Chapter Sixteen
Audrey smiled at the room Hallie led her into after the movie had ended and the guys had gone home.
“I figured it was better for you to be in my bedroom and I’ll just take one of my brothers’ rooms,” Hallie said, not meeting her eye.
“You don’t need to do that. This is your room.”
Hallie laughed. “It’s my teenage room.”
“You don’t say,” Audrey said, amused, as she moved to look at the wall of posters and photos pinned up in a haphazard manner. Friends, her family, and younger Hallie grinned and posed and laughed, feeling so very tangible.
“Don’t feel the need to tell me how much older I’m looking these days.”
Audrey laughed. “You don’t look old. But I’m also glad you don’t still look, what, sixteen?”
Hallie tapped the photo Audrey had gestured to. “Seventeen in that one, actually.”
“Yeah. Still glad.” There was probably no point pretending she didn’t think Hallie was beautiful and fascinating, not after they’d spent the last few hours snuggled up together, holding hands, but she still felt shy about the tangential acknowledgement in her relief that Hallie did not still look like a teenager.
Hallie laughed gently. “Fair. But anyway. Does this work for you?”
Audrey eyed the bed. It would be better than one of her brothers’ rooms. Audrey liked them but they didn’t feel as comfortable as Hallie did, and sleeping in one of their beds felt off.
“The sheets are totally clean,” Hallie promised. “My mom put them on just before we arrived. And the mattress isn’t actually all that old—definitely didn’t have that when I was seventeen.”
Audrey laughed gratefully as she looked down, a little embarrassed.
Hallie was doing remarkably well understanding her needs, but Audrey still wished they didn’t dictate everything.
When she was back home, she was doing a little better with her OCD, and her mental health in general, but, around her family, all bets were off and she tended to spiral into a pit of self-destruction.
The logical part of her knew there was nothing she could do to make things better, that wasn’t possible around her family, but she still had to try, still had to do her part so everyone else could pretend things were perfect.
She nodded. “Thank you. It’s great. I’m still not trying to kick you out of your room, though.”
Hallie waved her off. “It’s all good. I’m offering.”
“Right,” Audrey said slowly as she pulled her phone out of her pocket. It was time.
“You don’t have to deal with that,” Hallie assured her, standing a little closer.
“I really do.” Audrey’s pulse was picking up, getting uncomfortably fast. Her skin felt itchy, like she needed to get rid of it.
It wasn’t real.
She took a breath.
There were so many messages. Missed calls. Angry comments. Demands. Threats. Pleading. Bargaining.
Not anything she’d actually want, just her immediate family telling her that if she wanted to remain a part of the family, she needed to get back and be a part of it.
Her mom wasn’t one for texts.
She dialed her voicemail number.
“Audrey,” her mom’s voice hissed when the first message started, “where have you gone? People are saying you left! You need to get back here. Do you know how much planning and money has gone into this thing, and you’re just marching off, trying to be the center of attention all because you can’t handle me needing a tiny bit of support one time? ”
Audrey was perfectly aware how much money had gone into this week. She’d paid her part, as requested.
One time. Her mom thought this was a one-time thing. As if she didn’t do this every time she spoke to Audrey. As if she hadn’t spent Audrey’s whole life doing this.
Part of her mind threw up the eight-year-old version of herself.
She wasn’t sure exactly why it was that particular age, but, whenever she talked about things that happened when she was growing up, it was always that version she saw dealing with her family.
Here she was again, desperately aware that her mother’s behavior was not a one-time thing, that she hadn’t left to get attention.
She’d given up on wanting that from her family a long time ago. It never meant anything good.
She looked around the room. It was the bedroom of a child who’d been loved.
One who was allowed to be her own person, who could have friends, who didn’t have to be perfect because her mother understood she was her own person and needed to make mistakes.
It was still the bedroom—if only occasionally—of a daughter whose mother loved her, celebrated her, and saw her as more than what her child could do for her reputation.
Audrey’s mom kept yelling in her ear. It was all about her.
She shivered. The idea of going back there was not manageable. She couldn’t stay here, but, tomorrow, she’d look into getting a flight home before Sunday.
The way her heart raced achingly in her chest, feeling too big for the space it had, made her feel like she’d throw up. With her free hand, she started tapping. It hurt. That was manageable.
