Holding on to Forever

by Davis, Siobhan

  My heart splinters into tiny pieces, and I hate she’s going through all this stress again.

  After I unloaded the bags of Molly, and my encounter with Emily, I contemplated whether to continue. But one look at Mom, and the answer is a big fat no.

  I need to do this.

  At least until she can find a new job. Even then, her job won’t pay the outstanding hospital bill. Phoebe had X-rays and drugs and a two-day stay. That adds up to thousands of dollars, for sure, and someone’s got to pay it.

  Phoebe kneels next to Sam, grinning at him like he hung the moon. Her jewelry kit is strewn across the coffee table, bringing a smile to my face. The TV is on, but the sound is muted.

  “Come on, Adam,” Phoebe urges, waving me forward. “I’ve been waiting for you to make these cool beaded bracelets. I got some new colors. Maybe you can make one for a girl,” she teases, her eyes sparking with hope.

  I strut over to Phoebe and kiss her on the head. “Love bug, how many times do I have to tell you you’re my only girl.”

  Sam says, “Mine too.”

  He and I didn’t finish talking about Emily although the blue-eyed beauty has taken up a permanent home in my head. I jerked off in the shower again this morning envisioning me inside her. It’s becoming a problem. One I’m not sure how to fix.

  I playfully mess up Phoebe’s hair. “I want to talk to Mom for a bit. Then I’ll join you. Okay?”

  Sam is threading a string with beads, and it’s comforting how he fits in with my family and how much he adores Phoebe.

  I leave them as Phoebe starts singing a Shawn Mendes song.

  Mom’s in the kitchen stirring a pot of meat sauce. On Sundays, she either makes spaghetti or chicken pot pie. Both are favorites of mine, and I eagerly look forward to my visit every week.

  I settle at the counter near the sliding glass door that flows into the backyard. The house is a modest one-story with three bedrooms and one bathroom, which Mom has transformed into a homey family space. When we moved from New Jersey, we lived in an apartment for a year before Mom got her job at the hotel. Then she found this house in a decent neighborhood with a good school system.

  I take out my wallet and count out three hundred dollars.

  “Where did you get that money?” Mom’s tone rises as she visibly gulps.

  I can’t lie to her. I thought about it. But she knows my tells. When I lie, I chew on my lip and I subconsciously avoid direct eye contact. I’m only aware because she once shared that tidbit with me.

  “Don’t ask, please.” I slide the money across the counter. “It’s not much, but I’ll get more.” My twenty-percent cut doesn’t add up to three hundred bucks. I’m not telling Ray I overcharged for the bags.

  I’m well aware if he finds out he’ll have my hand on his workbench ready to slice it off with one of those expensive tools he owns. But he didn’t say I couldn’t charge more. The deal is to give him his standard cut, and I plan on doing that.

  Tears cascade down Mom’s face. “Adam, please tell me this isn’t drug money?” She keeps her voice low.

  I glance through the archway leading into where Phoebe and Sam are. Phoebe is still belting out a song, and Sam is singing along with her. He’s completely off key, but it’s the thought that counts.

  I sigh heavily. “Phoebe needs her vest, and we have a hospital bill to pay. It’s only until you find a job.” The last part is somewhat of a lie. I have three months with Ray, and if I try to quit before then, I’m sure he’ll string me up by the balls.

  Or put a bullet in my skull.

  She shakes her head in quick succession, crying softly.

  I wrap my arms around her. “Please let me handle the money situation.”

  She sniffles. “What about football? And school? You can’t risk that.”

  “Mom, I can’t risk anything happening to you and Phoebe.”

  She sobs quietly.

  My heart is breaking and breaking and breaking. I know she’s disappointed. I know she’s scared. But there is no other quick solution for fast cash, and a job paying minimum wage just won’t cut it.

  “I’ll be careful.” And I will. Emily isn’t going to rat on me. The stakes for her are just as high.

  Or at least I pray they are.

  8

  Emily

  Prison is the only way I can describe my weekend. I swear my bedroom walls closed in on me minute by excruciating minute. Mom grounded my ass, and it’s ridiculous how much power my parents have over me although it was Mom who went ballistic.

