Chapter 4
FOUR
ELODIE
My heart lurches in my chest as I barrel through the front door of our trailer, but the relief of being home and safe doesn’t come. Clutching my torn jacket to my chest, my breaths come in short, sharp pants as I round to a stop, staring off with my mom.
Her eyebrows knit together in confusion as she tilts her head slightly to the side.
Her hair is tucked behind her ears but it does little to hide the fact that it hasn’t seen a comb in a while.
Her eyes are red and puffy and I’m sure there will be bruising somewhere on her body; there always is when I find her curled up on the worn armchair that’s as beaten as she is.
“Why are you home, Elodie?” she asks, her voice raspy and broken—just like the two of us—yet I find no sympathy to offer her.
Instead, I clear my throat, untangling my own hair with my fingers as I keep my gaze fixed on hers. “Why are you crying?”
She shakes her head. “I asked you first,” she insists, waving her lit cigarette in my direction.
“And you birthed me, so I’m also a bitch.
Answer the question.” I hate to prey on her weakness in moments like this, especially when I’ve watched my dad do it so many times, but he does it to break her.
I do it to force a spark. Yet even that remains absent this time as she sighs, defeated like always.
“Elodie.”
“Mother,” I retort, cocking a brow at her, and she shakes her head.
“You’re supposed to be in class,” she states, and I scoff, folding my arms over my chest.
“I was supposed to be home last night. Did no one realize I wasn’t?
” The mere mention of last night threatens to haunt me, but now isn’t the time.
My skin crawls, the memory of the teacher’s hands on me before my refusal got me locked away in a closet.
If it weren’t for Walker, I wouldn’t be standing here right now.
A shiver runs down my spine, but I force it to strengthen me instead of breaking me into the withering woman seated in her wounded chair. Her eyebrows pinch as she flicks her cigarette against the rim of an empty can of soda, her go-to makeshift ashtray.
“Your father was calling you for hours,” she says with a sniff, and I bite back the sad snicker that hums along my lips.
“At the front door?” I clarify, knowing neither of them would search far.
“Where else?” she asks, her eyebrows gathering further as I shake my head in dismissal.
The slight movement brings my torn jacket into view, and instead of strength, I feel anger this time.
“Do I look suitable to attend class?” I blurt, my fingers clenching the material tighter, and she grimaces.
“I wouldn’t say so, but lord knows what you get up to,” she retorts, and I scoff, not shocked by her response at all.
“Don’t use the lord on me when you choose to live with the devil himself,” I snap, my nostrils flaring as I try to contain the tremor that vibrates through me.
“Don’t say things like that about your father.” She takes a drag of her cigarette, but I don’t miss the tremble in her hands.
“Don’t make me stay here with him and I wouldn’t have to,” I push, knowing this same old shit never goes anywhere, but it’s all I have.
She sighs again. “You don’t understand, Elodie, I—”
“No, you don’t understand. Just because you let him hit you doesn’t mean I should let him hit me.” I release my jacket, throwing my hands out wide, and she shakes her head.
“He doesn’t hit us, he—”
“Do you even hear yourself? You’re just as toxic as he is if you’re making excuses for him.” I can’t deal with her just as much as I can’t deal with him. He’s a tyrant, and she’s the woman at his side, fueling his ego, his ability to control, and everything in between.
“When you’re older, Elodie. You’ll understand,” she insists, lighting another cigarette from the fading ember of her current one before dropping the butt into the can.
My pulse thrums in my ears, desperation clawing at me as I try not to crumble. “I promise you, with all that I am, I will never understand why you do this, not even for a second.” The burn of unshed tears prickles the back of my eyelids.
“I love him, and so should you,” she breathes, taking a long shaky drag of her cigarette, and I huff.
“Do you love him, or do you love the potential his role has to offer to you?” I ask, folding my arms over my chest.
“What’s that supposed to mean?” Her fingers are poised, but she doesn’t take another drag as she stares at me with genuine confusion flickering in her eyes.
“Do you think he hits you because he loves you?” I tilt my head to the side, making it more than clear that I’m judging the hell out of her right now.
“No, it’s because he’s stressed.”
“Funny, when I’m stressed, do I hit you?” I push, and she rolls her eyes, taking a hit of the nicotine stick that’s keeping her going.
“No, but you’re a child.”
“And when you’re stressed, do you hit me?”
She gives me a sidelong glance this time, refusing to meet my stare head on. “You know the answer to that.”
“So tell me how it makes it okay when he does it when we are both decent enough humans to know it’s not fucking right?” I feel like I could puke, I’m that choked up.
“Don’t swear, Elodie,” she chastises, and I throw my hands up in the air in defeat.
“Or what, I’ll get another strike of his fucking belt?” I definitely swore again to get a rise out of her, but for the second time, all I get is my name on her tongue.
“Elodie.” It’s a warning, one she always feels the need to make.
“Mother.”
She takes a moment to look out the window, the yellow stains blocking most of her view, but she doesn’t seem to care. “What do you want from me? Do you want me to leave him? Do you think he’d go if I kicked him out? Do you think he’d leave and never come back?” The sadness is thick in her tone.
“He doesn’t have to be the one to go.” I’ve said it a thousand times, what’s once more?
She laughs, it’s as haunting as ever, as her gaze finally comes back to mine. “And where do you think we would go?”
“Anywhere. Literally anywhere is better than here,” I promise, and she shakes her head, her mind already made up. She’s too familiar with his wrath to find comfort in the darkness. The fear of being alone is something I refuse to ever let have a hold on me.
