“I really need the money, Carol. Please.” His voice is low now, pleading. “I’ll pay it back. I promise, I will.”
“How can you ask me to lend you money from our daughters’ college fund? I can’t do that to them,” Mom says in a barely audible voice. “This money is for their future.”
Dad roars, followed by a thud. I jump back from the door, my eyes wide.
“You useless bitch. That was our money. If it weren’t for those worthless little shits, it could have been ours.”
“Don’t you dare talk about my daughters like that,” Mom says in a raised voice. I’ve never heard her speak to my father like that. “You know very well my mom and dad set up that account for them. I chipped in from my own savings. You never bothered to help out. So don’t go around blaming them for your own stupidity.”
Silence follows my mother’s words. I wait, holding my breath. What kind of trouble is he in?
The door flies open without warning. Dad almost knocks me down as he storms out of the room. I stumble away to avoid being trampled, and press my back on the wall behind me.
He glares at me, and I swear I’ve never seen so much loathing in anyone’s eyes. “You and your sisters are nothing but pain in my life. You ruined everything for me.”
Fear and anger scorch my veins, but the latter wins out. I fist my hands at my sides. “Then why don’t you leave?”
His eyes widen at my insolence. “Because your pathetic mother is like a leech, stuck on me and sucking me dry.” He narrows his glare at me. “Look at you, standing there, confronting me. You fall apart and cut yourself instead of facing a challenge like a true Blake. You make me sick. My own blood wouldn’t be as weak as you.”
He turns and stomps down the stairs. Tears burn my eyes as his words rip apart the confidence and resistance I’ve spent the last year building up.
My own blood wouldn’t be as weak as you.
“Honey?” My mom’s voice breaks through the deafening crash of my flailing emotions as they try to find something to hold onto.
My feet turn to face her, but my body is too heavy.
“Why do you stay with him? Why can’t you leave him?” I plead.
“It’s. . .it’s complicated.”
“What could be more complicated than this?” I yell, sobbing. “You know what? I can’t do this, Mom.” I shuffle down the stairs and race out the door barefoot. Dad’s car is already gone by the time my foot hits the hard ground on the sidewalk. I let my instincts take over as I race to find the comfort I desperately need, welcoming the sharp pain from the gravel on my bare skin.
When I finally get back home, the soles of my feet are raw, but I feel much better than when I left. I head to the shower, making sure to avoid my mother. I resent her for her stubbornness and whatever stupid reason she has as to why she still stays with a man, a monster, who has made his mission in life to make everyone around him miserable.
After dressing in my pretty dress and sneakers, I put on the necklace Cole gave me for my birthday and head downstairs to the kitchen. I empty the jar we use for grocery shopping money, and leave.
I wander along the aisles, adding what we need in the cart. I have two more hours until our double date. I pull out my phone and text Megs, asking her if it’s okay to chill at her place before we leave. I need the distraction and someone to talk to before I drive myself crazy. She texts me back to let me know that she’s at Spinners cafe and will be heading home soon.
I turn down an aisle heading for the tampon section and look up from my list. My step falters as I come face to face with packs of disposable shavers on a shelf. I should be able to look at them without fear. Blood roars in my ears and my scars start to itch, shooting tingles to my toes. I remember how good I used to feel when that sharp pain on my skin took over.
The sense of control. My hands start to shake with need and I have to ball them into fists as I fight the urge. My body vibrates, eager for that fix. People continue to mill around me. A woman’s voice asks me if I am okay. I nod, fighting for breath. Fighting for control. I close my eyes and see myself in a tunnel and the light that will save me is that pack of razors.
My own blood wouldn’t be as weak as you.
I’m not weak. I’m not weak. I’m not weak.
I open my eyes, and stare ahead. I can walk past this shelf without turning into my former self, craving for a fix. Maybe if I just touch the pack, I’ll feel better. I reach for the shelf, but something holds me back. There is a war in me; angels versus demons, fighting to own me. I’m in my own personal Hell and only I can get myself out of it.
My own blood wouldn’t be as weak as you.
I’m stronger than this and I’ll prove him wrong.
Suddenly, my feet are moving. I abandon my shopping cart and sprint toward the exit, blindly swerving around the other shoppers.