  Friday night, when we returned to the house after the disastrous fundraiser, Mom launched into a hissy fit. Rage poured out of her as she flung an expensive vase against the stone fireplace. Her precious antique shattered into tiny pieces.

  Dad watched on in disgust.

  I feared for my life with the way she glared at me like I was an intruder and not her kin. Mom is downright scary when she wants to be.

  When she was done cleansing the rage from her system, she turned her temper to me, but Dad stepped in. I knew he was livid with me too, but that didn’t mean he’d let her harm me. When he tried to calm her down, a fight ensued between them. After an hour of shouting at one another and throwing my name around like I wasn’t even in the room, Mom stormed out of the house.

  It pains me that I’m the crux of their problems. But if Mom had the decency to treat me like a daughter, and not one of her employees or students, we might be a close family, and I sure as shit wouldn’t have to resort to drugs to numb my pain.

  She didn’t return until the following morning, and wherever she went to cool off must’ve been a place that sucked out all her fury, because she calmly laid out the terms of my punishment.

  I’m grounded for the next two weekends.

  I’m forbidden from seeing Zach.

  And she’s reached out to Wes to find out how I can make it up to him.

  I almost lost my breakfast when she admitted that last one because I’m pretty sure rape and sodomy are high on his list of punishments, and that’s only for starters.

  If I refuse to cooperate, she’s throwing me out.

  Dad wasn’t any help, and his disappointment in me felt like he drove a dagger into my heart.

  He’s been a little confusing to figure out recently. In one breath, he’s on my side, and in the next, he’s siding with Mom.

  Still, didn’t he know I was a gnat’s ass away from relapsing?

  I realize I’m on my own again, and watch out world, because Molly, here I come. Scar’s my best friend, but Molly just might take her spot.

  When Monday rolls around, I’m like an eager puppy at the front door waiting to be walked.

  “You will attend classes, and your tutor sessions, and then it’s straight home,” Mom reminds me as I’m halfway out the door.

  Fuck. You.

  I think it, but I don’t say it. Because she has me in a bind, and she knows it.

  Anytime I step out of line, she threatens to disown me. I’ve thought of calling her bluff, but she’s a heartless bitch, and I cannot afford to be out on my ass with no roof over my head or money in my pocket. I need money. I need Molly. And I need to stay in college and get my degree, because it’s my ticket out of here. And frankly, I don’t want to give her the satisfaction of seeing me grovel because, honestly, I think she’d enjoy that.

  So, I keep my insults to myself and walk out of the house without uttering a word.

  “I can’t believe your parents grounded you,” Zach says, stealing a fry off my plate as we sit with Scar at lunchtime in the dingy diner. We chose a place off campus, rather than eating in the cafeteria, in case we bump into Mom or one of her many spies.

  I look outside, through a layer of grime coating the window, absently watching a clerk sweeping the sidewalk outside the convenience store across the street. I swivel in my seat, my gaze skimming over the room. This place could use a facelift, as I doubt the décor has been upgraded since it first opened if the peeling wa
llpaper, stains on the ceiling, and worn tables are any indication.

  But it’s clean inside, and the food is good. And, most importantly, if offers us privacy.

  “It’s like being fifteen all over again,” I admit, stabbing a piece of lettuce with my fork.

  “She’s such a bitch,” Scar seethes, opening her mouth wide and biting into her burger. “I wish I’d been there. I would’ve loved to rip off Wes’s balls with my bare hands.”

  Zach and I chuckle. It took both of us to try to put the hurt on Wes, but the fucker is strong. Not to mention, he’d probably enjoy Scar’s rough hands on him.

  “I’m used to it.” I shrug.

  Zach touches the cut over his eye that’s crusted into a scab. “Why does she treat you like that?”

