Chapter 14
KAYLA
“Hi, sweetheart!” Mom flings her arms around me in a tight hug, refusing to let go, while my father smiles softly beside her.
His hair was once a vibrant brown, but is now all gray. Yet that sparkle in his eye that I recall so vividly as a child is still there, and that brings me comfort.
Mom finally backs off and gives Chris a glance, his tailor-made suit making him look like…well, a bodyguard. How the hell am I supposed to pass him off as a college kid?
“And who might this be?” Mom perches back and gives me a curious stare. “Is this the young man from—”
“From college?” My heart races.
She was about to blow my cover and tell him who I was with last night.
“Yeah, he’s a friend from school.”
I nervously fumble backward and give him a you better follow my lead or die look.
His mouth twists, and he advances toward Mom, extending his hand in greeting. “I’m Chris, and yes, we go to school together.”
“Oh, I’m glad you were able to come after all.”
His brows gather, and his attention bounces between Mom and me.
“So!” I quickly say, needing to end this dreadful conversation. “What are you making, Dad?”
“Well, I’m grilling up those pizza burgers you like and some roasted vegetables, plus some chicken wings because I remember how much you loved those.”
My chest tightens. He’d barbecue all the time. We’d sit around every weekend in the summer while Dad made us a meal. He loved to feed us.
“I still do, Daddy.” I throw my arms around him.
His hugs are home and warmth. Tears burn my eyes, but I force them away. They have no place here.
“Come on, let’s eat.” He pats my back and kisses my forehead. “I missed this.”
Me too.
It’s my fault, really. I didn’t want to do anything after I was rescued, drowning in my own despair. And my parents didn’t push it. But maybe these barbecues are just what I need to remind me of who I once was.
You’ll never be her again. When will you accept that?
I will my mind to stop, straightening my back as we settle around the yard, laughing and eating and smiling until our faces hurt. Even Chris is smiling, telling them about his brothers when they were younger.
His eyes jump to mine in the midst of all of this, and his smile swells. I give him one in return, but as I do, something in my gut lurches because this is wrong. I shouldn’t be smiling at him this way, feeling happy.
Because he isn’t A and he’ll never be. Mask or not, A’s the only one who truly knows me.
Truly accepts me. He doesn’t judge or scold.
He’d hand me the knife and ask who’s next.
If Chris knew who I really was, he’d never look at me the same way again.
He’d think I’m sick. Depraved. A broken little girl who needs mending.
But not A. To him, I’m perfect. He doesn’t even have to say those words out loud for me to have felt them. Who else would tell a woman with as many scars as I have that she’s beautiful? That her scars are nothing but skin? Who else would watch her kill a man and hold her as she cried?
No, Chris can never be anything. No one can. No one but A. If he even wants me.
None of this is real. I’m just pretending, even with my own family. Smiling for the crowd.
I know he’s here. Know he’s watching. Seeing me with my family, smiling with another man. Is he jealous?
And why do I want him to be?
I wish he were here instead. I wish I could introduce him to my family. Will I ever be able to?
But until he tells me who he is, this is all we have. Strangers by day, friends by night. If that’s even what we are. Nothing with him makes any sense.
I stare out past the bright green lawn and through the shrubs, wondering if he’s there, watching our every move.
“You okay, honey?” Mom asks.
I quickly jerk my head toward her, light brown eyes shining brightly.
“Just fine. Never been better.” I take a sip of my beer.
“We should do this more often, don’t you think?” she goes on.
“We should. I think it’s good for me.”
Her emotions shine in her gaze. “I’m so happy to hear you say that.”
“Me too, kid.” Dad nods. “We’ve missed you.”
I take a deep breath and throw on a grin. “I missed me too. But I’m back. I promise.”
Just not the version you remember.
ADRIEL
I hated knowing she was with him yesterday. Him meeting her parents like he’s her fucking boyfriend.
“Fuuuck!” I shout, wanting to be the one with her.
But at the same time, I don’t even know how to be that man. To give her what she needs. How the hell do I become someone I’ve never wanted to become? Be someone who could love her?
Love…
Yeah. The concept is laughable. I don’t even know what love looks like. Feels like. I’ve been empty. Love never existed in my life.
And it’s all thanks to one woman: my mother.
Staring at the woman who gave me life while she shops at the supermarket, I pretend to be examining peaches while she looks at plums like they’re a fucking science project. Just pick a few and go. How hard is it?
Kayla’s parents looked like they actually gave a shit about her. I’m glad I don’t have to kill them.
Maybe they’re available for lessons. Mom could use some of that.
