by Hart, Rebel
“Yeah, well. Make sure not to beat on her too hard this time. Okay?”
Mom gasped. “Rae!”
I leveled my eyes at D.J. “But remember my promise. Always remember my promise.”
I backtracked toward the front door and scooped up my things. My backpack, my purse, and my sanity. I tossed it all over my shoulders and ripped the front door open. Then I heard Mom’s desperate voice behind me.
“Are you even coming home after school today?”
The question gave me pause. “I don’t know, Mom. I’ll see you when I see you.”
I stepped out onto the porch and closed the door behind me. Hearing my mother cry on the other side of that door would’ve broken my heart had it not already been broken. I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath. I’d already be late for school. I walked up my driveway and started for the opening of our neighborhood, wanting nothing more than to pack my shit and never come back.
Even if it meant not getting my high school diploma.
Maybe I should ask the guidance counselor about GED programs.
I walked away from my house as quickly as I could. I burst into a run before I started panting in the morning fun. I mean, come on. It was sixty-eight degrees outside. How the hell did the sun still feel hot? Just another thing to annoy me today before I got to homeroom.
“Rae!”
A horn honking caught my attention and I saw Allison hanging out of Michael’s SUV. I snickered as they came screeching around a corner, blazing a trail straight for me. Michael came to a stop on the side of the curb. Allison reached back and threw open my door. I leapt in with my things and Michael whipped a U-turn, speeding off down the road toward our high school.
“Where in the world were you this morning?”
Michael cocked his head. “Thank fuck I decided to drive.”
Allison gasped. “Michael. Don’t use that kind of language.”
He chuckled. “Sorry, beautiful.”
I swallowed my groan as they leaned over and kissed one another.
“Thanks for picking me up.”
Michael nodded. “Anytime.”
Allison craned her head back. “What happened this morning? Why didn't you show up?”
“Yeah. We had to run back to my car before coming to find your ass.”
“Michael.”
I paused. “I thought you said you drove this morning.”
And when they both fell silent, I decided I didn’t want to know.
Allison giggled. “Anyway, how was your morning?”
Michael snickered. “I take it D.J. was around?”
I rolled my eyes. “He’s always around. Only this time, I told my mother exactly what I thought of him. And her, for being with him.”
“You did what?”
“What did you say to her?”
I shrugged. “What needed to be said a long time ago. That there was something wrong with her if she always gravitated to these types of men. That just because she needed him to pay the bills doesn’t mean I had to accept him.”
Allison’s jaw hit the floor. “You said that to your mother?”
Michael’s face fell. “Wow. That’s pretty harsh.”
I shrugged. “Had to be said either way. Not my fault she doesn’t want to leave an abusive dickweed because he pays some of our bills.”
Allison paused. “Does he really?”
I nodded. “Yep. Our dirty little secret.”
Michael sighed. “I mean, at least you got it off your chest, right?”
Even though I made her cry, sure. “Yeah. At least there’s that.”
Allison sat down in her seat. “Did D.J. do anything this morning to bring that on?”
“I mean, other than trying to be my dad, not really. He was his usual asshole self. Told me he’s trying to step in because, apparently, my mother needs help with me.”
Michael balked. “What?”
“Yeah. That’s what he told me.”
Allison scoffed. “That can’t be true. You’ve never given your mother any reason to worry. You’ve never really rebelled.”
Michael chuckled. “Other than that one time me and her snuck out to go to a diner and got sick on milkshakes at two in the morning.”
Allison paused. “You guys did what?”
I grinned. “No need to get jealous. It was three years ago.”
“I’m not jealous.”
Michael grinned. “That pouty bottom lip says otherwise.”
I averted my gaze as he leaned in to kiss her. And the kissing evolved to giggling. Which evolved to him tickling her as we pulled into the back parking lot of the school. I gazed out the window, searching for Clint’s bike. Well, not really bike. But any sort of vehicle that looked like it might have Clint in it. Part of me wanted to tell Michael to drive by his house. Maybe he just needed a ride to school.
Or maybe you know that’s absolute bullshit.
I sighed and pushed my way out of Michael’s SUV. He gave me a one-armed hug before Allison trotted around and wrapped her arms around my neck. I knew they were trying to cheer me up. Trying to offer me the bright side of life, or whatever. But I was slowly coming to the understanding that this was one of those things I had to ride out. There wasn’t a way to make it pass any sooner. I just had to wait it out.
I glared at Michael. “If you hurt her like this, I will end you. Understood?”
Then I squeezed Allison one last time before relinquishing her to Michael.
Her new boyfriend, apparently.
I made my way to homeroom by myself. Because Michael and Allison wanted to walk hand in hand. It was the first time in my entire high school career I’d walked to homeroom alone. And it sucked. Hard. I crossed the threshold of the classroom just as the bell rang. And Allison came running in behind me just before the bell stopped ringing. She smelled like a mixture of her conditioner and Michael’s aftershave as she sat down next to me.
A combination that brought tears to my eyes.
Allison took my hand. “You okay?”
I nodded, but didn’t say anything.
“You’re going to get through this, okay? And you’re not going to do it alone.”
