Chapter 2 #3
My chest tightens, and while my mom continues to rant about her shitty life, I look at my plate.
Fork in my hand, hard chair beneath me, feet on tile.
I mentally map out things I can feel, grounding myself in this moment and forcing air into my lungs as the anxiety settles deep within me like a weighted blanket I can’t get out from.
“Oh, Jesus,” she groans. “Is it drama time? The Cindy Theatrics Show about to start?”
I raise my eyes to her. “How can you be so cruel?” Letting out a harsh laugh, I squeeze the fork tighter, wanting to feel something solid in my hand as I force the words from my trembling lips.
“You think my life has been happy? A dead dad and then a mom who turned into an alcoholic when she married an abusive asshole of a man and brought him into our home. You think that was fun for me, Mom?”
“You ungrateful ass.” She stands, going to the counter to grab her pack of cigarettes, no longer caring that it’ll make it impossible for me to breathe. “We’ve been sober for a year,” she says. “How dare you bring that up to me.”
“I’m glad you got your shit together, Mom, I really am, but just because you’re sober now doesn’t mean it erased the hell you two put me through.”
She lights her cigarette and takes a deep pull. “Your problem is that you never just let things go.”
Disgusted, I push back my chair and stand.
Ignoring the cloud of smoke that’s filling the air and slowly drifting towards me.
“I don’t let things go?” It takes me a second to continue.
Anger courses through me as a familiar tightening hits my chest. It’s the early stages, and I’m not sure yet if it’s the start of an asthma or panic attack.
Right now I’m too pissed to care. Either one will hit me full force soon enough, but right now I have something to say, and it won’t wait.
“I’m so sorry that I can’t let things go, Mom.” I let out a harsh laugh. “I guess a stronger person could just forgive and forget years of abuse and neglect. How thoughtless of me to not let all that go the second you two put down the goddamn bottle.”
“You watch your tone when you speak to me.” Another angry pull and then she’s stabbing the butt out in the filthy ashtray in front of her. “We did the best we could, and you were always taken care of.”
“Only because Grace took care of me when you couldn’t.”
My mom scoffs and reaches for another cigarette. “Ah, yes, your precious Grace. The perfect mother.”
“I never said she was perfect, but she is kind, and without her I don’t know what would’ve happened to me.
She’s the one who taught me how to put a tampon in for crying out loud.
You were passed out, and I had no one else to help me.
” I take a shaky breath. “And she always let me sleep over when I didn’t feel safe being here with you and him. ”
My mom shakes her head, not wanting to hear what I have to say.
She always shuts down as soon as I bring my stepdad into the mix.
For some reason the fact that he was not just a drunk but a violent one is something I’m never allowed to bring up.
I wasn’t allowed to talk about it then, and I’m sure as hell not allowed to talk about it now.
“You need to leave the past in the past,” my mom says. “You need to move on.”
“I’m glad you quit drinking, Mom, I really am, but just because you’re not tipping the bottle back anymore doesn’t mean everything just magically goes away. Also, I’m pretty sure the twelve-step program has something in there about making amends. I’m still waiting for my goddamn apology.”
The look on my mom’s face makes it clear it’s never once occurred to her that I might deserve an apology, that I might need an honest acknowledgment that my childhood was fucked right the hell up because of her and Billy’s actions.
I wasn’t lying about being happy she’s given up drinking, but I’m not about to pretend that I didn’t live through hell from the time I was six until I made my escape at eighteen.
Over a decade of living with two drunks, one of whom traumatized me on a deep level, yeah, that’s not something you forget just because they’re no longer chugging drinks.
“I can’t do this,” I tell her, grabbing my bag and heading for the door. “I’ll call you next week, Mom.”
She doesn’t say anything, just takes another deep drag and watches me leave. Once I’m outside, I stop. Gripping the railing tightly, I close my eyes and force myself to breathe.
Not here, I plead with myself. Don’t fall apart here.
Grabbing my inhaler, I take a quick puff, hoping like hell this is just a minor asthma attack brought on by emotional stress. The dread is still thick around me, threatening to sink its claws into me, but for now, I’m okay.
