8. Seraphina
8
Seraphina
“Mitchell, slow down, you fucking maniac. You’re going eighty in a forty, and if you kill me, I will haunt you every day in hell,” Bianca yells, giving voice to the thoughts in my head. I knew we were in trouble when Mitch ushered us out of Greyson’s house, claiming it was time to go. I’m not sure if it was the look in his eyes or the anger radiating off his skin, but something in my gut told me that getting in the car with him was a bad idea.
My sister seemed to have missed that intuitive memo because she slid into the back seat of his luxury sedan and immediately started playing on her phone. Part of me wanted to drag her out and tell Mitch we were staying with Ava for the weekend, but I knew Bianca wouldn’t be easy to wrangle.
So, against my better judgment, I buckled myself into his front seat and prayed that my intuition was wrong.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t.
Taking his eyes off the road, Mitch looks over at me, his face set in a cocky smirk. “Tell your sister to calm down, Fin.”
Shaking my head at him, I meet his detachment with a scowl. “I will not tell her to calm down. Slow the hell down. Now!” I shout, reaching for the grab handle as I watch the speedometer rise another ten miles per hour. “Mitch, I’m serious. Slow down.”
“This isn’t funny. Slow down, you cocky fuck,” B yells from behind. My brother was supposed to be in the car with us, but he left Greyson’s early, citing a headache as a reason to Uber out of the party. If I had to guess, Rafe was overwhelmed by the number of people at the backyard barbecue, and his social anxiety caused him to need a time-out.
Licking my lips, I glance out of the car, noting how quickly we’re moving, and try for a different tactic. Clearing my throat, I shift in my seat and use my free hand to slide over the center console, reaching for Mitch’s thigh as I move. “Mitch, why don’t you slow down,” I whisper, making sure my voice conveys none of the discomfort I’m feeling. Casting my eyes to the back, Bianca’s eyes widen as she takes in my words and actions.
“What are you doing?” she mouths, looking from my face to my arm. Tilting my head, I silently beg her to keep quiet.
“Did you speak to that asshole?”
Turning back to Mitch, I furrow my brow and shake my head at his question. “What are you talking about?”
His eyes are set on the road, his mouth still pulled into that unnerving smile. “The guy from inside the house. I saw you with him. What the fuck did he want?”
Swallowing down the bile rising in my throat, I measure my words, holding their weight in my chest before letting them out. “He’s my sister’s boyfriend’s roommate. I barely know him.” His hand captures mine, pressing my fingers further into his thigh. I’m equally confused and annoyed by his line of questioning and the physical touch he’s forcing. Despite our agreement, he pushed his limits today.
“Don’t lie to me, Seraphina. I fucking saw you.”
“You didn’t see anything, shithead,” Bianca yells from the back seat.
Gritting my teeth, I hold up my free hand, silencing her without words. “He’s someone I met through Ava. He’s no one,” I lie, hoping I’m convincing. Holding my breath, I keep my eyes pinned to the driver’s side dashboard. I watch as the speedometer peels back, going from ninety to eighty to seventy until it’s finally at the speed limit. I start to remove my hand from Mitch’s thigh, but he squeezes, giving me a look that has my insides churning.
“Keep it there, Fin. You know I love your hands on me.”
His words have my stomach lurching, and I swallow down the wave of nausea at his suggestive tone. He continues to drive, bypassing our exit on the parkway and taking one four mile markers from our designated exit.
Panic grips me again, and I don’t need to look back at my sister to know she’s also freaking out.
I give him a faint smile and ask, “Where are we going? This isn’t the way home.”
“We’re going to Chris’s beach house.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“You’re cute when you try to think, Fin. We’re going.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Bianca murmurs. From the corner of my eye, I watch as she lifts her left hand and starts to bite at her nails, a nervous habit carried over from when we were kids.
Slipping out of his hold, I ignore Mitch’s side-eye as I bring my hands together and reach into my shoulder bag to pull out my phone.
“What are you doing?” he asks, his voice a lashing in the car.
“Just letting my parents know where we are.” A grunt is the only response I get.
I shift in the passenger seat, putting my back against the door and angling my phone so that Mitch can’t see my screen in his peripheral.
