Chapter 35
She picks up on the second ring, her voice brimming with worry.
“Poet? Is that you?”
“Mrs. Arden,” I say, trying to keep the shake out of my voice.
“What is it? Is Knox okay?”
“Yeah, he’s fine,” I assure her. “That’s not why I’m calling.”
I hesitate.
“Poet. Are you okay?” The sympathy in her voice tells me she’s already heard everything, and it loosens the ball wedged firmly in my throat.
“I’m sorry to call,” I whisper. “I just . . . I need you to check on my mom. We had a fight and—” I choke on my words as tears threaten to spill.
“Sweetheart,” she says. “It’s okay. Calm down. I spoke with her this morning—-she’s fine, I promise. I mean . . . she isn’t fine . . . but she’s not . . . Your father . . .”
She trails off. No one likes to say it out loud, but the Ardens know all our secrets.
The day my father left me with the scars they couldn’t fully wipe away, it was the Ardens who Raine and I ran to.
He was barely bigger than I was, but he did his best to carry me to their front door, where I passed out.
Trey went to look for my mother, who had also been caught in my father’s path of anger.
The Ardens called for a doctor, and we spent weeks living with them while we healed.
Knox would sit in bed next to me, and we’d watch movies and eat snacks until we both fell asleep with the TV screen flickering.
Strangely enough, those nights are some of my best memories.
I was half asleep more than once when I heard my mother and Mrs. Arden talking in low, serious voices. Even then, I understood my mother needed to leave my father, but she wasn’t brave enough.
There aren’t many avenues in New Manhattan for a woman like my mother.
She attended Amery but never used her education, and at her age, the job prospects were almost nothing. Her choices were to ignore my father’s abuse or be left with nothing, which might have meant life as a cog or, even worse, a Hollow.
In my less charitable moments, I think she stayed mostly for herself, but I know she did it for Raine and me, too.
“Okay,” I say to Mrs. Arden with a relieved sigh. “Thank you for checking on her.”
“Of course . . .” She hesitates, and I can feel the words hanging between us on the other side of the line. “If there’s anything I can do . . .”
This situation couldn’t be more complicated if I tried.
I joined Aria to escape her son. I don’t know Molly Arden’s true opinion on our engagement, other than she’s always seemed as enthused about it as everyone else.
Does she know who her son became? Does she care?
“I’m sorry if I’ve hurt your family or Knox—” I start to say, but she interrupts.
“You do what’s best for you, Poet,” she says, her voice firm. “You hear me?”
My chin trembles as a combination of grief and gratitude squeezes my chest.
“Okay,” I manage. “I’ll be . . . I gotta go to class.”
“Call me if you need anything.” It’s an empty sentiment. There isn’t anything she can do for me anymore, but she’s always been kind, and it’s clearly an impulse.
“Can you . . . tell my mom I’d like to hear from her? I know she’s upset, but . . .”
I touch the necklace against my collarbone, flipping the jeweled mask between my fingers, thinking of the woman who tried to raise me.
After another awkward pause, Mrs. Arden answers. “Of course. I’ll let her know.”
“Thanks.” Then I hang up and tuck the phone into my pocket, my heart beating so fast that it’s making me lightheaded. I want to go lie down, but spending time in my dorm room doesn’t sound any more calming. I think of the atrium I found last night, but classes are starting soon.
I lean against the wall with my forehead pressed against it, waiting for my pulse to steady.
The bell rings, and I straighten up.
I should look for Edward and see if he’s okay. I should find Trinity.
I should get someone to look at my knee, which is throbbing painfully and seems to be getting worse.
But I don’t do any of that.
When I’m ready, I inhale a deep breath and limp to class, deciding to deal with all of it later.