I actually start to believe it until I hear the scratchy voice that haunts every nightmare I’ve ever had.
“What the hell’s wrong with you?”
I look up, meeting Billy’s eyes, and my breath catches in my throat. My voice is shaky when I say, “Mom said you were working tonight.”
“Job was canceled,” he says, stopping right in front of me. Billy isn’t a big man. He’s only a couple inches taller than me, and I’m guessing I weigh more than him, but I know from experience how strong he is. He has a wiry kind of strength, the kind that you don’t expect and you never see coming.
He steps in even closer, and the corner of his mouth lifts up when I take a step back. “Trying to avoid me?”
“Yes,” I say, and then I squeeze my bag to my chest and try to step around him. He blocks my path and then reaches out to grab a lock of my hair.
“That’s hurtful, Rusty,” he tells me, and I cringe at the nickname I despise.
“Don’t call me that,” I hiss at him.
He grins even bigger, and I curse myself for giving him the reaction he was obviously waiting for.
“Is my little Rusty girl upset?” Tugging harder on my hair, he adds, “You going to start crying again?”
I can feel the panic closing in on me. Knowing I have only seconds to get my ass out of here, I force my feet to move as I step around him.
He doesn’t let go of my hair, waiting until I’m far enough away for it to hurt, and then he gives one last tug before letting the strands slip through his fingers.
I hear his laughter behind me as I run down the sidewalk.
As soon as I’ve cleared the street and turned the corner, I lean against the brick building and force air into my lungs.
Bricks behind me, sidewalk under my feet, bag in my hands, warm air in my lungs.
With my eyes closed, I focus on my breath, using the box breathing technique I’d read about online.
Inhale for four counts, hold for four, exhale for four, hold for four, and then repeat until I don’t feel like I’m having a heart attack or a complete mental breakdown.
Eventually my heart slows and the tightness in my chest loosens enough for me to breathe normally.
When I open my eyes, the world is exactly as it was when I left it.
I get a few odd looks from a group of girls walking by, but I’m way past caring about whether or not I look weird.
Not wanting to waste any more time here, I push off from the wall and head for the subway.
Once I’m seated and on my way back to campus, I return to my calming inner monologue.
Plastic chair beneath my ass, metal railing under my hand, vibrations from the subway.
With a sigh of relief, I get out at my exit, disappearing into the crowd as I make my way to campus.
I’m exhausted, mentally and physically worn out, and I feel nauseated, probably because it’s been so long since I’ve eaten.
Iceberg lettuce and a cob of corn is not going to cut it.
Wanting to reward myself with something special after the night from hell I just endured, I make a quick stop to grab my favorite black bean tacos from Bean Me Up.
Carrying my supper and bag in one hand, I make sure I can easily reach my pepper spray with the other as I cross campus. Even though it’s a weeknight, when I get close to the edge of campus, I can hear the bass-heavy music coming from the U-shaped street to my right.
Greek Row is officially off-campus property, but still close enough to be within easy walking distance, which is a good thing considering the parties they hold and the amount of alcohol and drugs that are consumed during them.
I can just make out the pretty white columns on the Kappas’ mansion and the massive old red brick house across the street that belongs to the Alphas.
The music is of course coming from their house, and I wonder if Sav is there right now.
I hope she’s having fun if she is. I don’t want to ruin her night by telling her about mine. All that can wait until tomorrow.
The music fades as I get closer to my dorm, and I’m almost to the entrance when I hear a soft whine.
My ears immediately perk up, recognizing the canine sound, and I quickly look around to find whoever made it.
When I spot the large Doberman near my stairs, I freeze at the sight of him.
I’d been expecting something smaller, something a little less intimidating, but I try to never judge a book by its cover, so I squat down while my hand reaches into my bag.
Working part time at a vet clinic and volunteering at an animal shelter means I’m never without a doggy treat.
“Hey, pupper,” I say while I hold my hand out. “Are you hungry? You want a snack?”
He perks up at that word and trots over to me.
