses, and the tears fall to Ben's cheeks, "Does your father— does either of your parents— hurt you."

"You can't be here," he repeats in stress. "He's going to find out, he's going to know why, and then…"

"And then what?"

Ben painfully grins as he shakes his head, "I don't know."

"Maybe we should speak with him somewhere more secure?" the brown-eyed man suggests to the other officer, before he turns to Ben. "Could we set up a time and place, maybe?"

After a long minute of quiet, Ben blankly staring towards the door, the black-haired man inquires, "King Ben?"

He faces him, "I have nothing to say about my father nor my mother, and the next time you come here you'd better have a warrant." He eyes between the two, "You may leave now."