Chapter 13
CASSIDY
Last night was spent like every other night of my life—tossing and turning while hoping for sleep to take me, yet dreading it at the same time.
He gave me a finger, and while most people would see that as something unhinged, I think he may have meant it as a gift, a sign of his protection and possessiveness. Coupled with the fact that he was jealous of the guy for touching me, and my mind is at war with itself.
As soon as he left, I used napkins to dispose of the evidence of his crime, pushing it far down into the trash can so Noah doesn’t somehow discover it. Followed by the condom.
He’s dangerous and someone I must keep away from, but I have a strange allure toward him, something I’ve never experienced before.
I could be wanting to heal the hurt hiding behind his striking blue eyes, or it could be the guilt consuming me that leads me to desire the need to relieve my guilt by any means available, even if it is unhealthy.
Killa’s scent lingered this morning in the small living space that doubles as a kitchen and dining area, a reminder of the night before, and the dull ache between my legs is another one.
He came inside me, and I’m not on birth control; the man is certifiable if he thinks it’s okay for me to have his baby. Especially when he despises me.
Still, the thought of holding a baby and having the freedom to be a mom is something I’ve craved from the moment I held Noah in my arms. A normality, albeit a skewed one.
When we moved here, I was beyond ecstatic to have my place, somewhere I could be me and allow Noah to grow up without the constraints of our past. For us to set down roots and become a normal family.
But as I sit here in the principal’s office, I’m doubting my plan for him to go to school.
My skin itches with unease, nervousness skitters through my body, and I feel completely out of my element, like I don’t belong, and all I can do is pray Noah doesn’t have the same emotions I do.
Curious eyes penetrated through me from over the reception desk, and the fake smile the receptionist gave me when I checked in made me want to run and hide.
It took a lot for me to enroll Noah in a mainstream school, but I was reassured by Gavin, my liaison officer, that this was the best thing for him and his mental wellbeing. If it means being uncomfortable until I get out of here, so be it.
The door opens and I jolt, but the woman who walks through the door wears a kind smile that instantly puts me at ease.
“Miss Steel, it’s a pleasure to meet you.
I’m Doctor Carter.” She holds her hand out for me to shake, so I rub my sweaty hand down my jeans, mirroring her smile, then shake her hand.
“If you’d like to follow me this way, we can go into the office, where it’s a little more private.
” I follow behind her, and when she shuts the door, she turns to face me.
“You have nothing to worry about, Miss Steel. Noah is perfectly fine.” She holds her hand out toward the couch. “Please, take a seat.”
I sit at the far end of the couch, and she sits in the chair opposite me.
“You can call me Stella, if you like,” she says, then wrinkles her nose. “Doctor Carter is way too formal.” She laughs, and the tension in my body dissipates.
“T-Thank you.” I nod.
“I’m aware that Miss Coupe, Noah’s teacher, has told you I’ve been working with him. Is that correct?”
She looks so sophisticated and well put together; she reminds me of the principal from my childhood school. She was nice too.
“Yes.” My hand trembles as I tuck a lock of hair behind my ear, and her face softens.
Her brown hair is tied back in a ponytail, and she has chocolate-brown eyes that look full of compassion. She’s pretty too.
Glancing down at my clothes, I grimace; I should have made more of an effort. The moms at this school already stare at me like the outsider I am when it’s time to drop off and collect Noah.
My jeans and sneakers don’t really fit in with their appearance. They all wear blouses and pencil skirts or pantsuits. Who even knew those things had a name? It wasn’t until recently that I discovered them.
I tilt my head and scan her over. She’s so well dressed, just like them.
Does she think I don’t look like a good mom?
“Please don’t be nervous, Miss Steel. Noah has settled in amazingly well.” She beams, and my heart does a flutter at her praise of my son. “I must admit, this is a little unconventional for me. I normally see my patients in the hospital.”
My cheeks heat as I consider her words. “I have friends who have called in some favors,” she tacks on, and I swallow hard past the lump in my throat while my mind wanders through her words.
Friends. Does she mean Gavin? She clears her throat.
“Gavin explained that you and Noah had had an unpleasant experience in a hospital setting, and he felt that would only add to his trauma.” My eyes snap to her, but she’s staring down at her notepad.
When she lifts her head to face me, I feel like she’s tearing through the walls I’ve worked so hard to construct around my fragile heart.
She’s stripping me bare. Every vile memory.
Her face softens as she smiles, then glances around the room.
“I enjoy being back in school, and I love working with children, so his suggestion did me a favor.” She winks.
I roll my hands in my lap, and I feel her eyes on me, so I cast my gaze away from her, annoyed with myself for becoming so damn shaky around her when it’s clear she’s trying to put me at ease.
Gavin says my being skittish around people is a lack of confidence that will disappear with time if I continue to put myself in social situations.
It’s why I agreed to the diner job; that, and I want to pick up the extra shifts where possible and hopefully grab some tips.
But I want to prove to everyone that I’m a great mom and don’t need the help they’ve insisted on me having.
All I can do is nod, and when she opens a manila file I hadn’t realized was on the table, my heart races.
I hate those things; they’re full of information about what they think they know about you, when really, they know nothing at all.
“Miss Coupe mentioned Noah still isn’t speaking in class and no staff members have witnessed him talking. For a six-year-old, we expect a child to be speaking. Does he talk at home?”
“Y-Yes.” I clear my throat and sit straighter. “All the time.”
She nods, but I feel like she’s watching me a little closer than before, and she looks over my face as if searching for a lie, causing irritation to course through me.
“I know he’s been through a lot, Miss Steel. You both have.”
My hands clutch the hem of my T-shirt, and I twist the fabric in my palms.
I wonder what she thinks she knows. Does it tell her some truth in that folder? Gavin reassured me that we had new identities. A new start.
Whatever she knows won’t be the real thing. None of it is.
It will all be the carefully fabricated lies we’ve created to cover up the sick truth.
“Noah recently drew a picture that I’m a little concerned about, and that’s why I asked you to come in to speak with me today.”
My heart hammers, and I feel the familiar feeling of my body closing down as I battle with the need to protect myself.
My breathing comes in shorter, sharper gasps, and she tilts her head to assess me, her eyes taking in every detail, no doubt, and I hate it.
“Please don’t be alarmed, Miss Steel.” She reaches over the small table between us, but just as quickly withdraws. Was she going to try to comfort me?
“Cassidy,” I clip back. “You can call me Cassidy. I don’t like Miss Steel.”
She swallows slowly. “Okay, Cassidy.” She nods. “Thank you. Can I show you the drawing Noah created during art class?”
I already know what she’s going to show me, but that doesn’t deter me from trying to remain strong, and I find myself nodding.
She lifts the paper out of the folder and places it on the table. I squeeze my eyes closed, trying to banish the sight, but I see it behind my eyes despite not even looking at the paper; it’s engrained in my head. Every tortured stroke of his crayon.
A strangled sound leaves me, and I take a moment in the silence to concentrate on the touch of each finger against my thumb.
I’m not there.
Breathe.
Noah is okay.
Breathe.
We’re both safe.
Breathe.
I can do this.
We’re safe.
When I open my eyes, it’s with renewed vigor, so I sit taller in my seat and pull my shoulders back, and stare down at the familiar drawing, a replica of the last, a carbon copy of the next.
A black box is scribbled in wax crayon, and in the center of the box is a figure.
Noah.
I try not to take in the scene, try my hardest to disassociate the drawing from reality, but the truth is, this drawing haunts me just like it haunts him.
“Do you know what it is?” Doctor Carter whispers.
My gaze slices to hers, and I answer truthfully. “Of course I do. It’s our hell.”