I’d worried about him being a stray, but when he gets closer, I see the black collar and silver tags hanging from his neck.
While he chomps on the dog bone, I tentatively reach my hand out.
He doesn’t try to bite me, so I pet his chest and give it a scratch.
“You’re a handsome boy, aren’t you?”
He licks his lips and studies me with his pretty amber eyes. The name on his tag says Chort, and I smile when I see it because it reminds me of a book I’d read last year. It was filled with Slavic folktales, and there’d been a few about the scary demon Chort.
“I guess you do look kind of scary,” I tell him before giving him another dog bone, “but you’re nothing but a big softie, aren’t you?”
Before I can try and find a phone number to let his owner know he’s loose, I hear a quick, sharp whistle.
Chort jerks his head to the side, all of his focus on where the sound had come from.
Before he runs off, he looks back and gives my cheek a lick.
Then he’s off, running down the sidewalk towards the end of the building.
Grabbing my bags, I stand and have just enough time to catch sight of a shadowy figure turning the corner. It’s too dark to make out any details, but what I can tell is that he’s enormous. Taller than the average man by several inches and shoulders broader than I’ve ever seen.
Damn, Chort’s a lucky dog. I can’t imagine how dangerous the two of them look together.
Maybe his owner is as big of a softie as his dog.
I’m guessing I’ll never know. I’ve been living on campus since freshman year, and I’ve never seen either of them around.
I may not have seen his face, but I’d recognize a set of shoulders like that.
With one last glance down the sidewalk to make sure Chort doesn’t come running back, I head inside and up to my dorm room.
The good thing about rooming with Brittney is that she often stays over with other people.
I don’t think she has a boyfriend, but she’s determined to make the most of her college years.
I envy her sometimes. If I wasn’t committed to my pinkie promise with Sav, I’d be forcing myself to go out and have some fun.
Maybe I’d find Chort’s owner and have a night I’m sure I’d never forget.
I laugh into the empty dorm room and crash onto my bed with my supper.
God, I’d never have the courage to approach someone like that.
A guy like him is not for the likes of me.
No one wants to date the girl with panic attacks and a shit ton of childhood trauma baggage.
My plan has always been to get a degree, find a good job, and then live a quiet life surrounded by animals.
I’d love to meet someone along the way, but I’m also not hinging everything on it.
My phone buzzes right before I can dig into my tacos.
SAV:
Everything go okay?
I’m not surprised she’s texting me. She has a big heart, and she tends to worry. I don’t want her worrying about me all night, though, so I send her a quick reply.
ME:
It was fine. I’ll give you the details tomorrow. I’m going to get to bed early and hope Brittney doesn’t wake me at five again.
SAV:
We both know she will. :) You need a break so I’m making you go to the Alphas’ this Friday with me.
ME:
Let me guess, you’re forced to go as a Kappa?
SAV:
And you’re forced to go because you’re my bestie.
I laugh and send her the thumbs up emoji.
Anytime she’s forced to go to one of their keggers, I go with her.
Safety in numbers, and she knows I’ll always have her back.
Parties can be a dangerous place for young women, and we’ve all heard the horror stories—girls who were drugged and raped, girls who were assaulted after they passed out, photos that were taken and shared online so everyone could see the most humiliating moments of some girl’s life.
It’s disgusting, and no matter how much we evolve as a society, nasty shit like this still keeps happening.
It makes me have serious doubts about the future of humanity.
Maybe that’s why I like dogs so much. Their natural state of being is happy and sweet.
Unless of course their owner has turned them into something else.
Grabbing my laptop, I start streaming the first show that looks interesting and grab a taco.
I try to focus on what I’m watching, but my mind keeps drifting back to the guy with the broad shoulders.
It’s stupid, and a very clear sign that I’m losing my mind and desperately need to rethink my Pride and Prejudice pinkie promise.
By the time I finish my meal, I’m barely keeping my eyes open. The last thing I remember thinking is that maybe I’ll see Mr. Broad Shoulders at the Alphas’ party, maybe I’ll even work up enough courage to go and say hi to him.