  “She’s always hated me,” I admit, taking a sip of my water. My mind wanders back in time. “There was this one occasion, when I was seven, when I fell down the stairs during one of her dinner parties. She’d put me to bed, but I’d snuck into her room because I loved trying on her shoes and wearing her makeup. I’d thought it was a good idea to come downstairs to show her me in a pair of her highest heels, but I tripped on the carpet at the top of the landing and tumbled down to the bottom of the stairs.” I drag my lip between my teeth as I stare off into space. “She was furious when she found me, plastered in her makeup, with the heel on her favorite shoe broken, crying in a ball as she loomed over me, giving me one of her special stink-eye stares.”

  I swipe at a stray tear. “Oh, she acted the doting mother in front of her friends, but as soon as I was upstairs in my room, she slapped me across the face and told me I was a disgrace and an embarrassment.” I rub at the ache slicing across my chest. “Then she told me something I’ve never been able to forget.”

  “What did the bitch say?” Scar asks, pausing with her glass halfway to her mouth.

  “She said she wished I’d never been born. That I was a mistake and I’d ruined her life because she’d never intended to have kids.” Every time I replay that conversation, my chest constricts and the need to wash away the pain is stronger than ever.

  “Fuck.” Zach leans across the table, taking my hand. “That’s rough. She’s a complete cow and not worthy of your love, anyway.”

  I shrug, because I’m not sure what I believe anymore. “I can’t ever do right by her. I’m a complete fuckup in her eyes, and she loves taunting me with that.”

  Scar visibly swallows as she sets her glass down. “Why does your dad stay with her?” She rests her elbows on the table.

  “They stay together for appearance’s sake.” I tear a napkin to shreds, piece by piece, wishing for a better life. Wishing my parents loved me. But everyone knows what they say about wishful thinking.

  Molly is the one who loves me. Molly is the one who shows me how good life can be.

  I’m tempted to ask Zach if he has any more pills, but the waitress comes over, slapping the check down on the faded tabletop.

  “That’s fucking ridiculous,” Zach says, snorting.

  “I know. But that’s my life.”

  “This should help ease the boredom at home,” Zach says, sliding a plastic bag filled with pills into my book bag, as we wait outside the diner for Scar to return from the bathroom.

  He’s a mind reader. “How much do I owe you?” I sigh contentedly, knowing I have Molly. Now, the nights at home will be bearable. But I have to be careful. Mom might not notice, but Dad’s more suspicious.

  “It’s on the house, babe.” He hugs me to him. “You know I always look after my two favorite girls.” Zach has more than enough cash, and he rarely takes payment from Scar or me. I’m lucky he’s my friend, as finding money to feed my habit is challenging at the best of times. I discovered the code to my parents’ safe a few months ago, and I dip into their cash stash when I’m desperate, but I’m careful not to take too much, and, so far, they don’t appear to have noticed.

  “You got something special for me too?” Scar inquires, joining the conversation.

  Zach grabs hold of his junk. “I’ve always got something special for you, Scarlett lady.”

  She flips him the bird. “I meant something of the hallucinogenic kind.”

  He leans over to kiss her, slipping a baggie into her pocket.

  “You’re my favorite friend,” Scar says, batting her eyelashes at him. “Because you have the best drugs and the biggest cock,” she adds, deliberately feeding his ego. “Want to come over later?” She waggles her brows suggestively.

  “Is the pope Catholic?” he jokes. “I’ll see you later.” He turns puppy-dog eyes on me. “I hate that you can’t join us. We’ll miss you.”

  I’ll probably miss them later too when I’m horny as fuck and only have porn and my little electric friend for company.

  Scar pulls me into a hug. “Keep fighting, babe. Don’t let the bitch grind you down.”

  We wave her off as she heads in one direction and we move in the other.

  “I’m glad I caught you alone,” Zach says, slinging his arm casually over my shoulder as we walk. “We need to discuss your Wes problem.” I arch a brow in silent question. “Scar told me.”

  Air whooshes out of my mouth. I can’t fault Scar for telling Zach. I know they both worry about me. Besides, Zach practically caught Wes in the act, and he did get hurt on my behalf. But I don’t need him to continue where he left off with Wes. Any action Zach dishes out will only infuriate Wes, causing more pain for me.

  “Hey.” He tilts my chin up. “She was worried, and we want to help.” His jaw tenses. “I’d like to say I’m surprised he blackmailed you into blowing him, but that’s his usual M.O.”

