“It’s good, Row,” Tristan smiled at me with trusting eyes. It broke my heart every time I saw that look in his eyes. He and Ivy trusted me completely…to love them…to protect them…but how could I ever do those things when I wasn’t a whole person? I was shattered…broken…unimportant.
“Thanks, Tristan,” I ruffled his hair, hoping the innocent little boy couldn’t see the darkness inside me.
“You’re the best sister,” he leaned into my touch, like a dog begging to be petted.
“Hardly,” I laughed.
They helped me wash the dishes and then it was time to give Tristan his bath. After a lot of grumbling I finally got him into the warm water. I really wished I’d had time to change my clothes. Giving Tristan a bath in a pencil skirt wasn’t practical. Damn Trenton Wentworth.
I let Tristan splash around for a few minutes before I washed and shampooed his hair.
“Pull the drain plug,” I pointed to the stopper. He pulled it and the water began to whoosh out.
He stood and I helped him out. I wrapped a towel around his small frame, drying his body, and then his hair so it stuck up around his head like a bird’s feathers.
I led him down the hall to the room he shared with Ivy.
Ivy was reclined on her bed, playing with her dolls. “Shower, Ivy.”
“I wanna play,” she whined.
“Ivy. Shower. Now.” I snapped. “I’m tired and I don’t have the energy to argue with you.”
“Fine,” she slipped out of the bed, grabbing pajamas to take with her to the bathroom.
“Hurry back and I’ll read you both a story,” I said in a softer tone. I hated snapping at the kids, knowing they got enough of that from our mom—on the rare occasions she was awake—and step-dad.
“Okay,” I heard her say as the bathroom door closed.
I grabbed the lotion and rubbed it into Tristan’s body. “Which pajamas do you want to wear?”
“The dinosaurs!”
I shook my head. I should’ve known.
I pulled out the pajamas with different colored dinosaurs on them. “Lift your arms,” I instructed.
Once he was in his pajamas, he climbed into his bed.
“Which story do you want tonight? It’s your turn to pick,” I rubbed my eyes.
“Um…” He thought, placing a small finger against his lips. “The Lion King!”
I grabbed the Disney book and climbed into his bed, leaving room for Ivy on my other side.
She came into the room a few minutes later.
“Ivy,” I groaned at the wet stringy pieces of hair framing her face. “You didn’t brush your hair!”
“But it hurts!” She argued.
I sighed, slipping out of the bed even though it felt so good to rest my tired body. I grabbed the detangler and a comb from the bathroom.
Sitting down on the floor of the bedroom, I motioned with my hand for Ivy to sit in front of me.
After a moment of hesitation, she reluctantly took the spot.
“You have to brush your hair or it will only get more knotted,” I told her, spraying her damp hair with the detangling solution. “I hate brushing my hair too,” I worked the comb through the ends.
“You do?” She sounded surprised. “But your hair is so pretty and long, Row.”
“I like it long,” I shrugged, trying not to pull her hair, “but brushing it is a pain.”
“Ow!” She grabbed her head when I brushed through a knotted strand.
“Sorry,” I told her, kissing the spot in apology. “Better now?”
“A little.”
“There,” I patted her back when I was done. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?”
“No,” she admitted reluctantly.
I returned the comb and detangler to their spots in the bathroom, before climbing back into the bed to read their story.
When I finished reading the story, Tristan looked up at me with wide eyes and Ivy snuggled closer to my side.
“Row,” Tristan started, “I wish you were my mommy.”
His words turned my stomach inside out. Both he and Ivy deserved better than my deadbeat mom, but they also deserved more than me.
“Why?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.
“Because,” he shrugged his small shoulders, “you do everything for me.”
Even at five years old, Tristan was aware that our mother did nothing. It broke my heart that he and Ivy had to grow up with this. But I had too, and I didn’t have anyone to look after me. That’s why I did what I could for them.
