by Hart, Rebel
Then I went inside.
“Cecilia?” I called out her name as I closed the door behind me.
“In the kitchen.”
Her voice was so soft. Breathless. Worried. I made my way into the kitchen and saw her sitting there with a crystal glass of whiskey. She twirled it around in her fingertips. The sadness in her eyes was unbearable. I placed my hand on her shoulder and squeezed, knowing damn good and well that whatever she had found out wasn’t good. I walked to the fridge and got me a soda. I wanted a glass of whiskey, too. But I figured Cecilia wouldn't allow it.
I sighed as I sat down in front of her, watching her glassy eyes find mine.
“What happened?” I asked.
Her eyes fell to her glass. “What time is it, again?”
I shrugged. “Sometime past lunch.”
“Good.” She put her whiskey glass to her lips.
She chugged. And chugged. She swallowed until the amber liquid was gone. And when she got up to get a second glass, I knew it wasn’t good. Whatever she had to speak with me about would be life-altering. That much I knew for sure. How badly, I didn't know.
But I braced for the worst.
Cecilia eased herself back down and leaned heavily into the chair. I brought my soda to my lips, mindlessly sipping as I gave her the space she needed to collect her thoughts. Part of me wanted to yell at her to spit it out. The rest of me knew how much she was struggling, though. The look in her eye. The sadness in her features. The way her eyes teared up and dried out. Like her body didn’t know whether to be sad or angry.
Or both.
“Did Dad call you back?”
She nodded slowly.
“Did he answer any of your questions?”
And again, she nodded.
“Whenever you’re ready to talk, Rae’s gone.”
She drew in a short breath. “You should really call that girl and apologize.”
I nodded. “One thing at a time.”
Cecilia reached for my hand. “Your father’s already—”
I took hers, wrapping my fingers around her hand. “He’s already what?”
Though I knew what was coming.
“Your father’s already found a buyer for the house, Clinton.”
I drew in a deep breath. Anything to keep my head from popping off. I had to keep my cool. I couldn't let loose on her. I couldn't become Dad in this moment. I squeezed her hand before I sat back. Her touch fell away and I replaced it with the cold soda in my hand. I brought it to my lips and chugged, wishing it were alcohol. Wishing it were something to wash away the pain and hatred and disdain I had circulating through my system. The carbonation burned. I let it burn, too. I didn’t stop until the damn drink was gone. And even then, I wanted something stronger.
Something harsher.
Something more potent than a fucking Dr. Pepper.
“What else did Dad say?”
She sighed. “A lot. He blames you for what happened. Though I kept telling him it was his fault. That he started it after having one too many drinks. That you were only trying to defend me.”
I shrugged. “Dad doesn’t like chivalry unless it suits him.”
She snickered. “So I’m figuring out.”
“I’d really like to see the version of my father you’ve seen all these years.”
“You know, I’m not so sure it was ever different. Just… masked. By presents, and clothes, and jewelry.”
I nodded slowly. “You think?”
She sniffled. “Guess it’s easy to get me to shut up with money.”
“Don’t say that about yourself.”
“No, no. I’m serious. I mean, I grew up with nothing. I grew up with no voice. No things that were my own. No dreams or hopes of having a life I could live of my own volition. When I met your father, he promised me the world. Trips around the globe and nights spent in penthouses and fashion beyond my wildest imagination. I was so taken by all the things he could provide that I never saw the similarities between him and my father.”
“You still can’t blame yourself.”
“I’m an adult, Clint. I can blame myself all I want. I can’t control how I was raised. But I can control how I act as a result of it now. You’d do best to keep that in mind.”
I nodded slowly. “I will.”
“I guess I saw all the freedom of traveling with him and the freedom to eat whatever I wanted, and mistook it for actual freedom. An actual life. When really, I was still underneath someone’s thumb. Unable to move or speak or think unless it was demanded of me a certain way.”
“Sounds like Dad.”
She wiped at her eyes, though her voice never cracked. “Anyway, this isn’t about me.”
“It’s about us. You can talk about whatever you want to.”
“I don’t know how the fuck your father sold this house so quickly, but he did. We’ve got six to eight weeks until they close, then…”
I felt anger surging through me. “It’s only been, like, two days. How the hell did he orchestrate all of this from the hospital?”
“He wasn’t in the hospital when he called me.”
“That makes more sense.”
“Yeah. He’s in a hotel on the other side of town somewhere. Said he got out that next morning and he’s been there ever since.”
I snickered. “Fucking bastard.”
Everything was changing too quickly. Six to eight weeks? Where the hell did that man expect us to go? What did he expect us to do? I tried to figure out where I could start listing some of our things. We needed money, and quickly. I closed my eyes and tried figuring out all the jewelry I’d seen Cecilia in over the years. How much of it did she have in the house? She’d have to give up her luxury, but we could make this work. Even if we only sold—
“He wants me to go with him, Clint.”
My eyes slowly opened. “What?”
Her eyes lined with tears. “He says he wants me to come with him.”
“Go with him where?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. He said I’m his wife. And wherever we end up, I need to be there.”
“Need to be? Or that he wants you there?”
