Not feel better or feel good. Just feel something. And while I definitely wasn’t itching to kill anyone, I could understand how a little thing like the weather drove people to do things that were out of character.
It might’ve been Jax who got my blood pumping again, or it might have been being on my own, without my mother or Liam. All I knew was that something was twisting my brain tighter and tighter, and I couldn’t not react anymore. Almost as if it was all out of my control.
“How many times have you driven a stick?” Fallon asked beside me as we both bobbed forward in Madoc’s car.
I licked my lips, tasting the sweat on my upper lip and Jaxon Trent still in my mouth. My stomach growled again, but I ignored it, punching into fourth gear.
“Shut it,” I warned, joking. “I’m still learning.”
“Madoc’s going to kill me,” she complained, and I saw her cradle her forehead in her hand out of the corner of my eye. “You should’ve let me drive, K.C.”
“Leave her alone, Fal,” Shane piped up from the backseat as I rounded onto my street. “And her name’s Juliet.”
I glanced at Fallon, who looked over at me, her light brown hair fanning around her eyes. “Juliet?”
I arched an eyebrow at her. “No jokes,” I ordered. “It’s my real name.”
“Why don’t you go by it?” Fallon asked.
A smile played at the corners of my lips. “I do now.”
Pressing in the clutch and downshifting, I cruised to an easy stop in front of my—my mother’s—brick Colonial. Looking past Fallon out the window, I found it hard to believe I was only here this afternoon.
“So, what’s the plan?” Shane asked.
“You don’t have to come in,” I explained. It was too much to ask them to get involved with this. “I just need to get my journals out of my room. It’s more than I can carry in one trip. If you’re willing, I thought we could all do it quickly,” I said as more of an apology but quickly added, “But you definitely don’t have to. My mother will be a pain the ass.”
“Ooooh.” Fallon rubbed her hands together, smiling. “Pain-in-the-ass moms. My specialty.”
“I’m down.” Shane leaned over the seat, looking at me. “Let’s do this.”
I inhaled a deep breath and tucked my chin down to calm my nervousness. Climbing out of the car, I stared at the dark house as I waited for Fallon and Shane to follow me out and then started around the car toward the front lawn. I smiled to myself, kind of liking the feeling of them behind me. Kind of as though they’d catch me if I fell.
It reminded me of Tate, and I wished she was here.
“How’s your dad doing?” Tate asks me as we walk home from school.
I shrug, holding on to my backpack straps. “The same. Sometimes he remembers me. Sometimes he doesn’t.”
It’s Monday afternoon, and we’ve just finished our last class, freshman PE. And thank goodness for that! If I had PE earlier in the day, my mother just might show up to ensure that I showered, and then she’d bring me a freshly pressed set of clothes. At least this way, I can just come straight home, shower, and never have my friends find out what a spaz my mom is.
“It’s hard to think of you as Juliet,” Tate teases. I’d only just told her about my dad and the deal with my name a week ago.
“Just stick with K.C.,” I tell her. “It’s what I’m used to.”
“Out of the way!” someone growls, and we both jump, huddling together, as Jared Trent zooms past on his dirt bike. He stands up, pedaling and scowling back at Tate. His deep brown hair blows in his eyes, but you can still see the hatred blazing out of them.
“Jared Trent!” I belt out. “You’re so dumb you’d trip over a cordless phone!”
I hear Tate snort, but then she chides, “Don’t piss him off. He takes it out on me.” But then her eyes dart up. “Oh, crap.”
I look up the street to see Jared swerving his bike in a circle and coming back at us.
My eyes go round. “Run,” I order.
And Tate and I shoot off, up the sidewalk and into the grass, as my backpack bounces against my tailbone and Tate grabs my hand, squealing.
I start laughing as we scurry, and I don’t even look back to see where Jared is. Vaulting up the steps, we crash through my front door and slam it shut, gasping for breath and laughing.
“Stop antagonizing him,” Tate commands, but her face glows with amusement.