“Audrey,” Hallie said softly, reaching out to take the phone.
“I need to listen—”
“No,” she said sadly, shaking her head. “You don’t.”
“She’ll know if I didn’t.”
“I promise she won’t.” Her tone suggested she wished Michele Sinclair would know, that she deserved to know.
Audrey stared at her and handed the phone over. It didn’t feel good, but neither did listening. She wished she knew how to get to that space of not caring—of wanting her mom to know she wasn’t subjecting herself to the pain of listening.
She cleared her throat. “I have to explain to them. They’ve all left messages…”
Hallie shook her head again. “I’ll call River.”
“They’ll be angry.”
“Audrey,” she said again, taking both of Audrey’s hands as she stood in front of her, “they’re already angry. There is nothing you can do that’s going to stop them being angry. It’s who they are and what they do in these situations. It’s not about who you are.”
“But I have to fix it, have to…” What? What could she do?
She’d left. They hurt her, she kept coming back.
She’d stepped away one time and they were demanding she return, accusing her of never coming around and then running away when she finally did.
But people didn’t put themselves in dangerous situations more than they had to.
How could she possibly come around more often? “What do I do?”
Hallie’s smile was gut-wrenching as she wiped at the tears on Audrey’s face. “Look after yourself.”
“I don’t know how,” she said through a bitter, broken laugh.
“Then let me do it, until you’re able to.”
Every part of Audrey wanted to object, to insist she was fine and could handle it. But this was the same thing she went through with Zora after seeing her family. Inexplicably, they cared enough to pick up the pieces her family tore her into. It wasn’t their responsibility but they were there.
Hallie squeezed her hands tightly, careful to avoid her fingertips. “You are not required to serve yourself up as their punching bag.”
“I don’t know…”
“I’m giving you permission,” Hallie said seriously, “to choose yourself. Until you’re ready to give yourself permission, I’m giving it to you. You don’t have to let them hurt you. Nothing you’ve ever done means you deserve that.”
Audrey swallowed hard. It hurt. She’d spent her whole life waiting for permission.
She knew she was the only one who could really give it, but just hearing Hallie say it mattered.
Hallie was someone new in her life, someone who’d seen her and her family, who’d met them first, and was still saying what they were doing was wrong.
She didn’t think Audrey was a terrible person for wanting out of it. She didn’t think it was Audrey’s fault.
“I don’t know why I need them to love me so much,” Audrey said, her voice barely audible as she attempted to swallow back her tears.
“Because they’re your family and they raised you on serving them and sacrificing yourself. But it’s not your fault, and you get to choose yourself now.”
“Okay.” Audrey wasn’t sure how long she’d manage it—hurting herself by being around them was terrible but it still felt better than hurting them or making them angry. But, for tonight, she could take the permission Hallie was giving her.
“Okay,” Hallie repeated, and she gestured to the bed. “Do you want to sit down?”
Audrey hesitated. She did, but, right now, outside clothes, dirt, bed…
“Tell me what you need,” Hallie said gently.
“I didn’t bring clothes and these ones—”
“Here.” She led Audrey over to the closet. “The only things I keep here are oversized, overly comfy things. You can wear whatever you want.”
Audrey smiled weakly at her. “I bet this isn’t what you thought you were getting this week. Especially not from someone like me.”
She narrowed her eyes at that last bit, clearly not hung up on the same things others were about how, if you reached a certain level of academic and professional success, you sacrificed your right and ability to have emotions.
“I like River well enough, but spending the week hanging out with you is better than hanging out with your shitty family.”
Audrey laughed a little. “I’m sorry she brought you around them. You don’t belong there.”
“Neither do you.”
Her heart ached. She’d spent her whole life wanting to belong with them.
Not with their attitudes, but with the people who were supposed to love her.
And that was the biggest part of the disconnect, always had been, because she didn’t like her family.
She didn’t agree with them. If they weren’t related, she wouldn’t want anything to do with them.
But she still wanted them to love her because they were all she had.
Except, they weren’t. Sure, she couldn’t get another family she’d been born into, but she had Zora, she seemed to have Hallie and the Fullers, at least temporarily. She could build another family. One that liked her. One that didn’t try to change or blame her.