One day at work he threw out his back and was introduced to Vicodin. Since then, it’s all been downhill. The father we knew and loved vanished, and we were left alone. If he isn’t high, he’s mean. I don’t know which version of him I hate more.
I never told Dr. Tilney everything about my dad, because it would’ve led to CPS digging around. Who knows where Maggie and I would’ve ended up? No, she only knew about my mom, and that’s not something I’m going to rehash. We’ve had this conversation numerous times over the past several years. I’m starting to feel like a broken record, and besides, it’ll only lead to more “how does that make you feel” questions. So, I stick to less complex answers.
“I can’t even hold a conversation with them.” My voice cracks. “Because every time I try, they stare at me as if I’m Maggie.”
She inhales, leaning her elbows on her desk. Exhaling, she brings her hands together and steeples her fingers. Her eyes find her clock and just like that, I know. As much as I want to mean something to someone, I don’t. Her time will always be more important. Just like my dad’s pill haze and my mom’s numbing alcohol.
“This week I want you to work on communication.”
I frown.
“Sit down and make a list of the things that are bothering you in regard to your parents. Ask them to have a family meeting and lay out your list of grievances.”
I internally cringe. Never happening.
“I’ll try.” I collect my things and stand to go.
“Marina.”
I turn back to look at Dr. Tilney.
“If you need to talk anytime, day or night, please call. I’m always here, not just during our sessions.” Her eyes are kind and sincere, but I know better.
It’s dollar bills that she’s seeing when she looks at me. It’s always about the money. I school my features, refusing to show any sign of weakness or hurt.
“Thanks, Dr. Tilney,” I say, shutting the door and therapy behind me for the day.
On my way to the car, my phone lights up in my hands. I consider just stuffing it in my pocket and ignoring its existence, but I’ve been doing that for too long. I’ve slowly pushed away everyone from before, yet they don’t give up. Groaning, I lift the screen to my face, shielding it from the sun.
Shannon: I miss you. Dinner tonight?
I audibly sigh, because deep down I knew this was what it would be. I’m not really up for it after the session with Dr. Tilney, not that I really need an excuse to opt out. I’ve avoided my friends for weeks. The fact Shannon still tries is a testament to how good of a friend she is. I don’t deserve her loyalty. It would be so much easier if she’d just give up on me.
Me: Let me get back with you. Just leaving the gym.
I lie. I always lie. Telling my friends about seeing a shrink is never going to happen. They probably suspect as much, but I don’t see a point in confirming it. My friends don’t need to worry that I’m losing my mind again. They know about before.
Shannon: Please! You ditched us last week
And the week before that. I truly feel bad pushing off Shannon, but it’s never just her. I’d be forced to hang out with our old group, and that’s not something I choose to do to myself. It’s easier to avoid them rather than being dragged into conversations that I don’t want to have. At twenty-one years old, they’ve experienced things I’ve never even dreamed of. College, dating, typical milestones. Things I’ve never experienced because my life isn’t normal.
No matter how much I care about my friends, it’s hard to not be bitter. They’ve moved on while I’ve stayed rooted in this state of perpetual hell without Maggie. I know it’s not their fault, and at the end of the day, I have to remind myself of that. They loved Maggie and they miss her too. It’s just that they have the luxury of moving on. I don’t. I’ve been unfair and the first step in making things better is stepping out of my comfort zone.
Me: Okay, fine. I’ll see you tonight.
Shannon: Yes! Head to my house.
I blow out a breath, trying not to let the events of the day hover over me like a black cloud. If I’m going to have to put a smile on my face tonight for my friends’ benefit, I need to start working on it now.
As I unlock my car, a familiar feeling of unease washes over me. I stop in my tracks as every hair on the back of my neck stands at attention.
No. No. No. Not again. Someone is watching me.
I glance around at the parking lot. Empty. My eyes dart toward the alley to my left. Empty. Across the street, the park is also vacant. In fact, it’s eerily quiet for this time of day. Where is everyone? A hoarse cawing noise has my head snapping to a pole across the road in the park.