Pulling up my brother’s contact information, I type out a frantic text.
Seraphina : B and I need you. Pick us up at Chris’s beach house.
My brother wastes no time in responding to me.
Rafe : You were supposed to come home after Grey’s. What the hell happened?
Sparing a glance at Mitch to make sure he’s not watching me, I respond to my brother quickly, telling him that Mitch is behaving erratically right now before slipping my phone back into my bag.
The car falls into tense silence. Only the sound of the tires turning on the road fills the space until, finally, Mitch comes to a stop and puts the car in park.
“Let’s go,” he orders, throwing his door open and walking toward the wrought iron gate fencing in the property.
“There is no way in hell I am going into that backyard.”
Sighing, I turn to look at her. “I know. I texted Rafe to come get us.”
“Sera, I need you to be no bullshit right now.” Bianca sighs, leaning forward so that her hands can reach my wrists. “Why are you with him? You’re miserable. You clearly want nothing to do with him. And don’t bullshit me with the ‘it’s complicated’ excuse. I need you to be real with me.”
Nodding to myself, I turn my head and look out the windshield. “Fine, but can we do it out of the car? He’s going to come back here, and I have no idea what his mood is going to be.”
“Seraphina, has he been like this before?”
Shaking my head, I murmur, “No, never. I have no idea what’s going on tonight, but he’s acting weird, even for him.”
“Well, that’s not saying much.”
Holding back a snort, I open the car door and step out, taking care not to slip on the gravel drive customary of shore houses. Bianca doesn’t take the same consideration I do, throwing the rear driver-side door open and stomping out of the car as though it’s the cause of her agitation.
“Come on,” I whisper, reaching out to grab my sister’s hand and pulling her toward the road. I’ve been to this house twice before, and while I’m not familiar with the surrounding area, I do know that Chegg, or Chicken and the Egg, is less than a quarter mile away.
Reaching into my bag, I text Rafe to meet us there and continue pulling Bianca down the road.
We remain quiet for a few minutes, letting the cicadas provide background music as we walk toward our destination. I’m not sure if Mitch is going to come after me right now, and frankly, I don’t care. I have an overwhelming need to be away from him, to end the bullshit excuse for a relationship I’ve found myself in, that I can’t be bothered with Mitch’s emotions right now.
“Do you remember when Mitch and I got back together?” I ask, breaking the quiet between us. I don’t need to look at my sister to know that she’s staring at me, waiting for my response. I don’t even need her confirmation that she remembers the reconciliation because she yelled at me for weeks for what she felt was not having a backbone.
“I didn’t want to. I mean, how could I possibly want to be with someone like Mitch?” I shake my head, tossing the idea out. “But I had to.”
“What do you mean, ‘I had to’?”
I bite down on my lip, trying to work the words out so they sound less bizarre leaving my lips. No matter how many times I’ve rehearsed saying this out loud, it never sounds right. “Do you remember the Clown Killer?”
“Seraphina, stop with the questions. What the fuck are you trying to say?” Bianca’s voice is sharp, stopping our walk to the main road. “What do Mitch, the Clown Killer, and your relationship have in common?”
“Nothing? Everything?” I muse, sounding as confused as I’ve felt the last six months. “Somehow, Mitch’s dad found out Mom and Dad didn’t submit a witness’s testimony that would have corroborated the defense’s theory that the Clown Killer had an accomplice or co-conspirator. If that gets out, everything they’ve worked for is in jeopardy, and Mitch and his father know that.”
“What the fuck?” Bianca whispers, and I chance a glance at her expression. Her jaw is slack, hanging as though tethered to a fraying thread.
“Mitch got caught snorting coke or smoking, or God only knows what. His dad told him he needed to get his act together since he’s running for the senate, and no scandal could be attached to their name. He’s using me to pacify his dad, and in exchange, his dad is keeping the witness quiet since they tried to come forward again.”
“What the— How? Seraphina, what the actual fuck?” Bianca raises her voice, grabbing my arm and spinning me around so that I’m facing her. “Do Mom and Dad know about this?” I shake my head, denying her question. “God, you are so smart but so fucking dumb. They are lawyers, Seraphina. Some of the best in the damn country. Do you really think they would have withheld actual evidence? The person was probably an unreliable witness.”
