I traipse up the stairs and take a shower, which amazingly, does make me feel better. The hot water scalds my skin and the steam clouds the room, blocking my body from the view of the mirror. This time, when I get out, I wipe a patch clean, though. I want to see those scars.
Because if today taught me one thing, it's that I can't keep hiding and running from my past. If I don't face it, I risk losing everything I have.
It’s the scar from the accident, the broken glass that tore my stomach to shreds. The scar from where I broke free.
I run my hand over it, tracing it, mirroring Jase's action from several weeks earlier. This flesh is a part of me.
Maybe I'm not losing this battle called life. Maybe I'm still fighting, even if it's taking me a while to figure it out.
I get dressed and head downstairs again, this time in a nice dress. The last time I'd worn it had been to Dad's funeral.
I know Mum notices—she eyes it off, and I see her open her mouth to say something, then she snaps her jaw closed. I don't know why I'm wearing it either. But for some reason, today I don't hate him quite so much.
Today I hate him a tiny bit less.
"Baby, we have a surprise for you." Mum places a fourth plate at the dining table, and I cock my head and frown.
"Four?"
"I know you've been a bit down lately ..." I frown. Unless she means specifically this afternoon, I don't quite know what she's referring to. "And we had a feeling it was to do with maybe a certain breakup?"
Oh no.
Oh, no, no, no, no-no-no-no.
"But Smith can be very persuasive when he wants to be." Mum gives him a warm smile, and Smith just takes another sip of his wine.
"You didn't ..." I can't find the words to finish that sentence, but I don't have to, because Mum gestures to the kitchen to her left.
"Look who we convinced to come to your birthday dinner!"
Out walks Duke, looking just about as enthused to be there as I am to see him. My heart skips a beat, then resumes at double, no, triple time as my wide-eyed panic takes in Duke, Duke Finnegan, in my house.
He's going to see.
Please don't let him see how messed up my life really is.
"What are you doing here?" I hiss, as if Mum and Smith can't hear me.
Duke glances at Smith, then back at me, and gives a slight shake of his head. "I wanted to ... wish you a happy birthday."
"You could have sent a text."
"Lia, be nice." Mum gives me these wide eyes that seem to be trying to convey some secret message by bugging out of her head. "You catch more flies with honey ..."
"Mum, Duke and I broke up. Remember?"
"Yes, but we know that you were sad about it, so we're trying to y'know, perhaps subtly bring the two of you back together."
"It's not subtle when you tell us that that's the plan." I raise my eyebrows.
"I'm sorry, but I already have a girlfriend," Duke says, directing this line to Smith. "Maybe I should go."
"Stay." Smith nods, pointing to a chair. "Sit. Eat."
Duke obediently takes his place and pushes the chair into the table.
"Why are you taking orders from him?" I shake my head.
"He ..." Duke swallows, his Adam's apple bobbing up and down, and then shakes his head. "I'm here to celebrate your birthday. It's not a crime."
A sick feeling brews in the pit of my stomach. I don't know what Smith has on Duke, or what he's done to bring him here, but I know it's not good. I look at the tall man towering over me, his big arms folded across his broad chest, and I wonder just how much sway he has over Mum. I know she said he was just being fatherly toward me before, but that was before I knew how serious the game he was playing was, and I have a feeling things are about to get a whole lot deeper.
"Sit, all of you. I'll grab the food." Mum flits off into the kitchen, somehow oblivious to this awkward-as-hell situation.
Smith nods toward my chair and pulls it out. I sit, perching myself on the edge of my seat. Every muscle in my body is alert. Something isn't right. Something isn't right at all.
"So Lia ..." Smith downs the rest of his wine and then opens a new bottle that's sitting in the middle of the table. I don't know how many he's had, or when he started drinking, but he doesn't seem too wasted. A dangerous air of consciousness swirls around him. He's formidably in control. "Tell me what you got for your birthday."
"I got this bracelet." I hold up my wrist and display the eighteen charm that the girls got me.
