An hour ago Kaden had given up all hope of an offer like that ever again. Even ten minutes ago. And now the offer to sleep on her floor somehow cemented the idea that she really was taking him home with her into reality. With neck muscles so stiff he thought they might crack, he nodded, unable to speak again (and unable to stop himself imagining what Barak would say, that he was begging for a spot on a girl's floor, how pathetic, how weak, how was he ever gonna survive. Didn't seem to matter that he'd survived more than Barak had, his voice still sneered just as sharp.)
Constable Taylor opened the door then, and Kaden winced at the movement, her presence instantly getting his guard up, though less so, now that Marcie was here. She wasn't coming at him with the threat of a life in juvie then jail behind her, this time she was just coming at him with paperwork, and a few more questions to ask about how he felt, going home with Marcie, and did he understand he absolutely must not go back to the Lash's tonight, and would they have his co-operation when someone came round to follow up in the morning?
Last time Kaden had been asked to co-operate with the police it was when they were asking him why the drug dogs were so interested in his hoodie, and Kaden had refused, rather spectacularly, to dob his brothers in, and school had suspended him. Even though that suspension had given Barak the opportunity to start teaching Kaden how to shoot and everything had started to shatter from there, Kaden still felt a surge of familial loyalty when asked to co-operate with the police again. It still felt wrong, in his bones, like he was betraying everything, even though he had no blood family left to betray. And when Constable Taylor asked if there was anything else he wanted to say, anything else he wanted to admit to, he clammed up again, thinking about Cathal's window, and the vending machine, and Blueberry.
Not that she'd asked him specifically about any of those things. If she had, and Marcie was right there... he'd have to confess, but why dig himself in deeper into the shit if he didn't have to?
Her face, though, that was a different story. It looked sore around the edge of her eye, and Kaden tried to make himself feel less guilty about it by comparing it to some of the bruises Barak gave Cin, which were way worse, and on purpose, but it didn't work, he still felt bad, even though she was a cop.
"I didn't mean to," he did say, while Marcie was signing the last of the paperwork. "Hit you. I mean. I was. Um. Freaking. Ihopeitdoesn'thurt," he spoke to the ground, and couldn't stop his arms folding over his chest. "'msorry."
"I know this particular bruise was an accident, Kaden," her voice was calm, and he could hear the but coming. "But you do need to work on your self-control, in the future. It can't happen again. None of this can happen again."
"Iknow," Kaden said, eyes still on the ground, but he was feeling the stab of the greatest discomfort. He vividly remembered how massive his desperation to escape had been, how frantic he was to fight his way out, and how it seemed impossible he'd ever manage to be bigger than those feelings. He frowned at the floor in worry, and as Marcie finished the paperwork and put her pen down, he inched toward her on the couch, without looking at her either, till his arm was touching hers.