A/N: I've been on a writing frenzy lately! Now that my school play is over and we're getting a lot of snow days, I have the time on my hands. Besides, this story has been giving me a lot of inspiration lately. Which is why I feel like I must say, if you read some of my other stories and are wondering why I haven't been updating them recently, then here's your answer! I've just been so interested in this story lately that I've neglected my others. Rest assured, if you're a fan of 168 Hours, I plan to update that soon. :)

ALSO, I plan on maybe changing the summary to this story, so be aware of that. I don't want to change it and have anyone freak out because they can't find it on search or something.

With that all being said, please enjoy!

Dee's POV

"I'm sorry, ma'am, but we don't accept grocery store coupons here – and no, speaking with my manager will not fix that."

20 minutes of repeating the same thing over and over again and the short, plump woman at the counter still won't accept the fact that the café doesn't give out coupons, nor will we take grocery store coupons, much less for cream spinach soup that we don't even sell.

Welcome to the wonderful world of the food service industry, where the customer is always right even when they're not.

"This is ridiculous!" she squawks back at me, her chubby face turning beet red with rage. "I demand to see your manager!"

I keep the polite smile forcefully plastered on my face, ready to calmly tell her exactly where she can shove those damn coupons, when one of my coworkers strides up to the cash register and pulls me back slightly by my arm as a signal that it's his turn to take over for me. I sigh in relief.

In all honesty, I was probably a few seconds away from doing something that would cause me to lose my job.

"Time for you to go home, Collins," my coworker tells me with a sympathetic smile on his face. I run a hand through my knotted hair, giving him a tired smile in return that I'm not quite sure reaches my eyes.

"Thanks, Myers. See you tomorrow."

I lean in closer, just out of earshot of the pissed off costumer demanding our attention in front of us.

"And may God have mercy on your soul."

He chuckles softly, a gesture I do not return. All the negotiating today has left me too exhausted to make the attempt.

I take a step back from the counter, pretending not to notice the concern directed towards me in his expression. It's not like he hasn't seen me tired before – he's my coworker on the morning shift, for god's sake. We're all tired and miserable and want to go home. I must look especially haggard today if it's enough to warrant a concerned look from him.

Oh well. I don't have the time or energy to worry about my appearance. Not today.

I rip my ugly green apron off as I walk into the back, depositing it on the hanger and grabbing my ratty old bag in preparation to leave for the day. A small smile makes its way to my face at the thought of going home and taking a nice, long nap. I'm so exhausted that I'm not sure I'll even be able to make it to my bed before I pass out. And Mom is probably taking a nap on the couch as she usually is when I come home.

The living room floor doesn't seem too awful comfort wise…

"Hey, Dee?" another coworker of mine calls out from behind me. I spin around on the heels of my converse, a little bit grumpy from being so rudely flung from my fantasy of sleep.

"What is it?" I snap, much harsher than I intended. My coworker flinches as if he's been slapped, and I immediately regret my tone. That's not like me at all. I'm not usually this snappish on the job. Sure, I'm not flinging daisies and singing Disney songs at 7am, but I'm polite enough. I must just be tired…

Yeah, that must be it. I just need a little bit of rest and I'll be good as new.

"I don't mean to bother you," my coworker, Alex, defends himself. "I'm really sorry. I was just worried about you."

Ugh.

I should have known this was coming.

Alex is a nice guy, he really is. He's always been kind to me, even a little bit sweet on me. I, however, have no interest in pursuing any sort of romantic relationship at the moment. Between school, work, taking care of my mom, and what little remnants of a social life that I still have, I don't have time for one. Besides, he holds no interest for me beyond the realms of acquaintanceship. He's just not my type, I guess…

Okay, I'm getting off topic.

What I'm getting at is, Alex is nice and I really appreciate his concern, but he has an annoying tendency to be overbearing and pry into places in my life where he doesn't belong. I tolerate it because I know he means no harm, but I'm not in the mood today.

"I'm fine," I insist, throwing in a smile for good measure. Alex, however, does not look convinced.

"Are you sure? You've been kind of… different lately."

I blink quizzically at him, letting his sentence sink in.

Different? How would he know whether or not I'm acting 'different'? We only see each other once a week during the morning shift, and even then, we only make the traditional polite conversation normal amongst coworkers. We're not friends – hell, we're barely even acquaintances. He doesn't know me, not really. So where does he get off on saying I'm acting 'different'?

For a split second, I wonder where this irrational amount of rage is coming from, but the growing annoyance I feel smothers that concern fairly quick.

"What do you mean 'different'?" I question, struggling to keep up a polite smile.

"On edge," he answers immediately. "Like you're anxious about something."

For a brief moment, I stand there in a stunned silence at his words. However, it quickly gives way to a soft chuckle.

"I assure you, Alex, I'm not anxious about anything."