"And who gave you that?" he asks, hovering his body over me as he pulls out a chair. I feel exposed, and I want to cross my arms over the top of my dress that he can most probably see down, but I don't dare. He sits down slowly, too slowly, and my flesh crawls with goosebumps.
"Some of the girls."
"Which girls?"
"Kat, Ana and Ellie," I say, keeping my eyes on Duke. He's looking at me, but his face is schooled to neutral.
What does he have on you, Duke?
"Pour yourself a wine, girl. You're a woman now. You can do that." Smith nods at the bottle. "Although I guess you've already been doing that at the bar." He gives a menacing laugh, and I manage a titter as accompaniment, and then Duke does this weird cough-giggle thing. It's like a scene from a horror movie, only this horror is real, too real, and I'm starting to wonder if maybe I should try and get out of here while I still can.
You're being ridiculous, Lia, my logical brain rations. He's a lonely man who never got to celebrate an eighteenth with his daughter. And aside from the creepy watching you sleep bizzo, he's never behaved in an odd manner around you. Well, odd that can't be explained off as drinking too much.
"I got you something." Smith reaches behind him into his back pocket and pulls out a small gift. It's a square about 10cm by 10cm, and only a few centimetres thick. The wrapping paper is a glossy gold, sticky tape large and messy, holding it all in place.
"Thank you." I take his offering and place it in front of me. See? Nice guy. Lonely nice guy.
"Go ahead." Smith nods to the present and pours us both another wine, because somehow in the space of what was only a few minutes he's finished the one he had before, and I'm starting to think that maybe he's celebrating with a little more gusto than anyone else at this party.
I pull open the wrapping paper, the thick, too-long tape making the job rather tricky. Finally I get it free, and I unfold the paper, revealing the present inside.
Bile lurches in my throat.
It's a black lacy G-string.
Nice guy my arse.
"D'you like it?" he asks, slapping me on the back. "You're a woman, so I thought you could use a woman's underwear. S'how you keep blokes like this one"—he jerks his head in Duke's direction—"keen."
Duke actually does snort-laugh at that, and I shoot him my best death stare, which quickly shuts him up. "Ahem, sorry, Smith. I told you before, I do have another girlfriend."
"Maybe we should get Lia to model them panties for you! Maybe then you'd reconsid—"
"Oh my God, Smith, no!" I protest, and he laughs, and this time it's not cruel, or mean, simply a drunk guy getting off on his own joke. Still, a part of me keeps on shrivelling, withering away. Duke will tell everyone. I'll be an absolute laughing stock.
And I don’t care.
Because compared to losing Jase, it doesn’t even register on my scale of hurt.
"Sorry, Lee Lee, baby." He slaps his knee. "You gotta admit, though, the look on that kid's face ..."
"Dinner," Mum calls in a shrill voice before walking into the room, oven mitts on either side of a large pot. "It's a chicken and leek pie. Your favourite." Mum smiles at me as she places the white baking dish in the middle of the table. Her hands are shaking again.
"To Lia!" Smith holds his wine glass up in the air. "Becoming a woman."
The way he says the word makes my skin crawl, but I politely hold up my wine glass too and ignore the part of me that is wishing I was not attending World's Most A
wkward Family Dinner and that I was in fact with Jase right now. I'm pining for the guy I just lost, and staring at the guy I'd once thought made me safe.
Jase doesn't make me feel safe. He pushes me just to feel, and that's worth so much more.
New resolve musters in my gut. I have to fight for him. I can't just let him out of my life.
"Lee Lee? Duke asked you a question," Mum interrupts my thought, and I smile politely.
Squelch
A large serving of pot pie goops onto my plate courtesy of Smith, and I nod my thanks.
"I was just asking when your scholarship audition is." Duke smiles politely.
"On Friday," I reply. "They only do one round of auditions throughout the country, so I've got permission from Mrs McDonald to take the day off school."
"Cool."
Squelch
A similarly gooey looking pile of grey gunk lands on Duke's plate. "Thanks, Smith."