A large black crow sits stoically, staring directly at me.
“Creepy freaking bird.”
At that, the thing takes flight, coming right at me. I practically jump into my Volkswagen, locking the door behind me. Putting the key into the ignition, I turn the car on and yelp at the blaring music coming from the radio.
“Jesus Christ.” My hands come to my chest, my breathing heavy.
Pull yourself together, Marina.
My head falls to the steering wheel as I try to calm my racing heart. My paranoia isn’t good. It’s just like before. It’s how everything started with Maggie too. First the delusions, then the hallucinations. Or so we thought. You beat it.
I run both hands through my hair, pulling at the roots. All the anger, frustration, and sadness are coming to a head. A primal scream bursts from my vocal cords as my fists pound the steering wheel, over and over again, until all the fight leaves me and I’m nothing more than a weeping girl in a deserted parking lot. Alone.
Chapter Two
Coming through the front door to my parents’ home is anything but comforting. Where most of my friends would be greeted by an overeager mother desperate to spend time with them
since they’ve been away at college, I’m met with silence.
The television is on in the great room, and my father is in his typical position, feet up and conked out. I call his name several times, but he doesn’t stir. He won’t. He’s passed out, per usual.
Looking around, I cringe at the state of my home. Dishes are piled up in the sink, a layer of dust coats every inch of wood, and not a single photo is to be seen. Unlike other homes, mine has never had walls lined with family photos or pictures of Maggie and me from childhood. We didn’t even have graduation pictures taken.
No wonder Maggie and I are so screwed up. It’s the product of our upbringing. If I’d just told Dr. Tilney, maybe we could’ve gotten out of here. Maybe we could’ve had a different life. It’s too late for that now.
Creeping by my mother’s half-open bedroom door, I peek my head into a dark room devoid of sound. My mom is likely three bottles into her nightly wine consumption and passed out. So I close the door a little more and head for the steps. My foot lands on the bottom stair when I hear her raspy voice call out, “Maggie?”
I stiffen at her words, wanting to pretend I didn’t hear her and run up the stairs to the safety of my room. But I don’t. No matter how little I mean to her, she still means something to me. Absent or not, she’s my mom and I want—no, need—her in my life. Even if this is the only way to have her, drunk and confused, calling me by my missing sister’s name.
“It’s Marina, Mom. Can I get you anything?” I call in from the threshold, not wanting to go any farther. The room smells like stale cigarettes and vomit. My stomach can’t handle the combination on a normal day, but on an empty stomach, I’m afraid it’ll revolt.
“Ah,” she sighs. “I thought you were Maggie, finally come home.”
“Nope. Just me,” I say grimly. “Need some water?” I prompt, knowing full well she’ll never accept it.
“No,” she says before silence falls around us once more.
I’m about to turn and head back to my room, but she speaks again.
“You know she’s with Molly,” she grates out in that voice t
hat sounds as if she’s smoked an entire pack—or two—of Marlboro Reds today alone.
I breathe deeply, not in the mood for her nonsense. I’ve heard it all before. When she’s really hit the bottle hard, she starts in on her conspiracy theories about Molly not really being stillborn. After an afternoon with Dr. Tilney, this is the last conversation I want to have.
“The hospital and that doctor of yours are working together. My girls are important,” she goes on, and I try my best to tune her out. Over the past couple of weeks, she’s brought Dr. Tilney into her crazed ideas. I want to remind her that she’s the one who pushed me back into therapy with the “doctor of mine.”
The longer I stand here, the longer she’ll go on. Sometimes I let her, if only to have some sort of conversation with her, even if it’s dysfunctional and encouraging her delusions. I take what I can get. It’s the only relationship she’s capable of having with me.
“I’m going to sleep now. Make sure you lock your door.”
“All right, Mom. Get some rest,” I say, exhaustion closing in.
