AUTHORS NOTE: Wow! That's awkward. Well if you like that story that I accidentally put into this story, it's called A New Chapter! Sorry for the confusion guys!
He remembered everything. Every last bit of their conversation last night. Every painful memory, every embarrassing moment, he remembered.
They sat at the kitchen table in a pregnant silence. He drank his coffee, she drank tea.
"I think you should call in sick today," she finally said.
"I can't," he replied.
"Yes you can. You have to take care of yourself. The kids will be there tomorrow. You need a—"
"Mary Margaret, I need to go in," he cut her off.
"Davi—"
"I NEED TO GO IN MARY MARGARET!" He shouted, slamming his mug down on the table. It shattered into pieces.
"FUCK!" He screamed, standing abruptly, and knocking his chair back in the process. He went to clean up the scalding coffee, but his wife was already there. Her head was turned away from him.
"Mary Margaret I got it," he whispered. She sniffled.
"No, it's fine," she replied shakily.
"Honey—" he started. She turned to face him, her eyes red, tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Don't you dare honey me," she growled in a low voice, her teeth gritted together. "You're sick David. How the hell are you going to help those kids if you can't even help yourself huh? How do you think you not sleeping or eating and drinking yourself to sleep every night will help Emma?" David gaped at her. Her words sunk in, and he sat, despite the fact that there was no chair. She took a deep breath, because it was obvious that her words had the desired effect.
"I'm leaving, and you are taking the God damned day off. I'll tell the principal. And then she was gone.
Mary Margaret was right. He knew she was right. She was always right. But he had no idea what to do with himself. So he sat there on the kitchen floor, with his head in his hands. It was a position his body had become accustomed to in the last few days. So he sat there, and he thought about what he would do. This one girl, this one teenage girl with blonde hair and the sad green eyes and cigarette burns on her shoulders, and scars on her wrists, angry looking scars, and bruises on her legs and hands, she walked into his office and sent the precarious life that David Nolan had built in this town, tumbling down around her—him—them. She made quite an entrance into his life, and he'd be damned if he was just gonna sit around and let her leave it in a way similar to the boys that came before her. So David got up off the floor, and he cleaned up the kitchen, and he showered.
David left the house around mid-morning, on a mission to put his life together again. For his sake, for Mary Margaret's sake, and for Emma's.
Emma Swan didn't cry. It just wasn't a luxury she could afford. She'd been in the system for as long as she could remember, and she knew she couldn't only appear to be tough as nails, she had to be tough as nails. Walking out of that man's office though—Mr. Nolan was his name—she felt tears prick the back of her eyes. No one had looked at her like that, like they cared in a long time. And it almost made tough as nails Emma Swan cry. Almost, but not quite, because Emma Swan couldn't afford to cry.
Walking out of that office was scary, because she wanted his help. She wanted to make that man in there, for some God forsaken reason, understand her. She wanted to tell him what made her so different than the other troubled kids he'd dealt with, she wanted to tell him her deepest darkest secrets. But that wasn't something Emma Swan did. It was a luxury she couldn't afford. So she didn't turn around and walk back into that office like every nerve in her body was screaming at her to do. She kept right on walking, down the hall, and she slipped the security guard a fiver on her way out the door.
She didn't go back to the foster parents until she was sure school had let out. She timed it perfectly, coming in while the woman was in the kitchen, and the man was lounging on the couch, knocking back his third or fourth beer. She went straight up stairs, tidied her already immaculate looking room, sat down at the desk, and did her homework. She went to bed early, only to be dragged out of it by her hair, hours later, because the garbage hadn't been taken out (she'd taken it to the curb on her way to school that morning) and the floor hadn't been mopped (she'd mopped it until she could see her reflection the night before), and the dogs hadn't been fed (they were vicious things, trained to attack the slightest movement. She tossed two hunks of meat into their crates every morning and evening, before she did anything else). The beatings hurt, but not as much as the burns (You already have a nice collection going girl, let's see if we can add to it!), and neither of the two hurt as much as the words did (dumb blonde bitch, worthless, no wonder her parents didn't want her). When it was over, she pulled herself to her feet, and went back upstairs. This time though, she packed her meager collection of belongings in her back pack. When she left the house for school the next day, she left for good.
It was lunch time when she got a chance to go see Mr. Nolan. She walked to his office cautiously. She was nervous. It was an odd sensation. Tough as nails Emma Swan, nervous as hell to go talk to a counselor. It was almost comical when she thought about it. When she reached the door way to his office, she stopped dead in her tracks. Sitting behind the desk wasn't uptight, steely blue eyes, and perfectly straight tie Mr. Nolan. No, it was a rather petite lady with dark pixie cut hair, and green eyes that almost matched her own. The woman looked at the girl in surprise, and opened her mouth to say something, but Emma cut her off.
"Tell him I'm leaving. And tell him not to look for me. Cus' he won't find me. And you know what—tell him—tell him thanks for me," she said hurriedly. Of fucking course he's not there when I need him.
"Emma wait!" the dark haired woman shouted. Of course he left. Everyone always leaves.
"Emma!" the woman called again! But she was already walking down the hallway. She kept going, ignoring the woman's yells. She handed the security guard a fiver on her way out the door.