I drop my backpack to the floor, my chest rising and falling hard. “He’s an asshole, and you’re awesome.”
“K.C.!”
I jerk to the stairs, straightening my back immediately.
“Yes, Mother.” I look up and then to the floor. My mother descends the stairs, and I can already smell her perfume.
She doesn’t have to say anything. I used vulgar language, and it was unacceptable.
“Tatum, honey,” my mother greets as she comes up in front of us. “Nice to see you. What a darling little tank top.”
And I turn my head away from them, cringing as my eyes fill with tears. My mother hates her tank top, and Tate knows it. Embarrassment heats my face, and I clench my fists, wanting to shove my mother away.
But I grit my teeth and turn back. Tate wears a tight white cami underneath a loose black tank top. The top features a white skull with a Native American headdress of beads and feathers.
“Yeah.” I swallow. “I like the skull on it. I was hoping I could borrow it.”
Tate’s uncomfortable eyes shift to me, and my mother arches an eyebrow. If we were alone, I would’ve been hit.
When we are alone, I will be hit.
“Tatum?” my mother starts, her voice dripping with sweetness. “K.C. has a doctor’s appointment. Are you okay to make it home on your own?”
Doctor’s appointment?
Tate glances at me, looking as if she’s holding her breath, and then smiles, nodding. “Of course.” She leans in for a hug. “See you tomorrow, K.C.” And then whispers in my ear, “Love you.”
“You, too,” I mumble, because my mom is watching.
Tate walks out the door, and my mother steps in front of me, cocking her head. “Upstairs,” she orders.
I’m not sure what she wants, but my stomach rolls anyway. I’m tired of being afraid of her.
I still remember my dad being home and cuddling on the couch with him, watching Barney. He hated the show, but he’d sit with me for hours, because he knew it was the only way I was allowed to watch TV.
My mother never takes me anywhere unless it’s to pretty me up shopping or to the salon, or to smarten me up at a museum. She rarely laughs with me, and I don’t remember ever being squeeze-hugged, tickled, or gushed over.
I wish she loved me. Like K.C. I hear her cry sometimes in her room, but I don’t dare tell her. She’d get mad.
I walk upstairs, glancing back out of the corner of my eye every so often to see her behind me. I’m afraid to turn my back on her.
Opening the door to my bedroom, I stop.
Our family doctor is standing by the window in his suit minus the jacket.
“No,” I choke out, and turn for the door again.
But my mother grabs me, yanks me into the room, and slams the door.
“No!” I cry.
The tears that pooled at the memory didn’t spill over. I wouldn’t allow it. This twisted house wasn’t mine anymore, and I didn’t have to stay once I got my journals. I would forget the slaps. I would forget the harsh words. I would forget the doctor’s visits.
I wouldn’t spend another day giving any of it more attention than I already had done.
I rang the doorbell.
Moments later, a light came on inside and then the front porch light. I shifted, immediately wondering how I looked, but then I stilled again. I was still dressed in my pajama shorts and Jax’s T-shirt, looking completely out of sorts, and it didn’t fucking matter.
My mother opened the door slowly, eyes narrowed as she took us in. “K.C.?” She looked between me and Shane and Fallon. “What is the meaning of this?”
“I need my journals.”
Her confused and annoyed expression turned to a scowl. “You will most certainly not get your journals right now. How dare—”
I pushed past her, barging through the front door, and spun around.
“Fallon? Shane?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “My journals are tucked in a secret compartment at the bottom of my hope chest. Would you mind?” I asked, and then looked to my mother. “My mother has things to say to me in private.”
I knew the word “private” would buy me some time. My mother’s back straightened, and her gaze barely flickered to them as they darted past her and up the stairs.
My mother closed the door and walked toward me. “How dare you? It is the middle of the night, and I told you you could have your journals when you came home.”
“I’m not coming home.” I hoped I sounded defiant.
“K.C.—”