14. FOURTEEN
FOURTEEN
brEE
17 YEARS OLD
Last month, I turned seventeen. Just one more year, I thought, and I could finally leave home. The only thing that got me through it was the thought of escaping and building something better. I dreamed of coming back for Mel, of giving us both the life we'd always talked about, a life that often felt impossibly far away.
Days dragged like molasses, every second heavier than the last. Time appeared to freeze, keeping me imprisoned in a home where hope was never in reach.
Homemade pasta steamed the kitchen as I stepped inside, where the rich warm, comforting aroma mingled with the crisp autumnal cool air that slid through the window and opened a crack. Mother stood by the counter, nimbly working with the dough, gentle white flour was dusted over her fingers.
Her hands moved with a gentle sway, almost hypnotic as if she were at peace. She looked up and caught me watching her, her lips curving into a small smile.
"Bree?" she asked softly. "What's wrong?"
I hesitated, my feet shifting on the worn tiles. "Uhm, nothing much," I mumbled out, my voice hardly a whisper.
She turned to me, smiling, her hands wiping across the apron. "What is it?" she pressed again, this time facing me.
I swallowed hard, my fingers twisting nervously. "I dreamed about her, the woman I met last year in Greece," I said, my voice catching in my throat slightly.
Her face hardened and the warmth in her eyes cooled to something much icier. "That crazy lady?" she asked, with a bitter tone. She stepped closer and ran her hands over her apron again, though it had been clean, and landed with palms on my shoulders. "Bree, we've talked about that."
"But it felt so real," I said, the words tumbling out in a rush. "I was only four in the dream, and she was younger too, and—"
"Bree," she cut in, the sigh brushing me off. "We often dream of the life we want, not of the one we live." The tone of her voice softened some, though her eyes didn't. "I know how I haven't been the mother you wanted, and maybe you're just looking for something in that woman that I couldn't give you."
Love.
Love was what I had been seeking the whole time. In one second I saw more love in that woman's eyes than I had ever seen in my mother's eyes. I kept that to myself and swallowed it like a bitter pill, knowing that I had always desperately convinced myself that one day this would get better and I would feel something. Anything.
"But," I started, wanting to ask more, but her patience was already gone.
"No buts , Bree," she snapped, raising her voice. "I don't want to talk about crazy anymore, okay? Just drop it. Please." Her hands fell away from my shoulders as she stepped away, the touch replaced by a cold emptiness in their wake. "Just go to your room, you're upsetting me."
"I'm sorry," I whispered as I stepped toward her, wanting, needing to bridge the gap between us. I reached out, desperate for a hug, but she moved, pushing me away like I was a stranger, someone unwanted.
My vision blurred with tears as I turned and walked out of the kitchen; the sting of her rejection cut deeper than her words ever could. The hall seemed endless as I trudged toward my bedroom, my head hung low, my shoulders slumped in defeat. The quietness of the house swallowed me whole. And with each attempt I made, every time I would even try and share the least fragment of myself, I got put to silence, pushed aside, and forgotten.
I sank on the bed, the weight of the day resting on my chest. I closed my eyes and let the tears fall freely. Sleep was my only escape, a place where I could at least live the life that real life hadn't given me. My dreams, were where I could live without the suffocation of the real world. I could finally breathe.
Soon I found myself in Greece, in my dreams, falling into the arms of a woman, a mother I didn't know I had. Her arms were so warm and loving. The love I had always wanted but never had. For a time, I wasn’t alone. Someone could hold me, love me, and be loved by me. It was perfect.
Suddenly, something jarred and stopped, a hard thud awoke me. My eyes snapped open to darkness. Night had fallen. What had seemed like mere seconds of sleep had turned into hours of sleep. I blinked dazedly, a dream of Greece gone, replaced by the harsh, cold reality of my bedroom.
I stood up quietly, my bare feet tapping lightly on the floor as I tiptoed toward the hallway. My heart pounded in my chest, and a strange unease washed over me. As I approached the kitchen, soft sounds reached my ears—low moans, muffled sounds. My throat tightened as I drew closer, each breath shallower than the last.
Then I saw them.
Mel lay sprawled across the kitchen island, her body bare, her legs spread. Dad stood behind her, his hands tugging hard on her hair as he moved against her. His face twisted in pleasure, an evil grin I'd never seen before. Their bodies moved together, their gasps and moans filling the room. Mel bit down on her palm, trying to stifle the sounds, but it wasn't enough. The sight was searing, unbearable.
I gasped, the breath escaping me before I even knew it was coming. Mel's head snapped toward mine, her eyes wide and horrified. She shoved Joe, scrambling off of the counter as panic set into her face, now.
"Bree!" she called, desperate. She ran toward me, outstretched hands and all, but I was faster. I turned and left, slamming my bedroom door behind me and locking it with trembling hands.
