Chapter Six
Charlotte
I stare at my phone, dread consuming me to the point I feel nauseous.
Ryan: We need to talk.
Used to, when he’d text this, it meant one thing. That he was pissed and wanted to let loose some steam. Sometimes that ended in fucking while other times it ended with bruises or yelling. After not having heard from him in over two weeks, I thought for sure he’d moved along. I should have known it was a temporary reprieve from his violence.
Ryan: I still love you even after what you did.
His words are a punch to the stomach, stealing me of air.
“You did this to me,” I scream at the phone, knowing he won’t be able to hear. “I don’t love you.”
Ryan: I miss you. Your beautiful face. Your soft hair. If you were with me, right now, I’d put your head in my lap and stroke your hair, baby. I’d make it all better.
His sweetness is sickening to me.
My fingers shake as I type out a reply, choking back tears. I’m thankful Mom’s at work. Penny is watching Sebban and Aunt Karen went to the store.
Me: We’re done, Ryan.
The phone rings in my hand. Over and over. It goes to voicemail and he calls again. I stare, trembling, as he calls me sixteen times in a row. Then, he finally texts back.
Ryan: Answer your damn phone. You can’t do this to me. Not after nearly killing us. If I’d gotten hurt and couldn’t play basketball, it would have fucked up my scholarship. I deserve to be heard.
Ryan: You’re a fucking spoiled brat.
Ryan: Do you know what kind of begging I had to do with my dad to keep you out of trouble? You owe me, Char.
Ryan: Why are you being such a bitch?
Ryan: Answer the goddamn phone!
It rings ten more times. He leaves a voicemail, but I quickly delete it, unable to hear his voice.
Ryan: I’m sorry. Fuck, Char. Okay? I’m sorry I got mad. I love you.
Ryan: Call me.
Ryan: I’m coming over.
Me: I’m not home. I’m at Dad’s office.
Lies. But I can’t deal with him in person. Alone. No way.
Ryan: Sneak out. I can meet you in the alley.
Me: He won’t let me.
Ryan: Find a way.
I stop replying.
Ryan: I’m sorry. I just miss you. And the baby.
Closing my eyes, I swallow down the sob. I should block his number. Tell my dad. Something. Not continue to read his texts.
Ryan: I was angry when you told me you were pregnant, but I’ve had time to think on it. I won’t go to college. I’ll stay here and get a job. I’ll marry you. We can be a family.
Words. His words always sounded good. It was his actions that were horrible.
Me: I lost the baby.
Ryan: We’ll make another one.
I toss my phone onto the bed, burying my face in my hands. Ever since the accident, I’ve been in a holding pattern. Unsure which way to go. I feel like I’m standing on thin ice, waiting for it to crack and send me crashing into the icy abyss. Nothing feels certain. All held together by fraying threads.
My phone buzzes, drawing my attention back to it.
Ryan: Maybe we’ll have a little girl and she’ll look like you. Long blond hair. Pretty like her mom.
I shudder at the image of Ryan as a father. Would he snag the little girl up by her hair and yell in her face? Tell her she’s a worthless whore? Shake her and choke her and bruise her?
The room blurs as I drop my phone. I’m on a hunt to numb the pain of the future I almost had with Ryan. Devastation at losing my baby makes me raw, but relief floods through me that I saved my unborn baby from Ryan’s hateful wrath. I start ransacking my room looking for any pills I might have stashed away when I was with Ryan and he continually supplied me. I come up empty and wonder if my mom already purged the room of any drugs.
Rushing from my room, I head to Aunt Karen’s bathroom. Her medicine cabinet is full of stuff. But, after knocking bottles into the sink, I realize none of them are the pain-numbing kind. I consider walking down to Hollis’s house and breaking in to grab those Percocets when I remember Cal took them.