Except, I was already alone. Mom had D.J. and didn’t give a shit about my issues. Allison had Michael, and the two of them didn’t give a shit as to how much PDA they graced the general public with. I was alone. Completely alone.
And I wondered if Clint felt this alone.
9
Clinton
“Holy fuck.”
I groaned as I rolled over. Something sticky and crusted slid against my skin. It made me grimace, causing me to reach for my sheets. And when I threw them off my body, memories came barreling back.
Memories of my dream.
“Are you shitting me?”
My boxers had a massive wet spot on them. My sheets were caked in cum. I snickered as I tossed my comforter off the bed, groaning at the smell. I hadn’t had to deal with this shit since I was thirteen years old. And yet, some dream with Rae made me come like I’d just learned how to touch my dick for the first time.
“What a fucking mess,” I whispered.
I threw my arm over my face. I didn’t know what else to do. Every part of me hurt, my face included. And dream after dream last night haunted me. Every single one of them about her. Rae. That beautiful body and those soft curves and that excessive softness and those luxurious thighs. There wasn’t a dream that ran through my head that hadn’t been tainted by her presence. My balls felt empty. There was so much wetness on my bed.
How many times did I orgasm last night?
I sighed as I sat up. I ripped my sheets off the bed and tossed them to the side. I turned my fan on, needing to dry out the rest of my damn mattress before I inched my way out of my boxers. Feeling that crusted sensation sliding down my skin made me shiver. And not in a good way. I rushed into the bathroom and readied myself for a long, hot shower.
Hoping to wash the dreams away.
The one time
I wanted to wake myself up, I couldn’t. The one time I wanted to awaken myself from all those bullshit dreams, and I couldn't make it happen. I’d been practically sleepless for the past two nights. Then I pass out and my brain fucking tortures me. Just my luck, at this point. I turned on the hot water and let the steam fill the room. I stepped in, feeling the waterfall showerhead cascade hot streams down my back, carrying with it the stench of my sweat and the crusted evidence of my debauched dreams.
Tortuous dreams of a girl I couldn't have.
I scrubbed myself down. I washed my hair and winced as water beat against my face. I knew things would feel worse with my body before they got better. But I was tempted to go to a doctor. My nose fucking hurt. And it made me angry. Just what I needed to start my day. A large dose of fucking anger.
I hate my life.
I stood under the water until I felt it grow lukewarm. Then I turned it off and reached for a towel. Getting ready for the day took almost twice the amount of time. Especially since it felt like the marrow of my bones were filled with lead. I pulled on a pair of jeans and stretched out the collar of my shirt. I slid it over my face, trying not to hit my nose as I finished getting dressed. I gathered up my things and walked downstairs. I guess I didn’t have a choice but to go to school today.
I didn’t feel like it, though.
I picked up my bomber jacket lying on the floor. But instead of putting it on, I simply carried it into the kitchen. I figured the smell of coffee would greet me. Or breakfast. Or the sound of my stepmother’s voice.
But nothing greeted me when I got into the kitchen.
“Cecilia?”
I furrowed my brow as the emptiness of my father’s sprawling mansion-esque home greeted me. I didn’t hear Cecilia call out for me, so I called her name again. And again. I repeated it as I walked around the house. I darted into guest bedrooms and checked the laundry room. I went back upstairs as fear gripped my heart. Hell, I even risked opening my father’s bedroom doors to see if she was in there.
No one was around, though.
“Cecilia!”
My voice roared through the house. I dashed around in a frenzy, trying to locate her. It wasn’t until I found the front door ajar, though, that I looked outside. And I found her. Standing there. At the end of the driveway.
With her back to me.
I narrowed my eyes and watched her unwavering body. She almost looked like a statue. One I didn’t recognize. Her state of dress shocked me. Her hair was disheveled. She had her fucking robe on. Slippers on her feet with her nightgown peeking out from beyond the fluffiness of her robe. I’d never seen her step out of the house without a full face of makeup on. Designer heels. Thousands of dollars’ worth of clothing and jewelry. And there she stood. Like any other stay-at-home mother.
Staring down at the ground.
“Cecilia?”
I walked toward her, leaving the front door hanging wide open. I tossed my bomber jacket onto the railing of the porch as the morning sun greeted me. The wind was brisk. Colors splashed against the sky. I kept an ear out for my father, just in case he was around. Something told me he wasn’t, though.
Then, I got to Cecilia’s side.
“What the—?”
She wasn’t looking down. She was looking at our mailbox. Specifically, at the sign swinging below it. I blinked a few times, trying to bring the words into focus. Trying to convince myself I wasn’t seeing what I knew was so plainly there.
“I don’t even know when he came by.”
Her voice sounded so defeated. Breathless. Exhausted. Cecilia sniffled as she raked her hand through her knotted hair. I looked over at her and saw tears dripping down her cheeks. Tears of defeat. Tears of fear. Tears of wariness. My eyes gravitated back to the sign. I reached out and touched it, trying to convince myself it was real.
Then I snickered. “Can he do this? I mean, your name’s on the house too, right?”