Me? Anxious? Over what? I have nothing to be anxious about, besides the usual hassles of juggling all my responsibilities like any other teenager. He must be reading me all wrong. Everyone seems to be reading me wrong lately. Even Lola, who knows more sides of me than any of my other friends, insinuated the same thing earlier today and assumed it was because of that little… run –in I had with the East End Killer last night.

Ridiculous, right?

I mean, it's not like anything happened that night that should make me anxious. He barely even looked at me, much less did anything to me. I'm perfectly fine. It wasn't me whose throat he slit. It wasn't me who he raped. It wasn't me who he left bleeding out on a cold, dirty alley street in the East End like a piece of garbage no one would miss…

He didn't do any of that to me.

When he spotted me standing there at the end of the alleyway, frozen and scared out of my wits, I could have just as easily been that girl laying there bloody and brutalized, just another face on the bulletin board of victims used to motivate detectives into doing their jobs.

But it wasn't me.

He walked right past me.

He's not coming back for me.

I'm sure of it.

It wasn't me.

It wasn't me.

"Um, Dee? Are you okay? Your hands are shaking…"

I glance back up at Alex's worried face, then down to my trembling hands. As soon as I become self-aware, I try to stop the nervous tremor. It subsides a bit, but it still lingers slightly. A sign of my weakness, just like me staying frozen last night.

I shake my head to myself, running a twitching hand down my face as if I'm trying to wake myself up from this weird reality I'm in at the moment…

Tired. I'm just tired. That's it. I just need some sleep. Some sleep and I'll be alright.

"I'm fine," I snap at Alex, shoving my hands into my pockets. "I'm just really tired, you know? That's all."

From the look on his face, I can tell he doesn't quite believe me.

"You know, if you need to talk about anything, I'm right here," he offers.

Yeah, not gonna happen, buddy.

"Thanks for the offer," I ground out through gritted teeth, eager to make my escape. "I'll see you next Saturday."

I turn away from him, about to walk out the door, when he grabs my upper-arm. My eyes snap down to where he has me in his grip, and I have to bury the urge to give him a right-hook to the face.

There's nothing I hate more than people touching me without my permission.

"Hey, Dee?"

I wrench my arm out of his grip not-so-gently.

"What?" I snap

He sighs in defeat, taking a step back to give me space.

"Just… stay safe out there. Okay?"

I haul my purse over my shoulder, giving him a wry smile that I hope displays all the rage I feel right now.

"Don't I always?" I reply. Before he can get another word out, I turn back around and storm out the door, paying no heed to the blast of cold air that smacks my face. It's a cold day in Gotham, and I forgot my jacket at home, but a little cold air can't hurt me.

Hell, a notorious serial killer couldn't hurt me…

I snap out of that rogue thought quickly.

Last night has been replaying in my head since it happened. I was too busy last night going over everything I did wrong to get any sleep. I've got to put it out of my head.

For the rest of my walk home, that's exactly what I do. I think of anything and everything else.

I think of the school work I still have to finish…

I think of that cliché young adult novel I started reading yesterday morning…

I think of what I'm going to cook tonight (it's a toss-up between ramen and mac n' chees)…

I think of what I'm going to do with Lola the next time I see her…

Just random, mundane things to pass the time.

My strategy must be working, because before I know it, I'm standing outside of my shoddy apartment building…

… Along with several police cruisers and an ominous looking dark van.

I watch from afar in astonishment as several police officers march into the building with purpose behind their steps. Surprise police visits around here are not unusual in the least, but that's not what leaves me befuddled about this scene.

It's the van. I recognize it.

It's Child Protective Services.

That's certainly a strange sight around here. I haven't seen one of those come through since Gracie and Zander…

I swallow a lump forming in my throat and push that thought far away.

There aren't many kids in our apartment building. It's mostly inhabited by drug dealers, high school dropouts, and the occasional pimp that I avoid in the elevator like the plague. The only kids I know of in our apartment building belong to the family above us. I'm thankful I'm not home often, because when I am, I have to deal with the sounds of the kids scampering all around while their mother screams at them to shut up and go to bed.

That explains the CPS being here. The mother must have gotten busted for something and now the kids are being taken away from their home and put into the system.

Poor kids.

I shrug it off and walk over to the entrance to the apartment building, keeping my head down to avoid attracting attention from some of the cops surrounding the front. I've spent my entire life trying to stay under the radar of police officers, and like always, I'm able to slip by undetected. But, before I can swing through the door, a strong hand grabs my arm and pulls me back.

"I'm afraid you can't go in there, ma'am."

What is it with men and grabbing me by the arm lately?

I look up at the cop who has me in his grip, putting on my best pouty, innocent teenage girl face. I've cajoled my way into the good graces of many cops in my day. It's a skill that comes in handy when you're the daughter of a woman who is frequently in trouble with the law.

You'd be surprised how gullible cops around here can be.

"But sir, my mom is in there. I just want to make sure she's alright."