Soon, the only sound in the room is the screeching of the butter knives against the white porcelain plates as we all eat the food Mum prepared. It's the first time she's cooked in months, and even though it may not be Masterchef quality, it's actually far tastier than it looks.
"We're going to miss you so much when you go, baby." Mum pauses and looks at me, sincerity shining in her eyes. The glass of what I presumed earlier was water really is just good ol' H2O, and it sits in front of her. My heart swells with pride, and I know that this is what she's gotten me for my birthday. Dinner. Family. Normalcy. Sobriety.
I couldn't have asked for a greater gift.
Smith, on the other hand, doesn't quite seem to be on the sobriety train. He knocks back drink after drink, opens more bottles of wine, a third, a fourth, and no one is keeping pace with him. No one is even trying.
Mum doesn't seem to notice his outrageous behaviour though, and still laughs at every lame joke he cracks, still giggles when he suggests I kiss the nearest high school boy when I cut my birthday cake and the butter knife—which it's impossible to cut cake cleanly with—comes out dirty.
"Ah, go on." He shoves my shoulder a little too hard. "It's your birthday, he won't say no."
"It's okay, Smith." I hold up my hands, butter knife still firmly in them. "I don't actually want to."
"I hear she likes older guys," Duke says, and I shoot him a glare. I'm going to kill Kat. Big mouth.
"Older guys, hey?" Smith leans back on his chair and swirls the wine in his glass. "How much older?"
"Not much at all," I mutter, still shooting all my angry vibes toward Duke.
"Are you seeing an older boy, baby?" Mum asks, concern briefly crossing her fine features.
"No." I shrug. Not anymore. "I just ... I just didn't tell him the truth."
"About how you really feel." Smith nods, and I shrug his weird comment off. Whatever.
After dinner, Mum pushes Duke and I into the living room to "watch a movie"—yes, she even does the air quotes—while her and Smith clean up in the kitchen. Duke and I lie on the living room floor, some bad Adam Sandler flick blaring in the background.
"I'm so sorry," I whisper.
He shrugs, then shakes his head. "Lia ..." He pauses, and reaches out a hand to link fingers with mine. "I’m sorry."
The gesture is one of friendship, solidarity. And it's exactly the safe connection I've found in Duke ever since the day I met him.
"I didn't know this was what it was like for you. And I shouldn't have said ... well, y'know. What I said."
"How you called me crazy?"
"That." He nods, and offers up a rueful smile. "You're a pretty special girl."
"You’re a bit of a dick," I say. Duke snort-laughs. “But thanks for the compliment.”
"You kids want some more wine?" Smith yells from the kitchen.
"No," Duke and I call back simultaneously.
"More for me and your mum then," he sings, and I hope that she's strong enough to say no, even when I'm not there to watch. I need her to be strong enough to say no.
The thought consumes me, and I shake my head to clear it, returning my attention to the guy lying next to me. "So how'd he make you come here?"
Darkness flashes over Duke's features, and he presses his lips together into a thin line. Softly, he whispers, "Lia ... I don't think he's a good dude. He—"
"It's awfully quiet in here." Smith's footsteps thud into the room and he flops himself down on the couch behind us. "Adam Sandler? Good choice."
Duke makes eyes at me, and I get the unspoken message of we'll talk about it tomorrow at school. It's not as if he's told me something I don't already know. Smith really is a weird guy.
When the movie ends, Duke thanks Mum and Smith for dinner, and I walk him to the door. "See you tomorrow, Lia." He leans in and hugs me, and whispers in my ear, "Be safe."
I frown as I pull back, ruffling his shiny, too-styled hair. "Always." I poke my tongue out.
Because I'm at home. Of course I'll be safe.
There's nothing that can cause me danger here.
CHAPTER THIRTYTHREE
"Baby." Mum's voice is soft. "I'm sorry."
Sorry.
The car careens off the road, and we’re airborne.
It's not a splash when we hit the water. It's a roar so loud it sends shockwaves through me, decimating my body and rendering me still. For just one moment time is suspended, as I look at her, and she looks at me, and we both see each other—really see the other person in the car.