“Do you really have to ask that question?”
“So he wants you to uproot, but you don’t even know where you’re going? Did he ask you to pack? Or anything like that?”
She shook her head. “No. Just to get ready. Which I assume means packing. Maybe.”
I narrowed my eyes. “What aren’t you telling me?”
“Clinton, it’s not that simple.”
“What’s not that simple? Come on. Dad said something and I deserve to know what it is.”
“I know. I know. Just… please. Just give me a second.”
Don’t explode like him. “He wants me to be some sort of rental tenant in this house, doesn’t me?”
“No.”
“He wants me to go live with Roy? Or Rae?”
“No, that’s not it. He’s just—”
“He’s just what? Tell me, Cecilia. What am I supposed to do here? He’s sold the house. You’re going with him. Am I supposed to come, too?”
And when her eyes teared up, I fell back into my chair.
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me.”
She sniffled. “I’m sorry. I tried reasoning with him. I’m still going to try and reason with him. Just give me some time, okay? He’s still very angry.”
“He doesn’t want me coming with you guys?”
I slammed out of my chair. My fists balled up at my sides. I felt myself spiraling out of control as Cecilia yelped in shock. The kitchen table came off its fucking feet. It fell to the ground, raking across the marble of the kitchen floor. I felt my mind exploding. I felt my heart combusting. It felt like the pain and anger in my body was ripping me apart, limb for limb.
I had no words to describe the hurt coursing through my system.
“He said you’re eighteen and you can figure it out. But I’m going to talk to him.
You’re his son. You're my son, Clint. And I’m going to do whatever it takes to talk some sense into him. To get him to back out of selling this house. Even if he puts it in my name. Even if he washes his hands of it that way. I’m not going to let him do this to you, Clint.”
I heard her voice, but it seemed so far away. I felt her hand on my arm, but it barely rooted me to reality. Hot tears streamed down my cheeks. She eased me back into the kitchen chair. I sniffled as I stared at the wall, my chest jumping in anger. In hatred.
In defeat.
“He wants you to go with him, but not me.”
Cecilia crouched down beside me. “Clint, look at me.”
“Just say it. Just—just so I can hear it.”
“Look. At. Me.”
I slowly turned my eyes down to hers. She cupped her hands around my knee, steadying herself as her own tears flooded her face. I wiped mine away on my shirt, wishing and willing this life to be over. Hoping and praying I’d wake up from this fucking nightmare I’d been plunged into.
“I’m going to talk some sense into him. I’ve got weeks to do it. And I’m going to research legal avenues. See what I can do about fighting this. It isn’t over. Okay? Can you hear me, Clint?”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “I just want to hear you say it.”
“Say what?”
“Say, ‘Your father wants me to come with him, but not you.’”
“I’m not saying that.”
“Cecilia, just say it.”
“I’m fighting this, Clint. Please, give me time. Give this entire scenario some time.”
I gritted my teeth together. “Just. Say. It.”
She sighed. “Why? What good is it going to do?”
It’s going to help me let go of my hope. “Just trust me. Please. I’m begging you. If you give me nothing else, give me this.”
And with a defeated sigh, she nodded.
“Your father wants me to come with him wherever he buys his next house, but not you.”
Finally, after years of being bound to this hellhole, I felt the chains burst free. Any hope of ever finding the decency within my father popped off, leaving scars behind as the animal in me stood up. The animal he’d been starving and torturing and beating for years. The wounded animal he was more than willing to abandon out of sheer pride. Out of sheer anger. Out of sheer… abusiveness.
I was finally free of the dream of him. Of the dream I’d had ever since I was a little child. Of the dreams where my father loved me. Cared for me. Enjoyed my presence. Free of the expectation that I somehow had to make him happy. Make him proud. Do whatever he wanted simply because he commanded it. Weight after weight rolled off my shoulders. It felt easier to breathe. And as my tears dried up, I stood, helping Cecilia off her feet.
“Thank you for that.”
She drew in a shuddering breath. “It hurts to say.”
I nodded. “It does. But maybe it’ll give you some perspective on what to do next, and show you that you always have a choice.”
Then I pulled her into my arms and the two of us cried together, releasing emotions we’d been holding in for ages and finally freeing ourselves from the prisons my father had kept us in.
I only hoped she made the right decision for herself.
Because she was important, too.
14
Raelynn
“Fucking teachers.”
“Giving me a hard time.”
“Once. I was late once!”
“They’re judging me because of Clint.”
“They shouldn't even be teachers!”
“Prejudiced fucks.”
I kept my head down as I walked home from school. I murmured to myself, pissed off that all my afternoon teachers kept me behind to give me a lecture. I’d been late to their classes once. How the fuck did that warrant pulling me aside and berating me? What the hell did they expect from me? Yes, if a teacher pulls me aside, I’m going to be late for my next class. That isn’t my fucking fault!
That didn’t even touch what I found with Michael and Allison, though.
Michael sent me a text, telling me they were waiting out back in the parking lot. The only damn bright spot to my entire day. But, when I walked out of the back school doors, I didn’t see Michael’s big-ass SUV. It wasn’t until I squinted that I saw it at the back corner of the parking lot, parked underneath some damn trees. I should’ve known not to go near the damn thing. But I was naïve. I figured they wanted to get out of the sun while waiting for me.
