Chapter 20
TWENTY
Elliana
“All you have to do is open the door, and you can eat. I know you’re hungry by now.”
I hate him. I hate him so much. Even more now than I ever did before. And not only because of the pictures, though that would be enough of a reason for me to dance on his grave.
“There’s a big, thick turkey sandwich out here for you.” Saliva floods my mouth at the sound of his voice, telling me all about the food he brought up for me. “And there’s chips, too, and a couple of chocolate chip cookies. You might want to grab those now before I eat them, because they’re really good. I don’t know how much longer I’ll be able to go without taking them for myself.”
He can’t leave me alone. Like it’s his purpose in life to find new ways to torture me. Of course I’m starving—I haven’t eaten since last night, at least until that text came in and ruined what was left of my self-esteem, which wasn’t all that much in the first place.
My empty stomach twists in a knot, and I curl into a tight ball, buried under blankets, closing my eyes and wishing he would go away. Forever, preferably.
Once again, the last voice I want to hear now or ever floats in under the door. “You know I’m not going away, right?”
Resentment takes the place of hunger and makes my stomach clench harder than before. Oh, I believe him. He has sat out there pretty much the whole day, giving me the play-by-play of making himself comfortable, watching videos and TV shows on his tablet, commenting on what he’s watching. Asking me over and over when I’m coming out. Telling me to give him a sign that I’m still alive. I finally threw my hairbrush at the door so he would know I’m in here, alive and breathing. He hasn’t broken me. I still hate him.
He can’t stay out there forever, no matter what he says or threatens or whatever it is he thinks he’s doing. He will eventually have to go to school. The jerk skipped class today, because why give me the chance to leave my room? But he has to go back sooner or later. Until then, I can drink from the bathroom sink. I am not going to die in here.
But I very much feel like I would die if I had to look at him.
It’s almost eight o’clock when he starts his shit again. “I am not leaving this door until you open it,” he calls out. “I’ll sleep out here again tonight. Why are you making this so much harder than it has to be? I know you’re hungry. At least eat something.”
Why, so he can feel better about himself? I know that’s what this is really about. Easing his guilt, which I know he must feel based on what he sounded like when he first got home last night. He deserves it, too. I wish the guilt would kill him. He has violated me in pretty much every way imaginable. There is nothing he could face that would balance the scales at this point.
“For fuck’s sake.” There’s a lot of movement out there before he pounds on the door. “I’m sick of this. I’ve been trying to be nice and give you space, but it’s time to open the door and face reality. You need to eat.”
So he can feel better? No, thanks.
“I’m going to kick the fucking door in. I’m counting to three.”
My heart lurches, and I clutch the blankets tighter, like they can do anything to protect me. He can’t mean it. He’s bluffing. Paul would have a fit if he came home and my bedroom door was broken.
“I’m serious. Here we go.” Carter’s voice echoes out in the hall. “One… I mean it, Elliana… Two…”
He doesn’t bother saying three. He only kicks the door, which flies open hard enough to rebound off the wall and almost slam shut again.
A scream tears its way out of me before I know what’s happening, and now he isn’t Carter. Now he’s one of Mom’s boyfriends, the nameless men who wandered in and out of our lives over the years. Men whose faces are now a blur, so many years later, but I don’t need to remember their faces to remember the things they did. The screaming, the breaking glass, the threats.
The nights Mom crawled into my bed, squeezing me tight like I could do anything to protect her, while the latest loser in her life tore our home apart. My door got kicked in then, too.
God, I haven’t thought about any of that in so long. It’s always there, in my memory, but it’s not something I want to focus on. But now it comes back in full color, full detail, and I scream again. “Get out! Get out, get out!”
I can’t breathe. The sound of my breathless gasps fills the room. Am I having a heart attack? My chest—it’s excruciating, the pressure, the pain.
“For fuck’s sake!” Carter barks. “I’m not doing anything to you, but making sure you take care of yourself.”
I barely hear him. He needs to go. I can’t breathe. Let’s see if she can float! I thought shit always floats on the surface!
“Hey!” He crosses the room in a few long strides while I scramble away from him, curling up against the headboard with a pillow clutched in front of me. I’m going to faint. My head is spinning.
And he sees it. I know he sees it because he looks horrified. “Breathe. You’re safe. Nobody is hurting you.”
Easy for him to say.