He narrows his eyes, looking me up and down. He glances over at some of his cop buddies standing by near the CPS van, then back to me.

"Is your mother Rosalinda Bartlett?" he asks, his voice as monotone as ever.

I can feel my face drain of color as a cold flash of terror runs through me. A cop talking about my mother is never a good sign. My first thought?

My mom is dead. She finally overdosed.

I shiver at the thought.

Calm down, Dee. Don't assume the worst automatically.

"Yes," I reply somewhat shakily. "Why do you ask?"

I wait with baited breath for an explanation from him, some sort of reassurance that my fears are unfounded, but I get none. Instead, the doors behind us slam open and two police officers walk out.

Hauling my mother between them.

"I swear, it isn't mine!" she screams at them shrilly, her mess of black curls flying all over the place as she thrashes in the grip of the two unrelenting policemen. She's dressed in only a loose-fitting t-shirt, sweatpants, and her slippers; completely unprotected from the cold chill. I want nothing more than to run to her, hug her tightly, and protect her from the men trying to take her away from me.

But I know better than that by now.

"I had a guy over last night, the drugs are his!" she shouts, still fighting with everything she has. "I swear I didn't know he had them on him!"

I can't take it anymore; I have to look away. Though it's a familiar scene, I can never stand to see her like this. She's supposed to be my mother, my rock, the person I can go to when I'm in trouble. Seeing her so vulnerable… It just doesn't feel right. It never has, no matter how many times I've seen her like this.

"Okay, Miss, if you'll just come with me…" my designated officer orders in the same monotone voice, dragging me away from the chaotic scene. I don't fight back, just glad that I'm no longer watching my mom being manhandled.

Turning around, I watch as a man in a suit steps out of the black van –

Oh shit.

In all the mayhem, I completely forgot about that black van and the purpose it serves. It didn't even register to me.

Panic swells up in my chest as I finally come to the only logical conclusion there is:

CPS is taking me away.

"NO!" I shout, unable to contain myself. No, no, no, this isn't happening. I won't let it happen. They are out of their minds if they think I will go quietly. I spent time in a group home once when I was 10, and I promised myself the day I got out that I would never end up in that position again.

I fully intend to keep that promise.

"You can't do this to me!" I shout at the officer, wrenching my arm out of his grip before he can hand me over to the CPS worker like a lamb to slaughter. I can still hear Mom's shouts, the commanding voices of the officers hauling her away, the sirens blaring from the police car, all of the sounds blended together in a chaotic melody that causes my chest to constrict painfully, cutting off air from reaching my lungs…

No, I cannot have a panic attack! Not now!

I regain my ability to breathe when the CPS worker grabs me by both shoulders and wrenches me back into the van against my will, practically tossing me into the leather seat like a bag of flour. Pure adrenaline pumps through my veins, and I do the very first thing that pops into my head.

I punch him square in the face.

It's a mean left hook right to the nose, and if the cracking sound I heard was any indication, I hit my mark. If it were under different circumstances, I would take a moment to admire my work, but all I have right now are animalistic instincts.

I have to get away

His head flies back as he lets out a pained groan, blood gushing from his nose like a small river. I take it as an opportunity to try and bolt from the van. Unfortunately, this guy must have seen it all before, because he's quick to restrain me and buckle me in. Even with blood pouring down his face at an alarming rate and me thrashing around like a lunatic, he's able to secure me into the seat and slam the door shut behind me.

Damn, he's a pro.

I smack a hand against the window, watching as they're finally able to subdue my mother into the police cruiser. Briefly, she turns back to look at the van I'm trapped in and our eyes lock. As quickly as it happens, it's gone. But in that one flash, I could see it all; the terror, the confusion, the concern. All reflected in her gaze.

Tears form in the corners of my eyes, stinging like venom. I just don't understand. I've always been so careful. Much too careful to let something like this happen. I never let her dealer into our apartment, I clean the house, I get rid of any evidence of her illegal activities, I take care of her, I keep a good job and put food on the table, I do good in school, I generally try to stay out of trouble and under the radar…

What did I do wrong?

I rest my head against the cool window as the CPS worker starts to drive away. Away from my mom, away from my home, away from my life. A few stray tears leak out and slide down my cheeks. I wipe them away.

All I want is my mom.

I blink the rest of the tears away and watch the scenery change as we drive slowly through the East End, on our way to God-knows-where. Everything is as it was when I walked home today, except for one thing.

A man stands on the sidewalk, his body facing towards the road. He wears a black hoodie and jeans. Totally inconspicuous, right? But something about his appearance is both alarmingly familiar and surprisingly terrifying. And though we drive by too quickly for me to be absolutely sure, I'm almost positive I can see his face slightly shadowed by the hoodie.

And he's smiling right at me.

A/N: Will Dee be reunited with her mother?

Will she find out who that man is?

Will I ever shut up and go to sleep?

Keep reading and you may find out the answers to these questions!

Except for the last question. The answer to that one is no.