Didn’t take a fucking rocket scientist to explain why the windows were fogged up.
Gross.
I didn’t even bother them. I simply turned around and headed for the road. The last thing I wanted to do was get in a car that smelled like pheromones and sexually-frustrated teenagers. This day had been a nightmare. Straight from the asshole of hell. And all I wanted was to get upstairs, get to my room, and close myself up for the weekend.
I didn’t even want to bother with school tomorrow.
I deserve a long weekend.
I didn’t know which to be angry about more: the fact that my teachers didn’t give a shit that I was a straight A-student, or the fact that my best friends didn’t give a shit about really waiting for me. I mean, why fog up the windows and perch yourselves for a make-out session if you know someone’s going to be joining you soon? That’s downright selfish! I would’ve never pulled that shit with Clint.
Are you sure about that?
I rolled my eyes and muted the voices in my head. I rushed across the road and tore into my neighborhood, because I wanted to get into the house as quickly as I could. I didn’t know what to do with all this anger. All this hurt. All this betrayal I felt. I mean, rationally? I understood it was stupid. I knew my emotions were raging out of control and that I needed to pull them back a bit.
But I just couldn't.
I looked up just in time to see D.J. getting into his car. Fucking really? He was here? Just my luck. I moved quickly. I practically jogged into the driveway as he turned his engine over. It wasn’t until he started backing out, however, that I realized he was leaving.
Finally, someone’s having mercy on me.
“Hey, kiddo.”
Spoke too soon. “Hey, D.J.”
He rolled down his window the rest of the way. “How was your day today?”
I flashed him a bitter smile. “Getting worse by the second.”
He snickered. “What did I ever do to you to make you hate me so much?”
I shrugged as I passed his car window. “I don’t know, Deej. Breathed air? Opened your mouth? Set your sights on my mother? Sent her home with bruises? Pick one. They’re all valid.”
“Spoiled brat.”
“Ignorant prick.”
I looked back at him as I made my way to the porch. I glared at him as he sped out of the driveway, his tires peeling off into the distance. The smell of burnt rubber filled the air, and I grimaced as I made my way inside. I drew in a deep breath of fresh air. Well, fresh air tainted with something terrible my mother had obviously cooked. I closed the door behind me as tires squealed in the distance. Probably D.J. taking a tight turn out of the neighborhood. Because he thought he was cool.
Asshat.
I leaned against the door and sighed, closing my eyes. I dropped my purse. My backpack. I felt my knees weakening as I closed my eyes. I wanted this day to be over. Hell, I wanted this year to be over. I wanted to be graduated so I could get the fuck out of here and the fuck away from Clint. And everything that reminded me of him.
“Rae? You all right?”
Mom’s voice hit my ears and I drew in a shuddering breath. The last thing I needed to do was break down. I was tired of it. Tired of feeling weak. Tired of feeling alone. Tired of feeling disposable. Like I was second-best.
But, when I opened my eyes, I saw Mom standing at the end of the hallway.
“Rae, what’s wrong?”
I swallowed hard. “Do I smell cookies o
r something?”
She nodded slowly. “I tried making your favorite. But I think there’s something wrong with the stove.”
“Burning the cookies?”
“Which is saying something, since we both know I’m a slow baker.”
“And a terrible cook.”
She snickered. “I’ll let you get away with that this time.”
I nodded. “Sounds good.”
She paused. “Do you want to talk about it?”
I shrugged, but I couldn't say anything. I felt the knot forming, my knees buckling. My entire world was crumbling around me as the loneliness in the pit of my black soul ignited. The light blinded me behind my eyes. It hurt to feel the heat of that searing anguish. My hand came up to my chest and I gripped my shirt. Tugged at the collar because it was now too close to my throat.
“Oh, Raelynn. I’ve got you. Come here.”
I held my hand out. “No. No, no. No hugs. Please. I just—”
“Stop it. You have to let it out. You know better than that.”
The second I felt my mother’s arms around me, I collapsed. I threw my arms around her neck and my knees finally buckled. She gasped as she sank us to the floor, her arms holding me tight. And as I tucked my face into the crook of her neck, I sobbed. I cried like I did when I was a child. When I first skinned my knee, or when I first jammed my neck. When Allison first hurt my feelings, or when I got my first failing test in middle school.
“What’s wrong? Talk to me, sweetheart. What’s happening?”
My lower lip quivered. “I-I-I, Clint—he’s mov—mov—school just—”
She kissed the top of my head. “Deep breaths, Rae. Even breaths. You’re close to a panic attack.”
“My chest. It hurts.”
“I know.”
“I can’t—”
“Just do as I’m asking. Breathe in through your nose, out through your mouth. And focus on keeping the rhythm even.”
I did as she asked. My chest kept jumping, but I kept at it. She murmured softly in my ear. She cradled me as if I were still a child. She rocked me side to side, groaning and grunting underneath my weight. She didn’t let me go, though. She didn’t push me away. She simply let me cry into her neck until my breathing finally stabilized.