“I love you, Tristan,” I kissed his forehead. “Love you, Ivy,” I kissed hers as well. “Goodnight.”
“Night, Row,” Ivy scurried over to her bed on the other side of the room.
I hugged Tristan and I slipped out of the bed. I hugged Ivy too and closed their bedroom door behind me.
I leaned my head against the closed door. I was so exhausted, but I needed to shower and I had homework to finish since I hadn’t done it at the library. Trent had ruined my whole evening. Why couldn’t he leave me alone?
Choosing not to waste my energy dwelling on it, I pushed myself forward and into my room. It wasn’t much of a room to be honest. It was more like a closet. My full size bed took up most of the space and the closet door was always open because it was impossible to close it. The walls were painted a bright aqua blue and the bedspread was purple. It was nothing special, but it was mine and that’s what mattered to me. I grabbed a pair of loose sweatpants and a sleep shirt.
I showered as quickly as I could, but took more time than I meant to because the hot water felt so good on my tense muscles. I never seemed to relax.
Before I headed into my room for the night I checked on my mom. She was still passed out on the couch. I hated her so much, but she was my mom, and nothing could change that. I watched her for a few minutes, noticing the steady rise and fall of her chest. I wondered how someone that drank so much was able to breathe like a normal person. It seemed like her breaths should falter or something. I wanted to yell and scream at her to get off her lazy ass and be a mom. But I knew that was pointless. I’d yelled and screamed at her more times than I could count and it never did any good. It usually resulted in me getting slapped in the face.
With a scowl, I pushed myself away from the wall.
I closed my bedroom door, locking it behind me.
I slipped beneath the covers, glaring at the textbook laying on the bed.
I wanted to put off my homework till tomorrow, but it would only bug me and result in even more lost sleep.
I pulled the textbook onto my lap and began to read the assigned pages.
Thirty minutes later, when I finished reading, I had to write a short essay to summarize what I’d read. Honestly, you’d think professors would have better things to do than grade stupid papers like this.
We were supposed to type this, but I didn’t have a computer, so I had to hand write it. I always did my typed assignments at the library before I went home. Hopefully I’d have time to type this up tomorrow, but tomorrow also meant even more homework. It was a vicious cycle.
Once the short paper was written, I tucked it into the pages of the book and dropped the book beside my bed on the thin strip of floor that served as the walking space in my room.
I reached over and turned the light off, bathing the room in darkness.
I lay in bed, unable to go to sleep even though I was exhausted.
I heard the front door slam closed and jumped.
My step-dad Jim was home.
I hated Jim with every fiber of my being, maybe even more than I hated my mom.
I listened to his heavy footsteps echo through the small house. When they started down the hall, I closed my eyes for a moment to ground myself.
Turning on my side, I forced them open, staring at the darkened shadow stopped outside my door.
I held my breath, counting in my head.
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, ei
ght, nine, ten.
Jim smacked me around some, but nothing too bad. What I couldn’t handle was when his eyes roamed up and down my body like I was piece of meat he wanted to devour. Even worse than that was when he touched me. Sometimes, when I was wearing a skirt, if I passed by him while he was sitting his hand would skim under the fabric and up my thigh. Other times his fingers would graze my butt or my breasts. He liked to play with my hair too. I’d thought about cutting it more than once, but my hair was the only thing I liked about myself and I refused to let him take that piece of me.
I held my breath, waiting for him to leave. When he finally did I was red in the face and black spots floated across my eyes.
I wondered how much longer he’d be satisfied with simple touches and standing outside my door.
I rolled onto my side, away from the door, and squished my eyes shut.
Behind my lids, Trent’s image filled my mind. I couldn’t escape him no matter how hard I tried. He was always there.
Pressing the heels of my hands into my eyes I let out a groan. Why couldn’t he leave me alone? Didn’t he see that I was no good for him? I would never be able to love him when I couldn’t even love myself.
Saving Tatum (Trace + Olivia #4) Page 39