I turn to walk away, but not before she gets in one last chilling thought, “They’ll come for you too.”
As I close the door, my whole body shudders. Not because I actually buy into her nonsensical ideas about Molly and Maggie being together, but because of her last words.
They’ll come for you too.
I shut myself in my room, close the blackout curtains, and sit cross-legged on my bed. Running my hands roughly down the length of my face, I attempt to push away the incessant chills. I’m on edge and damn near ready to jump off my own metaphorical cliff.
Grabbing the picture of Maggie and me that sits next to my bed, I study the photo. Anyone who looked at it would think we were normal, happy teenagers, but I know better. Maggie’s smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes like I know it does when she’s truly happy. She stares off to the side, looking distracted.
That night she had me up for hours because she swore someone had been standing at the foot of my bed. Watching me sleep. I still get goosebumps thinking about it. It wasn’t the first time and it wasn’t the last, but she had been different. She had been frantic. I shake thoughts of that night away and replace the picture where it belongs.
I try to catch an hour of sleep, but it never comes. Instead, I stare into the dark and think about what my family could’ve been like. How different Maggie’s and my childhood should’ve been. I wish for things I’ll never have.
I’m not ready for a night out.
These girls have been my friends since grade school, and maybe I need them, but the last thing I want to do is mingle. I’m liable to break out into hysterics at the mention of old times. Memories from the past that are actually good. Fun times with my sister, which I’d give anything to have back. Those conversations might break me tonight.
I ring the doorbell and run my fingers through my hair, smoothing out the knots. Shannon opens the blue door with a wide smile plastered across her face.
“Rina,” she exclaims, pulling me into a tight hug. “Why the hell did you ring the doorbell?”
Shannon has been my friend since kindergarten. She was the only one who never felt like a third wheel with Maggie and me. Her parents, Bob and Susan Cline, took us in and treated us like their own. My sister and I came through these doors more times than I can count. I’ve never rung the doorbell before, but tonight it just seemed weird to walk right in. I can’t explain it; maybe it’s because everything in my world has changed. But I don’t say that.
“I didn’t want to catch Bob in his underwear again,” I tease instead, hoping to lighten the mood.
“Ew. Don’t remind me.” She mock gags. “The ’rents are not here, and the girls are having a drink before we head out.”
I force a smile. They’re drinking, which is another reason I tend to avoid them. With my parents’ issues with booze and pills, the last thing I want to do is follow in their footsteps.
“What can I get you? I have beer, wine, shots, Pepsi.” She grins, knowing my pick of poison far too well.
“Coke?”
“Obviously.” Her body shakes as she laughs. I appreciate the fact that Shannon never pushes me to partake. She knows my feelings on the subject and she’s never questioned it.
We walk through the arched doorway leading into the kitchen. My two other best friends, Jill and Andrea, dance around to old-school eighties’ music like they don’t have a care in the world. That used to be me.
When Maggie and I got out of our house and could just be kids, we enjoyed ourselves. Those days seem like an eternity ago.
“Woohoo, she’s here,” Andrea shouts over the music.
“I’m here,” I exclaim in the most contrived cheerleader voice I can muster, complete with spirit fingers.
“Rina!” Jill shouts, standing and walking my way. She pulls me into a delicate hug. It’s as if she’s afraid if she squeezes too tight, I’ll break right here in front of her. I have to force myself not to roll my eyes. She’s the mother hen of the group. Always has been.
“We’re heading straight to The Shack, so drink up.” She nods to the Coke in my hand, smiling. I purse my lips before tipping it back and drinking it like I’m chugging a beer.
“Attagirl. You get that caffeine,” Jill snickers, receiving a choice finger salute in return.
“The Shack? For real?”
Shannon raises a brow.
“Is there somewhere else that magically sprang up overnight?” she teases.
Liberty is a small town, population twelve hundred. There is exactly one bank, one library, one part-time café, two gas stations, and one pizza joint—The Shack. The next option is a ten-minute drive away. Shannon’s parents’ house is in town and a two-minute walk to The Shack, so it just makes sense. She’s home for fall break, making it a convenient meeting place for a night out.