“The DA was at the house, Bianca. I heard their conversation. I also heard the DA tell them their lives will be ruined if this is ever made public. So I did what was in my power to protect them—to protect all of us. Do you actually think I’m happy about this situation? In the last six months, have I seemed content with my decision? Because I can tell you, every damn day I have to look at Mitch’s face, I die inside. But I did what I had to do.” I wretch my arm from her grip and resume walking, stomping forcefully on the beachy gravel road.
I make it three steps before I stop again. “And another thing.” I pause, spinning to face my sister. “All of you—Rafe and Ava included—have made me feel like I’m the dumbest person in this family for the last six months, when everything I did was for you. For all of you.” Now that the words are out, they don’t stop. “God, you were never supposed to know about this.”
My sister doesn’t say anything at first, and I stare at her, waiting to see her response.
“We’re going back to the party,” she mutters, crossing her arms.
My eyes widen at her statement. “No, we are absolutely not.”
“Yes, we are. What are you going to do, run away scared? When has that helped anyone? No. We’re going back to that party, and I’m going to make sure that Mitch knows exactly what he’s going to do with his little blackmail threat. And Seraphina, I need you to do me a favor.” She pulls out her phone, fingers working quickly over the screen.
“Bianca,” I groan out. “What is happening in that head? And we are not going back.”
“Too late.” She holds up her phone, shaking it in my face. “Rafe is meeting us there now. He’ll be there in ten minutes; let’s go.” Bianca spins on her heel and retraces our footsteps, her strides long as she eats up the distance between the road we’re on and the house we arrived at.
“Dammit, Bianca,” I mutter, breaking into a light jog to catch up to her before slowing down. “I want to go home, not suffer Mitch’s presence longer than I have to. For once, B, can you have some sympathy? Because I’m hanging on by a goddamn thread, and I don’t know how much longer until it snaps.” My words are loud—louder than I intended—and the ocean breeze carries them.
“Seraphina, just trust me. You trusted that Mitch, a fucking moron, was telling the truth. So trust me, your favorite sister, to handle this.”
“You are not my favorite sister. I don’t have a favorite sister. And would you stop?”
Like my words are attached to a tether, she brakes suddenly, causing me to step in front of her. “Seraphina, I can’t imagine what the last six months have been like for you, but I need you to listen to me closely.” She pauses, searching my eyes. Whatever she finds in them must encourage her to continue. “We’re going back to that party, and we’re going to have a conversation with the anal invader and—”
“Bianca,” I cut her off, my voice sharp. “I understand that you think you know the answer, that you can come in and figure out a way to end this. But I need you to accept that there’s no loophole; there’s no ‘get out of jail free’ card in this situation. It’s shitty, and it sucks, but at least I’m comforted by the fact it’s temporary.”
“But that’s the thing, Ser. You gave in to him once, twice, three times now. He knows your weaknesses, and he’s never going to let you go.”
“Then let me deal with it. It’s not your problem.”
“No.” B rushes forward, eating up the last few feet between the road and the gate leading to the backyard. The music is loud, a steady beat that bleeds into the rocky front lawn and down the block, though I doubt any neighbors can hear the noise. And if they do, I doubt they care. This section of the island is notorious for parties and bonfires and serves as a perfect escape for underaged drinkers and recreational partiers.
Shaking my head, I follow Bianca into the backyard and squint at her when she props her phone against the back of a chair, angled toward the group assembled around a bar in the far corner of the yard.
“B—” I start, but she holds up a hand, silencing me without saying a word. My stomach sinks, knowing instinctively that Bianca has a horrible idea brewing, one that is undoubtedly reckless and stupid.
As if on cue, Mitch looks up, eyes narrowing at me, and stalks over, his movements sloppy and uncoordinated. I look down at my phone and note that we’ve only been removed from his presence for twenty minutes, so I have no idea how much he could have consumed to make him look as drunk—and angry—as he does.
“Where the fuck did you disappear to?” he bellows, shouting across the small lawn. “Always fucking disappearing.”