I lift my gaze to stare at the horrible person I’ve become. I’m the kind of person who would steal from her aunt or brother to make the pain go away. So selfish. My long hair taunts me. With tears and snot running down my face, I’m reminded of what Ryan said. I think of that little girl who could have been another one of his victims. It’s the only reason I have for what I do next.
I pick up the scissors lying on the counter. With the sharp tip, I twist it around one of my limp strands. At one time, I took such pride in my hair. Now, I hate it. Before I can talk myself out of it, I grab the end of a section and bring the open scissors to it. I saw through the strands, watching the blunt, uneven ends in the mirror as they bounce off my collarbone.
Cut.
Cut.
Cut.
Hair fills the sink, covering all the medicine bottles. I drop the scissors into the sink with a loud clang. It’s choppy and horrible looking, but I feel free. On shaky legs, I walk back into my room and pick up my phone. I’ve missed more of Ryan’s hot and cold messages. Rather than reading them, I turn my camera to selfie mode and snap a picture. I send it to him and then block his number.
Crawling into bed, I try to stop the shaking, but I can’t. I need to talk to someone. But I know the only person who can truly help me. I dial the number.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
“Daddy…” I start to cry. “I need help.”
Dad’s hand on my back is comforting as he walks me into the art therapy room. Our guide, Stewart, grins as he gestures toward the large windows overlooking the Pacific Ocean.
“This room is a favorite of mine. It’s amazing what you can create with the ocean looking back at you.” Stewart smiles kindly at me. “It’s therapeutic.”
“What do you think?” Dad asks me. “Do you like it here?”
“It’s too expensive,” I whisper. I’d overheard Mom griping at Dad about the price when he came over after my meltdown.
“Nonsense,” Dad grumbles. “Right, Kelsey?”
Mom hides her grimace. “They’re the best in the country.”
Of course a regular Horn River rehab facility wouldn’t be good enough for Daddy’s little girl. He went outside of Oregon and found me one where celebrities go, in Malibu, California, hence his recent trip to check out the facility. It’s beautiful and state of the art, boasting excellent therapy options and a high success rate.
“I love it, Dad,” I assure him. “Thank you.”
He relaxes, pulling me into his arms. “Whatever it takes to get you well and happy. And if you’re ready, come August, you can go back to school. Start over. This is a new beginning, sweetheart. Just like this.” He playfully tugs at my hair that hangs just past my shoulders, now cut straight thanks to Mom.
“I want that,” I tell him. “I want to do better.”
He releases me and I hug Mom.
“We’re here for you,” Mom assures me. “We’ll visit as often as we can. And when you come back home, we’ll take care of you. You’ll always be our baby.”
Dad nods, a smile on his face. It’s sad how he pines over Mom. I hate how he messed up with her. I’m not the one to bring the bad news to him, but Mom loves Mike. I’ve never seen her laugh so much. He makes her happy in a way Dad never did. My dad, though, deserves to be happy too. One day he’ll find someone.
“All right,” Stewart chirps. “Let’s get Miss Charlotte here settled in her room and say our goodbyes. We’ve got a road to pave to recovery and that’s not going to happen if we don’t get started.”
For the first time in ages, hope blooms in my chest.
I can do this.
I will do this.
For me. For the baby I’ll never know. For Trey.
I look around the seven people in my group therapy session, trying not to fangirl. I recognize three of them as musicians, one is a socialite, and two are actors. I’m the only normal person. Dad made a crapton of money back in Vermont, but even this has to be out of his financial means. Yet…here I am.
“Loden,” Carrie, our therapist, says. “Why don’t you tell us your reason?”
The tall, lean but still muscular guitarist for a popular rock band fidgets, playing with his tongue ring. “I mean, I don’t know.” He shrugs.
“Everyone’s sharing,” Carrie urges. “There must be someone who is rooting for you to be healthy and sober again.”
He winces. “Yeah, I guess. Probably my twin sister. Mena. She’s an angel to my devilish ways.”