I take another drink, hoping to get a spike of energy. If I’m going to do this, I might as well try to stay awake.
“Let’s go.” Shannon bounces on her toes.
I’ve never quite understood the excitement at going to the same place that we’ve been hundreds of times. In a town this small, you’re guaranteed to run into at least a dozen people you graduated with.
“Do you think Jason will be there?” Andrea asks the group, only proving my point.
Jason has been Andrea’s crush since high school. They were the perfect match—captain of the football team and head cheerleader—but they could never get their crap together. The awkward exchanges were painful to watch. He adored her just as much as she did him, and their fierce love made them both incapable of holding a conversation that wasn’t full of stuttering. They both went off to college, ending any chance of something actually happening between them.
“I heard he’s in town on break. He might be there,” Jill says reassuringly.
Andrea squeals and we all laugh at her giddiness.
It’s nice to just be normal for a night. No talk of absent parents and dead sisters. I’m in my happy place when something large and black swoops low over our heads. Shrill screeches sound as we all duck to avoid the massive creature.
“What the hell?” Shannon cries.
My eyes dart around wildly, trying to find the perpetrator of our near heart attacks. Perched upon a lamppost is a black crow, gawking keenly in our direction.
“It’s just a crow,” I say as my voice pitches slightly.
“Stupid freaking bird,” Andrea calls.
What the hell is it today with me and birds? I shake off the lingering chills and start off toward The Shack. When my hands reach the knob of the door, a harsh, guttural caw sounds behind us. I turn in time to see the large black bird fly off into the moonlit sky. A cold shiver runs down my back, but I stuff it down, eager to have a normal night. No monsters allowed.
Walking into The Shack, I am both saddened and overjoyed to see it’s exactly the same as the last time I was here. Nothing has changed within these four walls
, yet everything has changed. The simple pleasures that most people my age take for granted are lost on me, because I’m lost. Maggie should be here with us.
Dim lights hide the peeling paint and grime of the unkempt bar that lines the back wall. This place serves as both the local pizza place and bar. At one time, the state of the place wouldn’t have bothered me, but today I seriously consider opting for the ten-minute drive to avoid food poisoning. Through the door from the kitchen comes the same weathered woman who’s tended the bar for as long as I can remember.
“Hey, Maggie,” her throaty smoker’s voice calls to me.
I wince at her misstep.
“Marina,” I correct, but she doesn’t seem to care.
“What’ll it be for ya ladies?”
“Can we have one minute, please?” Andrea says. “What does everyone want?”
The girls discuss their choice of toppings. My lips purse, nothing sounding good.
“I could really go for a shot of tekillya,” Jill chimes in.
I internally cringe. Maggie had always called tequila tekillya. Senior year of high school, Jill had tried tequila, and after several hours of holding her hair back while she got sick, Maggie dubbed it tekillya. It stuck with all of us, but it was always Maggie who would yell it loud as we all raised our glasses—typically containing cherry soda—in celebration. It’s a dumb high school memory, but it still causes a pang of longing for my sister.
Andrea rambles off the typical order. One large plain cheese and four side salads. The only difference is the addition of four shots of tequila with chasers.
“I don’t want a shot,” I call to the aged woman. “Just a Coke, please.”
Nobody says a word, but everyone averts their eyes and looks genuinely disappointed. Yet another reason why I’ve avoided these kinds of nights.
The woman rushes off to put in our order, while the bell above the door chimes, indicating more people have entered. By the way Andrea’s eyes light up, I can only assume it’s Jason and his crew.
“Andrea,” Jason says with a smirk, as he passes our table with four other guys. I only recognize two of them. He’s changed since high school. He’s bigger. Cockier. Less boy, more man. Yet one more thing that’s changed.
Blood That Binds: A Vampire Romance (Blood Legends Duet) Page 2