“Why are you home, Elodie?”
“I dropped out.”
“You did what?” She launches to her feet, cigarette nestled between her lips as her eyes grow wild.
“I dropped out,” I repeat, aware she heard me the first time.
“You can’t do that,” she says with a shake of her head, and I shrug.
“I already have.”
“Then undo it.”
“Don’t you want to know why?” I wave my hands at my sides, making sure she can really see the tears in my clothes and the disheveled appearance I don’t usually present. Her eyes track mine, but there’s still an air of disappointment in her stare when her gaze reaches mine again.
“What on Earth is a good enough reason for you to drop out of high school, Elodie?”
“My teacher tried to touch me.”
It feels like my words hang in the air for an eternity as her eyes widen slowly. “No, he didn’t.”
My heart lurches again.
“No, he didn’t, as in no he didn’t, you’re a liar, or no he didn’t, gasping in shock at the horror your daughter had to endure?” I ask, my chest tightening with every breath. “You know what, don’t even bother answering that. You’ll find a reason to justify that too.”
She lifts her hand in a sign of surrender. “Elodie, I’m not the villain in whatever story you’ve concocted. If he truly did it, I will march down there and protect you and—”
“And what? Stick up for yourself, for me? Why bother now when you can’t even do it here?” I snarl, the pain inside at her inability to believe me with unwavering solidarity cuts deeper than I want it to, than I wish it did.
“When I tell your father about this—”
“He’ll be furious that he didn’t think of it sooner so he could earn some cash from the whole thing,” I bite, and she scoffs, waving her hand to dismiss me.
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“You are so delusional,” I scream at her, all of my energy soaring to the surface.
“All I ever want to do is protect you,” she shouts back, taking the final step between us as I shake my head.
“You don’t know how to protect me; if you did, we wouldn’t be living with your consistent mistakes.”
There are no words to fight back from her end; instead, the sting of her palm against my cheek is what I’m offered.
Stunned, I lift my hand to my cheek, feeling the skin prickle beneath my touch as I blink back unshed tears.
“Elodie, I—”
“Don’t finish whatever it is you’re about to say. The respect I have for you right now is below zero, but even still, I refuse to lower myself to your level,” I breathe, all of the fight gone from my lungs. I can’t even bring myself to look at her.
“Elodie, I’m sorry, I—”
The sound of the door slamming against the wall behind me makes me jolt and my back stiffens as the smell of whiskey and even more tobacco filters into the room.
I know it’s him without looking.
“Ah, the wretched bitch finally remembers where she lives.”
“I never forgot.” Turning to face him, it takes everything in me to keep my features neutral and unfazed by his presence. Last night, my mother, and now him; the last twenty-four hours haven’t exactly gone in my favor.
He looks worse than usual, and I didn’t think that was possible. Grime clings to his face and arms like a second skin, his white tank top splattered with little holes, and I can’t even tell what the original color of his jeans was.
“And where the fuck do you think you’ve been?”
“I was caught in the familiar carnage of child abuse. That’s where I was confused; I already thought I was home.” The words are like acid, burning up my throat as I blurt them out.
It’s like I’ve got a death wish because the moment the words register in my father’s mind, I know what’s coming. I don’t move, I don’t brace, I don’t even flinch.
I just let the darkness draw closer as he punches me in the side of the head.
For a drunk, he’s lightning fast.
I crumple to a heap on the floor as my father towers over me.
“Get the fuck up, whore,” he snaps, and as I press my palms into the tattered carpet square beneath my palm, I spy my mother out of the corner of my eye.
She’s no longer standing; she’s back to quivering in the armchair.
Is this what she thinks it is to protect me?
Shuffling back to my feet, I don’t even reach full height before the next blow comes.
A kick to the head, and the darkness takes me.
There’s the relief I’ve been looking for.
Startling awake, perspiration clings to me from head to toe as I desperately try to take a deep breath. My vision is blurry, but the same fear and panic I felt moments ago, in my father’s presence no longer thickens the air like it had.
Something brushes against my cheek, forcing me even further into the present as I notice the outline of someone hovering above me. I frown, unable to see clearly as I let the tendrils of my nightmare wash away.
The touch is gone as I wipe a hand down my face and blindly shuffle backward to press my back against the headboard of my bed when the slightest creak of a door whispers in the air, making me freeze.
With adrenaline coursing through my veins, my vision grows clearer, and as quickly as I remember where I am, I’m on my feet. Groggily, I scurry to the door and swing it open, ready to catch whoever was just in here, but to my dismay, all I find is an empty hallway.
Gasping for breath, I try to settle, despite my pulse pounding in my ears.
A bad dream.
An observer.
A fucking mess.
I consider trying to open the door across the hall, but all that would do is cause more issues with its residents. The less I have to deal with them, the better.
Closing the door, I shuffle back to my bed and snatch my cell phone up off the nightstand, but there’s not even a notification on the CCTV app.
Maybe I’m just going insane. It fits the story of my life right now.
With a defeated sigh, I dive back under the covers and stare up at the ceiling.
“Is everything okay?” Ocean whispers.
My gaze darts to her sleepy form, but she doesn’t even open her eyes.
Despite the frenzy building inside of me, I hum. “Yeah, but we need a lock for that door,” I mutter, and her lips curl into a soft smile as she nods, ruffling her hair along the pillow.
“I’ll make it happen.”
I whisper my thanks as she swiftly drifts back to sleep, but there’s no chance for me. I’ll sleep when I’m dead, but even then, I’m sure the devil will have me dancing as his well-poised puppet.