Chapter 1 #2
“Madison, get out here right now! I’m on the phone with your father, and he’d like to speak to you.”
Oh, God.
“Is everything okay?” I can barely hear Kane over my mother. I drop onto my bed and yank a pillow over my head to muffle the sounds.
“Yeah. I’m sorry. Can I move in?” I blurt.
“Uh, yeah? I thought that’s what was going on.” He laughs, and it sounds warm.
“I mean like… now.” I scrunch my eyes shut, preparing for the refusal.
“Yeah?” he says it like a question. “I mean, I don’t suppose why not. It’s not like anyone else is living here. Hold on. Let me ask.”
I tap my fingers against the pad of my thumb, back and forth, over and over, counting to five and back down.
“Hey, guys!” Kane shouts. He must be holding the phone against his chest because it’s muffled, but I can still hear everything. “Do you care if Madison moves in early?”
“Don’t give a shit.”
“Sure.”
“Come on over, buddy!”
“Yep, all good with us. When were you thinking?” Kane starts talking again like there wasn’t a lapse in the conversation. I heave out a large breath as tears spring to my eyes. My throat is closed off, but I try not to let it sound as I answer him.
“T-today?” I stutter. “I live a few hours away, and I have to finish packing, but I can be there later.” It doesn’t come out as more than a whisper, but that doesn’t seem to bother Kane, which is… nice.
“Sounds good. Why don’t you just text me when you’re leaving so I can make sure we’re all home to help you get your shit inside.”
“W-wow, really?”
He chuckles. “Yeah, man.”
“Oh, uh, okay.”
“Cool. See you in a bit, Madison.” A click sounds, and then, the call disconnects.
I leave my phone pressed to my ear because the quiet lingering is a much better sound to focus on than Mother screaming outside my door.
But after a few minutes of her continuous comments, I push the pillow away and walk to the door.
Placing my palm against the wood, I drop my forehead to it. “Mom.”
“Madison!”
I wince, eyes scrunched shut. “Please stop.” I hate the tears I feel brewing.
“I certainly will not! This is absurd! Your father’s on his way home—in the middle of work, mind you—to deal with this!”
That means I have a half hour at most, with traffic this time of day. I let my head drag against the wood a moment before I push back to grab my bags shoved in my closet. They’re heavy as I set them on my bed, then look around my room, feeling oddly detached.
Most of the things I own aren’t even mine. They’re just things Mother used to “decorate,” and I don’t feel much of anything knowing I’m leaving it all behind.
It takes less than ten minutes to gather the rest of my things, packed in one last smaller bag. My eyes catch on my Bible on my nightstand. The weathered, maroon cover, the thin pages filled with highlights and pen marks, tabs in place for reference.
A book of lies.
And yet, I still grab it anyway, shoving it in the front pocket of my backpack beside my phone charger.
With my keys fisted, I grab all four bags and hobble toward the door, already feeling the strain in my arms. Mom’s eyes shoot wide when she sees me, stepping back. Probably more out of shock than anything else, but I try to ignore it, regardless.
I don’t make it more than three steps down the stairs before she’s trailing me, screeching and screaming. I can’t even make out what she’s saying through the blood rushing in my ears and the curdling in my gut.
My car is a beacon as I hobble down the stairs, focusing on not slipping and breaking my neck—which seems entirely plausible. God has an ironic way of punishing those he deems have wronged him, and I’m sure me turning my back would constitute as such.
When I reach the foyer, my gaze catches Roman’s, the butler, where he stands near the front door.
His old eyes are crinkled at the corners.
They seem a bit sad but a bit proud—or at least, that’s what I hope.
I offer a weak smile in apology, which he returns with a silent nod of his head, and then, he holds the door open for me… At least one person wants me to go.
The acceptance of that is enough to fuel me the rest of the way as I step onto the concrete steps.
The air is humid and stifling as I breathe it in, feeling too queasy for much else.
Gravel dust plumes upward as I drop my bags at my feet to open the trunk.
I keep my eyes downcast as I arrange them, keeping my backpack on my shoulders.
I round the car and open the driver’s side door, hesitating for a moment. I know I shouldn’t look, but I do anyway.
Mom’s standing at the top of the stairs, arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her face is twisted in a fit of rage—silent for once. Roman’s at her back, hands clasped in front of himself, but with my mother’s back turned, he allows his smile to be shown—just for me.
I try not to cry as I look at the house, the estate, I grew up in—an expensive house far too big for just the three of us, the large garden I loved to spend most of my time in on the left, the garage housing multiple cars to the right.
So much green but so little color.
“I’m sorry,” I say just loud enough to be heard.
“You will lose everything, Madison.”
I swallow through the closure in my throat and force a slow breath through the weight pressed against my chest. “I know.”
“What will you do without our help?” she sneers.
“Survive, I suppose.”
And then, I drop into my seat, take another breath, albeit just as hard, and pull around the circular drive just as Father pulls in.
He slams on his breaks, sending dust billowing upward.
I lift my hand in a small wave, face pinched tight as I say goodbye to him and leave the only world I’ve ever known behind.