  My spirits perk up. “It is?” He nods. “You know anyone else he did this shit to?”

  “He did it to a bunch of girls at our high school, and I sincerely doubt you’re the first girl he’s tried it on with at Cypress.”

  My pulse ticks higher with a newfound determination. Maybe once and for all, I can show my parents who Wes really is.

  The scum of the earth.

  A bottom dweller who eats dirt and shits cockroaches.

  Maybe then, Mom will look at me differently. And Dad. Well, I’ll enjoy seeing Dad unleash that fierceness I know he has.

  To think he worries about me dating his precious footballers.

  I roll my eyes.

  They are the least of his worries.

  Sure, they party and fuck. Some more than others, but Wes is in a whole different league—one that if Dad knew he would feed him to sharks off the coast of South Carolina.

  “Can I get their names?” I ask, removing a notepad and pen from my bag.

  “Why?” He stops walking, angling his head like I lost my mind.

  “Because I have a plan. Of sorts.” The one good thing about being bored out of my tree all weekend at home alone is I had plenty of time to conjure up some potential solutions.

  “I’m all ears,” he says, tugging on my hand, and we resume walking.

  For the first time in forever, I feel a sense of purpose. “I know this guy, another tutor, and he’s got mad computer skills. I’ve heard rumors he’s into hacking. Mainly targeting big corporations and trying to uncover fraud and evidence of corporate greed. I thought I’d offer to pay him if he’d dig some shit up on Wes. Everyone’s got secrets, and I just need to find one thing I can use to hold over his head, and then I can make him go away. This could be exactly what I need.” Giddiness threads through my words.

  Oh, the look on Wes’s face if I can pull this off will be priceless.

  Zach starts walking again. “How trustworthy is this guy?”

  “He’s a good guy and about as trustworthy as they come.”

  He scrubs a hand over his jaw. “I can email you a list of names later. But you need to be careful. If Wes finds out what you’re up to, you know there’ll be hell to pay. Besides, the names probably won’t do much good. He terrified all of them into keeping their mouths shut.” A pained look washes ov
er his face. “I tried to out him, but he turned it around on me and got me expelled.”

  “What?” I splutter, slamming to a halt again.

  “I wasn’t fucking the principal’s underage daughter. He was.” A muscle pops in his jaw. “Only I call it rape. She agreed to come forward and fess up, but he got to her somehow. She fessed up all right, but she pointed the finger of blame at me. I guess I should be glad she said it was consensual, but in the eyes of the law, it was rape. I only avoided criminal prosecution because my father made a hefty donation to the school and my parents agreed not to contest the expulsion.”

  A dark cloud blocks the sun as I seethe. “I fucking hate that bastard,” I snap. “And now I’m even more determined to bring him down.”

  * * *

  One week rolls into two, and Mom has been on the warpath. The minute she walks in the door, she’s telling me what a disappointment I am, stating I’ll amount to nothing, telling me how I’m the talk of the campus after what went down at the fundraiser. After she lets loose on me, she turns her madness to Dad, and a fight match always ensues.

  The tension, the fighting, her voice, the screaming, it’s all too much. I’m jonesing to get the fuck out of the house, and staring at the same four walls is driving me insane. Molly is my only savior. My only release from the tsunami brewing in my head.

  The only time I get to see my friends is at lunchtime, and it’s always over way too fast.

  I’ve missed a ton of parties, and it feels like I’m being left behind.

  And Sam turned me down flat when I asked him if he’d do some investigative work for me, failing to conceal his shock and his disgust when I suggested it.

  My life is on a spin cycle, and I’m spiraling so fast I’m not sure how much more I can take.

  The depression is real, painful, maddening, and the only consolation is the bag of goodies Zach supplied. I’ve resorted to taking one pill every night, because it’s the only way I’m getting through this hell. But now, my stash is running low, and I’m on edge.

  I pop my second-to-last pill Thursday morning before my first class, ignoring the queasy feeling in the pit of my stomach that says this is a bad idea. It was either do this or slit my wrists, because my mood is the blackest of black today, and I need a hit.