“I needed to speak to Bianca.” I keep my voice calm, steady against the rolling anxiety in my stomach. “Rafe is on his way; we’re heading home.”
“Like fuck you are. Chris, you hear this shit?” Mitch calls out, bringing in a vodka-bottle-holding Chris, whose parents own the house. “Fucking Fin is trying to leave before the party even starts.”
“Nah, she’s staying. Little Gregs is also staying.” Chris jerks his chin toward Bianca, calling her the nickname she’s known by amongst the halls of our high school. I hear Bianca’s scoff from feet away, and I don’t doubt they also heard her sound of derision.
“Don’t be a bitch,” Chris sneers, bringing the vodka to his lips and taking a long sip. “Mitch, why don’t you take Fin inside, and I’ll take care of Little Gregs’s attitude? Maybe that mouth will be good for something.” They both laugh at his vile comment, and my blood heats, the dread transforming into rage.
“Don’t you dare touch her.” I’m surprised at how steady I sound. “We’re leaving. Bianca, come on.” I hold my hand out, motioning for her to come to my side so we can get the hell out of here.
“No, you’re fucking not.” Mitch reaches out and throws my arm, causing me to stumble back from the force. I catch myself before I fall completely, but my knees buckle, and my hand supports my weight against the jagged rocks.
“Hey! Don’t you fucking touch her.” My brother’s voice rings out, the headlights from his car illuminating the backyard since he pulled up the driveway. “Seraphina, Bianca, get in the car,” he orders, but I stand slowly, breathing deeply as I plant my feet and face Mitch.
“I told you that you’re not fucking leaving, Seraphina. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to Mommy and Daddy, right?”
“Stop it, Mitch. I never agreed to come here. That wasn’t—what the—Bianca!” I scream, stepping forward as my sister barrels into Mitch, shoving him out of the way.
“You are scum. The lowest of the bottom feeders. Leave my family alone.” She advances on him, shoving him again. “Stay away from my sister.”
“Bianca!” Rafe yells, and I hear the crunch of gravel as he races forward, arms reaching out to pull a flailing Bianca against his body. “Calm down and get in the fucking car,” he warns, holding her tight to his body as she struggles against his hold.
From the corner of my eye, I see Mitch advance and turn in time to see his arm pull back. Everything happens all at once. With a protective instinct innate to my being, I step in front of my sister just as Mitch swings, accepting the blow to the cheek that was apparently meant for my sister.
I taste blood immediately, the metallic liquid pooling in my mouth and forcing me to spit onto the rocks. Fuck, that hurts. I flex the muscles in my face and wince, nearly crying out with pain but determined not to show any weakness when all I want to do is cry and spit the blood out of my mouth until the saliva runs clear.
I told Bianca that coming back here was a bad idea. I chance a look over to my siblings—Bianca’s face is horrified, while Rafe looks like he’s about to kill someone. Assumably Mitch.
“Seraphina,” Rafe yells and Bianca whimpers. Rafe lets go of Bianca, and his arms pull me back before they move to my face and clasp my jaw, tilting it up to inspect the damage. My brother’s face is a study of anger, and I know that as soon as he assures himself that I’m okay, he’s going to storm up to Mitch and kill him.
Not figuratively. Literally.
“Rafe, we need to go home.”
“Seraphina, he just fucking decked you and chipped your tooth.”
My eyes widen in horror. “My tooth is chipped?”
“He just put his fucking hands on you. I’ll fucking kill him.” Releasing my face, he tugs me behind him and starts to rush forward. Grabbing his shirt, I tug him back.
“Fin, fuck. I’m sorry,” Mitch’s voice calls out, and if I didn’t know him better, I’d think he had some remorse in him. “Fuck, Seraphina. Fuck.” He repeats the expletive, his voice sounding more and more panicked the more he says it. “Are you okay? Jesus.” He starts to move toward me, but Chris grabs him by the torso, holding him from advancing toward me. I don’t like Chris, but in this moment, I’m relieved that he’s coherent enough to know that Mitch shouldn’t approach me.
“You motherfucker.” Rafe starts to charge again, but I keep my grip firm on his shirt, not letting him get to Mitch.