“Addiction makes us do things we’re not proud of,” Carrie says gently. “But you’re not devilish.”
The socialite, Meaghan, whines. “Have you heard his music?” She pretends to gag herself.
Loden adopts a smug look, winking at her. “It’s not the only devilish thing about me.” He flicks out his tongue, taunting her.
She shudders and looks away. “Whatever, freak.”
“Not in group,” Carrie chides. “We’re all friends here. It’s a neutral zone. Both of you can apologize and then we’ll move on.”
Meaghan and Loden are both famous. Rich as can be. But right now, they seem like scared, stubborn little children. It makes me wonder what I look like. After some coaxing, they both grumble out apologies. By the time the session ends, I’m exhausted.
I drag my feet as I walk outside to one of the areas that overlooks the beach. An employee walks by with a tray filled with cold, bottled water. I accept one from him and then lean against the railing. It’s peaceful here.
“I heard it’s your birthday,” Loden says, sidling up next to me. “Sucks you can’t celebrate out there.”
“It’s not so bad.”
“Eighteen, huh? I remember eighteen like it was last month.”
A laugh bubbles out of me. “You literally turned eighteen last month. I saw…” I trail off, feeling stupid. He was on the news. Drove an expensive ass car, plastered after his birthday party, right through a shop on Rodeo Drive.
“You and everyone else in America,” he groans. “Yeah, that hurt like a bitch.”
“At least you only hurt yourself.”
He nudges my shoulder. “You gonna spill?”
“I hit one of my friends while high. He’s in a coma.” Tears threaten, but I blink them back. “They don’t know if he’ll wake up.”
“Sucks being the villain, huh?”
I nod. “I guess you know how that feels.”
“Imagine having millions of people witnessing all your failures. Not that it makes it worse than your situation, but it certainly doesn’t make it any better.”
“I was…” I swallow. “I was pregnant.”
“Was?”
“The baby died.”
He doesn’t offer me condolences, just gives me a side hug. “You think we’ll get better here?”
“I want to.”
“Me too.”
We watch the waves in companionable silence. I’m tired of being weak and ruined. I wasn’t raised this way. Daddy always told us we could have whatever we wanted as long as we worked hard for it. He was always pushing Hollis a little harder than us, but we all felt the pressure to be successful. I really let him down by flunking out of my senior year, but I’m going to make it up to him.
“I have to get better because of my twin, Mena. She can’t live without me. At least that’s what she says.”
I chuckle. “At least your sister needs you. I think mine probably already packed my things up and moved me into the attic.”
“Your sister’s a bitch?” He laughs. “Spoiler alert. Mine is too. She just hides it from the media.”
“My sister owns it. Wears it like a shiny piece of jewelry she wants everyone to see.”
“Do you two get along?”
“Yeah, Penny’s all right.” I force a fake smile and add pep in my voice that sounds sarcastic as hell. “It’s going to be super great redoing my senior year along with my little sister.”
Loden laughs. “Oh man. You’re totally a fuckin’ cheerleader, aren’t you?”
“Was. I gave that up when I lost my mind.”
Loden smacks my ass. “I always wanted to fuck a cheerleader.”
“Asshole,” I say, shoving him away, but giggling. “I clearly remember a rule about no fucking. I’m pretty sure you signed the same papers I did.”
“Well, birthday girl, lucky for you, I don’t stick my dick in sweaty vaginas. I’m more of an ass man.” He waggles his brows. “Now him…”
We both glance over at the man delivering waters. He’s cute and his white slacks hug his ass.
“I don’t have a sweaty vagina,” I grumble.
“Sorry,” Loden mumbles. “I couldn’t hear you over the sound of all the blood rushing from my head to my dick. Excuse me. I need to go flirt with that fucker.”
“Don’t get kicked out, horndog,” I warn. “You’re my only friend here.”
“I’ll be a perfect angel,” he vows.
His wicked grin says otherwise.