My rage pierces through my calm demeanor. She’d never suspect what I’m going through being this close to her. The way my knife burns in my pocket, aching to make her throat its home. But every artist needs to be patient. And so will I. She will meet the end, and it will be by my hand.
“I can never tell with these things.” She laughs, looking at me.
My heart barely even budges. You’d think your mother talking to you after knowing she gave you up like trash would spark something emotional. But not for me. All I want is to see her dead.
Well, I guess that’s an emotion too.
Inwardly, I smirk.
“You just squeeze.” I strut over, my arm almost touching her shoulder.
I pick up a plum and demonstrate, imagining it’s her throat instead. I grip it so hard it bursts.
Oops.
She inhales and clears her throat. “Well, that is one way to tell for sure.”
I bite into it and grin. “Sweet.”
She laughs nervously and throws some into a clear plastic bag. “Thanks for your help, young man.”
“No worries. My mother always taught me to be helpful in every way that I can.”
She pinches her mouth and throws her fruit into her shopping cart. “I’ve always taught my boys the same. All three of them are men I can be proud of. I’m sure your mother is too.”
“Wouldn’t know.” I shrug, eyeing her intensely. “She’s been dead for a while.”
“Oh.” Her face crumples. “I’m sorry to hear that.” Her compassion shines through as she places her hand on top of mine, and it burns. “As a mother myself, I know that your mom is very proud of you.”
“Wouldn’t count on it. I was never perfect. And she never let me forget it.”
Her chest rises with a ragged breath. “Well, I’m sure she tried her best.”
“Yeah. Unfortunately, sometimes our best is simply not good enough.”
She sighs. “You’re right. It’s not. Anyway, thanks again for your help.”
“You bet, ma’am. See ya around.”
And I mean that literally.
I’ll be coming for her.
Real soon.
I follow her to the park where she meets with Sophia and Mabel, Sophia’s babysitter. She doesn’t stay long, though, kissing Sophia goodbye ten minutes later and leaving the little girl alone with Mabel.
Instead of following Mother, I stay back and watch Sophia. I can’t explain why.
How would my mother feel if she were to disappear? If her precious granddaughter was taken? I bet it’d hurt. Would she cry for her the way she never did for me?
A pang hits the center of my chest, but I push it away.
It doesn’t matter, though. I’d never take the girl. I don’t hurt children. No matter who their parents are.
The little girl laughs as she runs with her friend, chasing a soccer ball. I stare at her for long seconds, envying that. I’ve never laughed like that before.
My world was a stark contrast to hers. All black and colorless. All I ever knew was pain. But this child? She’s happy. I wonder who I’d be if I were once happy too.
“Get up!” Sister Mary whips my bare back as I weep on the floor, unable to stand.
The burns on my feet hurt so much.
She told me she was teaching me a lesson for not wanting to study the word of the Lord. Because I was a sinner. And sinners get punished.
All the time.
“Get up, I said!” She slashes my back again, and I know she’s making me bleed.
How do I make her stop? I can’t even catch my breath.
“You’re seven, and this is how you behave? Like a whiny, willful child? Do you realize how lucky you are to still be here?”
Another whip, harder this time.
“That we allowed you to stay after every family who has tried to help you sent you right back?”
Another slash.
“Aren’t you embarrassed at how unwanted you are?”
And another.
“I’ve tried so hard to make someone love you, want you, but it’s been for nothing! Because you’ll never learn!”
She hurts me over and over while I cover my face with my hands, sobbing for someone to help me. To save me. But no one ever comes.
“Even your own mother didn’t want you.” She laughs. “Handed you to me while you were straight out of her womb.”
Her laughter is mean, but it doesn’t hurt like it hurts knowing my mommy hates me.
“She must’ve known what a waste of a breath you’d turn into, so she left you here. But even I couldn’t help you.”
She hits my arm with the whip, and my skin rips, blood dripping down my fingers. My stomach hurts, and I vomit on the ground.
“Pathetic! You can’t even take a whipping like a man!”
My weeps only grow, and right here and now, I wish to die.
“Get up!”
She doesn’t stop hurting me. I lose count of how many times she does.
I try to rise, but as I do, as the soles of my feet throb, she forces the whip across my chest, and I fall right back down to my knees.
Will she kill me? I want to die.
“Wh-what’s my—my mother’s name?” I stammer, needing to know.
If I survive, I want to find her. I want to ask why she left me here. What did I do that she didn’t love me? I knew I was given up. Mary told me all the time how my mom abandoned me when I was just born. That I was a burden, and I was not God’s child.