“No.” He looks back, murder in his eyes, though my command seems to register. “We need to leave. Now ,” I spit out, feeling the blood dripping from my lips as I speak. I watch as Rafe’s fists clench, but he nods. Keeping his body angled, he points at Mitch.
“If you come anywhere near my sister again, any of my sisters, I’ll fucking kill you.” With that, he spins, walking back to me and Bianca and grabbing our forearms to drag us to the car. Mitch’s wails are loud, my name being said on repeat with a collection of “I’m sorry” and “Fuck.” I tune him out, focusing on my steps and the pain radiating throughout my face. My jaw aches, and it takes every effort not to cry as I follow my brother’s lead.
“Wait! I need my phone.” Bianca’s voice stops Rafe’s momentum. “It’s on the chair over there.”
“Fucking fine. Stay here,” Rafe mutters and releases his hold on our arms. I hear his footsteps retreat toward the chair where Bianca deposited her phone. It takes only a few moments for him to come back, but in that time, I disassociate myself from the scene behind us and Mitch’s wails of protest. I can’t even comprehend what he’s saying, though the harsh cries and slapping of skin alert me that he’s still being restrained and fighting against the man-made barrier separating us.
With Rafe back at our sides, he grabs our arms again and walks us through the gate and into his car.
“I fucking hate that guy,” Rafe mumbles as we climb into the car, causing Bianca to snort as she files in beside me, sitting so close that I’m forced into the middle bench. From my seat, I watch Rafe’s hand grip the wheel tightly before loosening.
“Are you okay?” he asks, meeting my eyes in the rearview mirror. “Are both of you okay? Do you need to go to the hospital? What am I saying? Of course you need to go to a fucking hospital.” Rafe throws the car into reverse, nearly backing up into the cars lined on the opposite side of the street from the house.
“No hospital, Rafe.”
“Seraphina, he decked you in the face. What do you mean no hospital?” I tense beside my sister, both at his words and his tone. “You need to be checked out. He chipped your fucking tooth, and God knows what else.”
“I’ll make an appointment for a dentist in the morning, but the hospital is going to give me a bag of ice, monitor me for three hours, and decide I’m fine to go home after wasting the rest of my night there.” I don’t include that they’d probably check my vitals and make sure I don’t have a concussion or any significant damage to my jaw through X-rays. By diminishing my pain and probable treatment, I’m hoping Rafe will drop it.
But I know my brother, so despite any attempt at reasoning with him, I’m sure he’ll dig in.
“Sera, we’re going to the hospital.” His tone holds a note of finality.
Closing my eyes, I drop my head against the back seat’s headrest and let out a sigh. “Rafe, we cannot go to the hospital because I don’t know what Mitch and his family will do if we go. I’ve suffered enough these last six months, and if you make it all worthless, I don’t know what I’ll do.”
I don’t mean for the last part to slip out, but as soon as it does, I know I messed up. The car is silent for a moment before Bianca’s voice finally breaks through the deafening void. “I’m sorry, Seraphina. I didn’t think—I don’t…” She stops, huffing out her frustration. “I didn’t think he’d get physical, not when you told me he has as much to lose as we do.”
“It’s not your fault.” I keep my eyes closed, focusing on the incessant thrum of pain.
“But it is. When you told me what he was doing to you—what his family was forcing—I thought I could goad him into a confession, record it, and keep it to use against him. An eye-for-an-eye type situation, but—”
“He tried to hit you instead.”
“Will someone tell me what the fuck is going on?” Rafe seethes from the driver’s seat.
I remain silent, words escaping me as the night comes crashing down. My sister doesn’t have the same problem. “Mitch has been forcing Sera to be with him for the last six months in exchange for keeping shit about Mom and Dad and the Clown Killer case quiet.”
“Sera, is that true?”
I grunt in response.
“Why the hell didn’t you tell us? Do Mom and Dad know?”
“No. And she wanted to be a martyr. But it doesn’t matter now. Things may not have gone the way I thought they would, and Ser, I’m so fucking sorry you got hurt. Please, believe me when I say I didn’t think this would happen, and I feel so damn guilty right now. But one thing is certain: it’s over now.”
Opening my eyes, I turn my head and stare at my sister. “What do you mean?”