Inside, my heart was racing, hard, and it felt like it would tear out of my chest. I slumped against the door, my knees buckling as the image replayed in my mind. I couldn't believe what I'd seen. I didn't want to believe it.
"Bree, please!" Mel's voice came from the other side, frantic and pleading. She banged on the door. "Please, I can explain! Just let me in! Please!"
Her wails were muffled by my own silence. I pinched my arm to a sting, to wake from the nightmarelike scene, but I was not sleeping.
"Please, let me in," she begged, her voice cracking. "Bree, please."
"Go away!" I shouted, finding my voice at last. My body shaking, I pushed myself upright, but my back remained pressed against the door.
"I'll tell you everything," she sobbed. "Just let me in!"
Then I heard it, the sound of his footsteps approaching. A fresh wave of nausea rolled over me.
I hadn't thought, had only unlocked the door, yanked her inside, and slammed it shut again, locking it fast. She half-stumbled into the room, her face streaming with tears.
"What the hell, Mel?" I yelled, my voice shaking in anger and disbelief. "Are you outta your mind? What the fuck's wrong with you?"
She flinched, her hands shaking as she tried to steady herself. "It happened in Greece," she started, her voice weak, but I couldn't bear to hear it.
"No," I said, hands covering my ears. I flung myself onto the bed, curling into a ball in desperation to shut her out. "Stop. I don't want to hear it."
"He was nicer than usual," she said, dismissing me. "And I…"
"You what, Mel?" I snapped, my voice colder than ice as I whirled my back to her.
My stomach churned with the bile rising high into my throat. "That's sick. You're sick. I can barely." I faltered then, slapping a hand to my mouth, hard.
"I know," she whispered.
She took a step closer to me, her hand glancing over my shoulder. "He touched me and I… I know this is wrong, but I liked it." Her words cut through me like a razor.
My body went stiff as the waves of repulsion washed over me, hot and uncontrollable. "I think I'm going to be sick," I said, trying to get to my feet in one motion; I almost fell.
My stomach was churning and I doubled over, clinging to my knees as I struggled not to let the nausea win. Mel broke down, sobs erupting through the room. And I couldn't comfort her. I couldn't look at her.
"He's not our dad," Mel whispered, her words shaking as if they could break her themselves.
I froze. Her words hung in the air like smoke, choking me. "He's not. What?" I whispered, while my breath hitched in my throat. "Was that woman right? Was I her daughter?"
Mel sank onto the edge of the bed, her face buried in her hands. "I don't know," she said, her voice breaking. "I really don't."
"Mel, this is sick," I told her, the words spilling from my mouth like cold razor blades. "What if?"
"I love him," she cut in, her voice barely audible but laced with raw emotion. Tears streamed down her face as she sobbed, "We wanted to escape together. He took me places, and when we're together, it feels so right."
Her words hit me like a gut punch. My stomach was churning violently, and I doubled over, grabbing at my abdomen. "I'm going to puke," I muttered, my knees hitting the floor as nausea rolled through me.
But I didn't.
"I swear, Bree, I don't want to hurt you," she cried. "But please, not a word to Laura, she'll freak out…"
"You think?" I yelled, cutting her off. My voice cracked, and I stared at her in disbelief. "You're fucking her husband," I whispered venomously, the disgust lacing every syllable. "I can't even believe I'm saying this."
Mel flinched but pressed on, her voice growing wilder. "All I know is we're here because of her. She pointed her finger and chose us." Her tears fell freely now, her hands wringing together as she spoke. "Joe just wanted her to be happy."
"This is sick," I said, my voice trembling as I stood. "All of it. This is all so fucking sick."
I turned, heading for the door, the walls closing in around me. I needed air. Space. Something to pull me out of this nightmare. But as I reached for the doorknob, Mel grabbed my hand, her grip desperate.
"Bree, please," she begged, her voice cracking. "Don't—don't go."
I yanked my hand free, my chest heaving as I stared at her. We stood there, crying, broken, standing at the edge of something we could never take back. We somehow ended up on the top of the stairs, both our emotions tangled in a storm of regret and despair.
And then, everything spiraled. A sudden pull, a shove. Which of us moved first, I will never know. It was as if time slowed, and the next thing I knew was weightlessness.
Everything around was a blur; the world flashed from dark to light as we tumbled down the stairs, rolling. It was a loud crash, deafening, but then all of a sudden there wasn't anything. No noise, no pain, void. We floated there, carried off somewhere to a point out of time. Just the two of us.
PRESENT DAY
Isak was still here. He'd fallen asleep in the chair by the window, his head tilted at an awkward angle. I didn't mind. Somehow, knowing someone was there with me made the silence feel less heavy, the night less suffocating. His soft, steady breaths were a reminder that I wasn't completely alone.
But then I heard the soft sound of footsteps. My heart raced as I slowly turned my head to the left. Thor appeared from the shadows, quiet, almost too quiet. He was holding something, a small box.
"I won't stay long," he said in a low, almost hesitating voice. "I just wanted to see you."
