Time has no meaning as we sit, both of us restrained to our chairs, and wait for whatever the fuck is to come next. We make a point of not talking much, not wanting to draw any unwanted attention our way, but we do confirm that we’re both tied to chairs, and that neither of us saw who kidnapped us. The consensus seems clear though—my mother is behind this act. Who else could it be?
I’m bored out of my fucking mind and dying to piss when the hood is finally pulled off my head in a dramatic flair that is completely lost on me, and I stare into the frosty eyes of my mother. The apathetic look in her eye makes me pause, but regardless of her expression, I carefully rearrange my face and give her a bland, unsurprised response. “Mother, about time.”
She doesn’t need to know my heart is racing in my chest and that my palms are sweating. Despite my outward appearance, I’ve never been held fucking captive, and to say I’m a little unsettled would be an understatement.
One side of her lip curls up in a cruel smirk. “You never did have any patience.”
Her gaze drifts to my left, and I know she’s eyeing up West. If I thought she looked at me with a cool gaze, it’s nothing compared to the way she looks at him. My best friend. My brother, for all intents and purposes. To her, he’s nothing more than a bargaining chip. Someone she can use to manipulate and threaten her way to achieve what she wants. It only makes me hate her more. She’s my mother, and despite her callous attitude, I want to believe she wouldn’t hurt me, but I’d be a fool to think that leniency would extend to anyone else. I’m not even sure she would show Hadley any laxity. I have seen the way she looks at her own daughter. The detachment in her eyes. It’s not normal, but then nothing about our situation is normal. Barton has made excuses for her, saying removing herself from the situation and focusing on work is her way of coping with everything that happened, but is that really true? At what point does she stop hiding, and just accept that she’s not that sort of mother. Does she care? Did she ever?
I made sure I was the one to come with West today, hoping Maria would listen to me, but honestly, I’m not sure she will. I want to believe that deep down inside, she doesn’t mean me any harm, but the harsh reality is that I’m not entirely sure that’s true. Yeah, she and Dad didn’t treat me with the same distant callousness as West’s dad, or inflict the same judgement on me as Cam’s. They definitely never beat me like Mason’s dad did to him, but does that mean they actually cared? Barton is making a point of proving himself, but Maria…well, I’m still unsure about her, but regardless of how skeptical I am, the little boy inside me wants to believe his mother isn’t capable of hurting him.
She moves to pull West’s hood off, and regardless of the fear I can see shining in his eyes, he glowers defiantly back at her. Looking away from him, I focus on the threat in front of us. “What do you want?”
She takes her time, fixing me in her sights and tilting her head. “Why, son, I want what’s mine. I want my company. All of it.”
I shake my head. “We can’t let you rebuild.”
She laughs, this empty sound that lacks any sort of humor. Any emotion at all, really.
“What you’re doing is wrong!” I snap, getting angry. “You’re stealing kids!”
Her face transforms before my eyes into this heinous thing, and she snarls, stepping close to me and squeezing my cheeks in her hand. “I’m giving these children a future they wouldn’t otherwise have. They should be fucking grateful! Without me, they’d have no prospects. They’d be dead in a gutter, high out of their minds or shot in a gang war before they were even old enough to vote.”
The longer I look into her eyes, I realize she believes the shit she’s spouting. She truly believes she’s saving these kids. And maybe she would be, if she wasn’t subjecting them to a childhood of torture, and forcing them into a life they might not want. But as it stands, what she’s offering these kids isn’t some sort of safe house. The compound isn’t a haven. It’s one of the levels of hell, and there’s no escaping it once you’re taken captive. It’s not a place fit for children. No one should be subjected to the fucked up shit that goes on in there.
Hadley has so many strengths, and I envy her tenacity; her ability to keep going in the face of adversity, but I can’t help but wonder how she would have turned out if she’d led a normal childhood. If she’d grown up with the rest of us. I know she’s fighting her own demons, and some days her PTSD wins, but the point is, she shouldn’t have to deal with any of it. No eighteen-year-old should have to go through what she’s experiencing; what she’s had to live through. She should have grown up with a mom and dad that loved her; with a brother who drove her crazy. She should have attended sleepovers, where she gossiped with her friends about her latest crush, and experienced the typical awkward teen moments at school that are basically a rite of passage. She should have sent Valentines’ cards and received flirty texts. She should have gone on first dates and gotten all dressed up for school dances. She should have had it all.
Instead, she wakes up screaming at night, she’s got trust issues, she jumps to the worst-case scenario, and she can’t relax unless she’s got her knife nearby. It’s not a life I would have ever wished for her; and if I could do it over, I’d trade places with her in a heartbeat. But life doesn’t work that way. We don’t get a do-over. We have to live with the choices we make…but that doesn’t mean we can’t avenge past mistakes.
“And what about your daughter?” I snarl, that ever-present anger I feel burning beneath the surface sparking to life and flaring up at the thought of all the injustice. “What was she being saved from, when she was kidnapped and hidden away in the compound? From you? From Dad?”
Mom tenses, and a flicker of surprise crosses her features before she masks it. “I didn’t know you knew that.”
Eh, what? That was not the response I was expecting!
I frown, scrutinizing her impassive expression. “You knew?”
Her lips purse, and she gives a small shake of her head, but she doesn’t answer me. A desperate need to know what she knows builds within me, and I glance at West, finding the same confused, questioning look on his face.
“Did you know where she was all this time?” I demand, my voice coming out strained yet insistent.
As if I asked her what was for dinner, she waves away my question like it means nothing, spinning in her high heels and striding away from us.