“Well…” She looks down, having the decency to look embarrassed by what she’s about to say. “We may not have gotten a confession on camera, but I did get an assault. And what’s better than fighting blackmail with blackmail?”
“You cannot be serious.” I groan, sitting up and steeling myself against the wave of nausea that hits me. “Shit.”
“I don’t give a shit about Mitch. We’re going to the goddamn hospital. And Bianca, call Mom and Dad; this has gone on long enough.”
—
There’s a sense of déjà vu sitting in triage while my family gathers around a sterile hospital waiting room. Not even a year ago, my older sister was in this position, though her attack was significantly more serious than mine. Just like we were huddled together, waiting for news about Ava, my parents, Rafe, and Bianca congregate just outside the doors separating my assigned room with the family members in the ER waiting room.
I’ve been stuck, prodded, scanned, and iced in the three hours since I’ve been here, all for the doctor to say I am concussion-free, to take acetaminophen for the pain, and to see a dentist once the swelling goes down. I squeeze my eyes against the anger coursing through me, an emotion I’ve become all too familiar with since November.
A knock on the door forces my eyes open, and I watch my parents gingerly open the door, a stack of papers in my mother’s hand.
“They’ve discharged you,” she whispers, her voice barely audible over the blood rushing in my ears. “But the police would like to speak with you. You should talk to them.”
“No.”
“Seraphina.” My father’s tone is sharp. “You were assaulted.” I asked my sister to give my parents the bare minimum of information, but as soon as the words “Seraphina was attacked” left my sister’s lips, I knew there was no more hiding.
Looking past my parents, I focus on the glass pane on the door, the fight and need for secrecy leaving my body. “Mitch’s dad told him that as long as he and I were dating, the witness that came forward would remain silent.”
“Oh my god.” “What?” The dichotomy between my mom’s hushed voice and my dad’s screech is almost funny. Almost. Except it’s not.
“For the last six months, I’ve agreed to date Mitch in exchange for Judge Abernathy’s help on the witness,” I repeat, adding more context to my statement. “But I’m sorry, I-I can’t do it anymore. Not after tonight.” My words end with a stuttered cry, and I try to hold back the emotion. After all this, the last thing I want to do is break in front of my parents.
Keeping my eyes on the glass, I wait for their responses. Truthfully, I have no idea what they’re going to say.
“Seraphina,” my mom chokes out, her voice sounding as gravelly as mine. “Sweetheart, no . You didn’t need to do that, and you know Daddy and I would never ask, nor expect, that from you.”
“I was there the day the district attorney came to the house. I heard everything, but it was nothing Mitch hadn’t already told me.” I shift my eyes to focus on my parents. “I didn’t think, I just agreed.”
“Fuck.” My dad scowls, running his hand through his thinning hair. “Seraphina, listen to me. You will never see Mitchell Abernathy, his asshole father, or any other member of the Abernathy family again, do you understand? We’re going to allow the police to take your statement, and we’ll help you determine the best course to take. But under no circumstances will you put yourself in jeopardy again.”
“But the witness—”
“Seraphina, we already submitted the case files to the courts. There was no hiding this or feigning ignorance. You know your mother and me well enough to know that we’d never stand for this level of deceit or questions about our ethics. The day after the DA came to us, we spoke to another litigation lawyer and collectively agreed that submitting the recorded, raw testimonies of the witness, along with a character profile and history, was the only way to prove our decision not to submit her inconsistent statements to the defense. It’s been under review for four months. Why didn’t you speak to us about this? You didn’t need to suffer.”
My mouth hangs open, my jaw unlocked as I digest the full magnitude of what my father just said.
Of the months I’ve wasted.
Of the people I’ve hurt.
Of the things I’ve lost.
All for nothing. What do they say about the miscommunication trope? That it’s the most annoying thing in existence?
Pain stabs through me at the thought of all the time I lost trying to protect my family, who didn’t need protecting. Closing my eyes, I swallow the throbbing of misused time and feel the trickle of a single tear slide down my face.
I allow myself one—a solitary drop to mark my stupid ignorance before I square my shoulders and look my father in his eyes. “I’m ready to speak with the police.”