"Okay. You've seen me," I said, defensively crossing my arms, my tone sharper than I had intended.
He looked different. His hair was shorter now, the dark strands framing his face in a way that softened his features. It suited him, made him look older, maybe even wiser. But I refused to acknowledge it. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction of knowing I noticed.
"Yeah," he said, smiling faintly. "I did."
He cleared his throat and finally wore a serious expression. "I'm sorry," he said. "If I hurt you, in any way, that was never my intention."
"Well, you did," I said, slicing through the apology like a knife.
He hesitated. My words were hanging between us, yet he didn't argue; instead, he held out the box and placed it gently in my lap.
"Anyway," he said now with a softer voice, "this is for you."
"A gift?" I asked, narrowing my eyes and turning to the box.
"A phone," he said. "I put my number on speed dial. All you have to do is press one. That's all."
Curiosity finally got the better of me, and I opened it to find a simple phone. I got a phone for the first time in my life. A slight grin tugged at my lips despite myself.
"Thank you," I said softly.
"I won't bother you anymore," he said and stepped back. "Isak will care for you better than I ever could."
A lump formed in my throat, and I swallowed hard, the ache almost unbearable. So long, I'd wanted Thor to be my Snowman, the one who could take my heart. But maybe all along, I'd been looking for someone to save me from the Snowman.
"Bye, Bree," he said, his voice hanging in the air as he turned to leave.
I watched him go, the shadows swallowing him whole as he disappeared into the hall. The phone felt heavy in my hand. My thumb hovered over the button marked "1," the urge to call him back was overwhelming. I wanted to tell him I was sorry too, to ask him if his eyes weren't brown at all but icy blue. But the world doesn't work like that, and I'm not that lucky.
I set the box on the table next to my bed, a small table with a vase full of Isak’s white roses. Light danced across the soft petals, carrying the sweetest, lightest scent in its breath. I huddled under the blanket again, picked up the phone, and held it tightly to me as if it could somehow fill the hole gnawing at my soul. I closed my eyes for a moment and wished—wished he would come back. That he would tell me I was wrong. That there was a world where he could be both: the man I needed and the one I feared.
Isak woke up, a faint smile spreading across his face as he leaned closer, his palm brushing my hand. "How do you feel, birdie ?" he asked softly.
Birdie. There was a trap.
A game he was good at, he played me like a string. First, he showed me the sky and made me believe I had wings, only to clip them whenever I started to fly.
Even with the cage door open, he had the power to drag me back down. I stared at him, his icy blue eyes piercing, his hair tied in a loose bun at the back of his head. He was perfect—too perfect. His smile, his presence, his whole being weighed upon me. I could feel the hunger in his gaze, the want radiating from him like heat.
But all I wanted was a moment of peace. Just a little bit of freedom to stretch my wings. To fly, even briefly. But he wouldn't let me. He called to me, pulling me into his arms.
My lips parted as he leaned in, his mouth finding mine. His lips pressed against me, his tongue forcing its way into my mouth. He didn't ask; he took. A tango of forbidden love he commanded, and I didn't fight. I let him steal my first kiss, and another piece of me surrendered to another man who would only take more.
When he finally pulled back, I smiled faintly, masking the pain inside. Then I heard it: "Hello?" The voice was faint, distant. My heart froze as I realized my thumb had been pressing the number one on the phone the entire time.
My body was screaming for help, my heart wanted love, and my mind was screaming for freedom; I couldn't have it, not one piece.
I brought the phone to my ear, a tear slipping down my cheek. "Sorry," I whispered. "It was an accident."
"I see," the voice replied, and it wasn't coming from the phone.
Thor stood in the doorway, his figure framed in shadows. His eyes locked onto me, flicking briefly to Isak, then back again. The disappointment was plain on his face, cutting through me like a blade.
"Thor." I began, but his upraised hand cut me off.
Isak chuckled, leaning back as if all this meant nothing. "Man, we—"
"No need to explain," Thor cut him off, his voice cold, detached. "You're both adults. You can do whatever the hell you want."
His fist was clenched at his side, but he didn't raise it. He merely turned and walked away, the heaviness of his footsteps growing distant as he disappeared down the hall.
"Maybe," I stammered, trying to push gently on Isak's chest. "Maybe we're moving too fast?"
He snorted and pushed my hand away.
"Since you've been here, Bree, I've been watching you," he said in a low tone that seemed to make my heart skip beats, the timbre of his voice almost possessive. "I needed to have you."
My heart sank. "Have me?"
He nodded, his smirk spreading as he leaned in closer, his body weighing down on mine.
"I knew it from the very beginning, birdie ," he whispered, his hand moving to my throat, his fingers curling around it with a gentle yet firm grasp. "I knew you would be mine."
Mine.
The word echoed in my head.
How?
I couldn’t. Not again. I couldn’t let this happen again.
Fine.
I am fine.
But I wasn't fine. Not even close.