Then the water floods in through Mum’s open window.
"Shit!" I pull my seatbelt out and reach across to do Mum's. She's still stuck in that frozen state, her hands still on the steering wheel.
The icy-cold water gushes through that window space. I feel my heartbeat everywhere—in my wrist, my neck, my chest. My panic levels are rising like the water at my knees, and I don't know how to stop it, how to get out—if we can get out at all.
The weight of the engine propels the car forward and we’re underwater. It's dark here now, so dark, the murky water in front of the windscreen giving nothing away, the grey-green muck coating us. I’m scared, petrified, but I know I have to move because we don’t have much time. We just don’t.
I push Mum toward the window. Her arms latch out, trying to pull back into the car, but now my whole body is involved. It's fight or flight, and I am not going to die here. I’m going to fight for what I believe in. I'm Lia Stanton.
With all my effort, I jam her through, and she floats somewhere in front of me, clearing the car. I grip onto the frame and hurl myself after her, but the current swings me to the side and my shoulder connects with the side of the car. I clutch at it in pain, and for a second I want to give up. To stop fighting.
Then I kick with everything I have. My arms thrust around wildly. My heart beats a million miles an hour and my lungs already burn with the sting that comes from lack of oxygen.
Focus.
My body stills as I try to get a grip on the situation.
Which way is up?
My eyes sting from the salt as I look left, right, up, down—then I spin. Because up there, there’s a light. And I have to swim toward it.
I start my paddle toward the surface, my arms acting as oars and scooping the water past me. The water is concrete as I try to make my way through. It’s stiff, and hard to navigate, but I keep trying with everything I have. I have to keep trying.
Because I didn’t survive my father’s death to go like this.
I didn’t survive death to be slain in Armageddon.
My arms are heavy—so damn heavy. I lift one, the other still holding my body together. I kick, though, both legs churning.
I kick like hell.
My lungs burn, and my throat is sore. My eyes sting as I try and I keep them open, try to work out which way is up. But it’s too much. It’s all too much. I give up—
Then I thrash like crazy.
I'm going to die ...
I swim, and I swim, but it's taking too long. I open my mou
th, just a fraction, as if trying to suck some of the oxygen from the water but it just rushes into my mouth and I snap it closed.
Light, though. Above me, there's light. So close.
If only I had the strength to reach it.
My aching chest.
So close.
I'm going to see Dad again.
I close my eyes and wait for my life to flash before them.
This is what it's like to die.
***
Something's wrong.
The nightmare still lurks in my mind, but it didn't jolt me awake. My lungs ache, the ghost of the pain I felt that day eighteen months ago still present. I hug my arms tightly around my ribs, as if to reassure them that they work. That they're not drowning in a lake full of silt and evil and my own mother's depression.
That's when I hear it.
"Girl ... you'll be a woman soon."
My skin crawls with goosebumps, even though I have a blanket firmly wrapped over me.
What is he doing in my room?
I curl in on myself and try to keep my breathing steady. In, out. In, out. Just like I did before. Just like I hope I did in my sleep, because who knows how long he's watched me in here as I lay helpless.
Each breath of air I suck in, I suck in more of his scent of too much alcohol mixed with a hint of sweat. It's all I can do not to choke on the fumes of this man I hate sitting there in the dark.
"I know you're awake."
Shit.
My heart goes from alert to staccato in no time. It leaps, it races in my chest, each pound against my ribcage a foreboding drum of doom. I inch my hand around under my pillow, trying to find my mobile phone without making my movements too obvious.
"Your breathing changed when you woke up." His hand is on my face, rough and calloused, pulling back my hair, and I feel every inch of skin he's touched because under his fingers, I burn.
"Stop it."
My voice is tiny, small.
It's lost somewhere inside of me.
Because this can't be happening. Not after everything else that has happened. Not when I've fallen so low.
How To Save A Life (Emerald Cove #1) Page 23