She shook her head slowly, not saying a word. And my stomach fell to my toes. In that moment, I realized that Cecilia was more like me than I could’ve ever understood. A prisoner in her own home. Where nothing was hers and everything was held over her head in spite. I raked my eyes over her, watching her unwavering body. The way she stood eerily still despite the tears that flowed down her cheeks told me she was a professional at that. Crying silently. Crying so no one knew.
“Come here. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her against me. And finally, Cecilia pulled her eyes away from the ‘For Sale’ sign swinging underneath our mailbox. Fear filled them. Wariness wafted behind them. Confusion wrinkled her brow and when she sniffled, there were twinges of anger riding on its coattails.
“I don’t know how he can do this, Clint.”
Her words were nothing but a whisper. But they felt as loud as a bullhorn. All my life, I’d been telling myself that same thing. Telling myself that I didn’t understand how my father got away with some of the things he did. For a while, I thought it was his money. The millions and millions he threw around only to come out on top, again and again. Never losing. Never failing. Always climbing higher. I wondered when his time would come. When he’d fly too close to the sun and fall to the earth.
And in my dreams as a child, I dreamt of that fall killing him somehow. So I’d be rid of him for good.
It killed me to see that same want in Cecilia’s face.
“Do you have any idea of when he came by?”
She shook her head slowly. “I don’t even know if he came into the house. I passed out hard around one. So, some time after that, I guess.”
“Does Dad have any other property around here? A home or something I don’t know about?”
She shrugged. “He’s probably staying in some hotel or something. Or maybe he’s placed a call from the hospital to someone. I don’t know. It could be a million things.”
“We should call the hospital today. See if he’s checked out.”
“I figured I would’ve gotten a phone call from someone.”
“That’s not always the case. Especially if he didn’t want anyone calling you.”
Her lower lip trembled. “What are we going to do?”
I thought back to the lawyer. To the doctor. The brochures and numbers they’d handed out for me. I knew they’d help me if I called them. I knew they’d talk me through this. Get me set up with resources. But I wasn’t sure they’d help Cecilia. As far as I was concerned, we were a package deal at this point. Nothing happened to me without knowing there was a plan in place for Cecilia.
Because she was just as much a victim, too.
“Come on, we should get inside.”
Cecilia stood her ground. “I want to rip that sign down.”
I steered her toward the house. “We can’t act irrationally any longer. We have to think this through.”
“There’s nothing to think through. Your father’s about to sell this house out from underneath us and leave us homeless.”
“Which means we should go inside and figure out a plan.”
I guided her up onto the porch. Then I turned my head and looked down the road, toward the high school, where another day would be skipped. At least, the morning would be. My grades would slip. I might not be able to graduate. I’d be pigeon-holed into getting a GED or something and being the scum of the earth for the rest of my life. But seeing Cecilia cry was hell on earth. I couldn't leave her like this. If my teachers wanted to know what the fuck was up with me, they could call the house and I’d explain it all.
Maybe they’d let me repeat my senior year instead of expelling me for absences, if I begged them.
“That’s it. Inside. One foot in front of the other.”
Cecilia sniffled. “I’m sorry. Just—just give me a second to—”
I closed the door behind us. “You don’t need to be sorry. You’ve been the strong one throughout this whole thing. You’re owed a moment, at least.”
“Holy Hann
ah, what are we going to do?”
She broke down and I wrapped my arms around her. I patted her hair down and held her close as she cried into my chest. I kept telling her it would be all right. That we’d find a way out of this. That my father couldn’t possibly legally do this. Not like he thought, anyway. But I wasn’t sure who I was trying to comfort, her or me.
I wasn’t sure which one of us would cave and not come back from it.
Her or me.
Get on the phone with your bank.
Figure out the status of your trust fund.
Figure out how much control your father has over that money.
Start stowing things away to sell.
My mind ran away from me the louder Cecilia cried. I felt her collapse and I scooped her close to me, refusing to let her fall to the floor. She was better than that. She was stronger than this. So I held her steady as I laid out a plan of action for my day. I clenched my jaw as she cried until she practically made herself sick. I walked her down the hallway and ushered her into the bathroom downstairs only seconds before she started puking.
I stood there with my back to her, giving her privacy but not leaving her alone. And as I listened to her sounds, I resigned myself to the plan. First, I needed to call my bank. Ask them questions about my trust fund and its contingencies. If I had any access to that money, I needed to transfer it into an account my father couldn’t touch. Or see. Or dip into, if he had to. And if I didn’t have control of it, I needed to start stockpiling things from around this house. Selling things off, right out from under my father’s nose. I mean, if he wasn’t going to come home, how the hell would he know I was selling his shit?
I could put the money into an account he couldn’t touch. And since my father didn’t make it a habit of keeping receipts, there was no way for him to prove this stuff wasn’t my stuff to sell anyway.
I didn't know. That required more research from a legal perspective.
I could call that lawyer and ask.
I felt my stepmother’s hand touch down between my shoulder blades. She pushed me softly, moving me out of the way. I turned around, watching as she wiped her mouth off with a washcloth. She tossed it into the sink. “We’ll figure this out,” she said.