“Take a breath.” His voice is gentler when he sits on the edge of the bed, leaving space between us. “Just breathe, okay? That’s all you have to worry about right now. Take a breath. Nobody is hurting you right now. You’ll be okay.”
Tears trail down my cheek, and I brush them away, frustrated. Why do I have to cry? Like he needs to think I’m any weaker than I already am. Just one more thing to use against me.
Slowly, the tightness in my throat loosens, and the pressure in my chest eases until I can pull in a decent breath without struggling. “There you go. Just take it easy. You’re all right.”
“Oh, am I?” Now that I’m breathing again, all I have to worry about is keeping myself from clawing his eyes out. The only thing stopping me is knowing our parents will be back before long. That’s all that’s stopping me from inflicting on him the kind of pain he has so eagerly inflicted on me.
His shoulders rise and fall in a heavy sigh that doesn’t do anything to make me feel nicer toward him. “We’ll work this out,” he insists in a softer voice, his blue eyes troubled when I force myself to meet them. “But we can’t do it if you lock yourself away like this. It’s not going to get you anywhere.”
“Since when do you care? I mean it.” At least he looks like my attitude hurts a little. He deserves so much worse, but I guess this is a start. I have a little power.
“Fine, whatever. I’m not going to talk in circles.” When he gets off the bed, I’m not sure how I feel. I should be relieved—all I want is for him to leave me alone, right? Yet here I am, startled at how suddenly he’s turned away.
All he was doing was going to the hall to bring in the tray of food. “Guess I’ll have somebody replace that door before they get back,” he murmurs, setting the tray on the bed. “Enough with the hunger strike.”
The sight of a thick turkey sandwich is too much to resist. My pride isn’t stronger than my empty stomach. Grabbing half the sandwich with both hands, I raise it to my mouth and take a huge bite. It’s all I can do to keep from moaning happily before taking another greedy bite.
I’m almost finished with that first half before I slow down to catch my breath. I can’t stand the idea of looking at him, so I stare down at the food instead.
“I’m really sorry for what happened. I know it’s hard for you to believe,” he mutters, “and I know it’s easy for me to say now, but it is the truth. I don’t know what it is about her and why she has to be so…”
“Vile?” I whisper before picking up the second half of the sandwich.
“That’s one word for her.”
“She might have sent them out, but she didn’t take them, did she?” I glance up at him from under my lashes. He winces but says nothing. “If those pictures never existed, she couldn’t send them to everybody.”
It’s a surprise when he slowly nods. A muscle ticks in his jaw and his nostrils flare like he’s pissed, but he doesn’t argue with me. “I know,” he murmurs. “And I am sorry. I really am. I wasn’t really going to send them out.”
Now that is worth a laugh. “Right. You were just joking when you threatened me over and over.”
“I wasn’t joking. I…” He sighs and stares down at the tray, lifting a shoulder. “I don’t know what I was doing anymore. I wouldn’t have hurt you like that.”
Something about this sudden contrite attitude sets my teeth on edge. “No, you’ve already hurt me in so many other ways. I guess you have your limits, though.”
“I’m trying,” he grunts, finally lifting his cowardly head to look me in the eye. He’s a big, tough guy when there’s a door between us, but now he can barely stand to look at me. Typical bully.
“Well, thank you so much,” I snap. There is something way too gratifying about seeing him flinch. It makes me feel powerful, which is something I’m not used to feeling. I grab onto it with both hands and hold it tight. “But you’re out of your mind if you think coming in here and apologizing with a sandwich and a couple of cookies is going to make anything better. It’s not. I will never forgive you for this.”
“But I told you?—”
“And I heard you,” I remind him, before he has the chance to stumble through talking his way out of it. “That doesn’t change anything. You did what you did, and I am not going to let it go just because your conscience is bothering you now. You deserve it. I hope it eats away at you,” I grunt. It is much too nice, seeing the effect I’m having on him. I could see myself getting addicted to payback if payback is this sweet.
And I’ve barely scratched the surface.
Every silent second that passes only strengthens my resolve. This is how it has to be. It’s not my fault nobody ever taught him about facing the repercussions of his actions. I’m just the person who’s had to suffer for it. For the way he walks through life, acting like he’s untouchable. Never thinking about the effect he’ll have on other people. Selfish and arrogant.
Right now, he isn’t only Carter. He’s every stupid, petty, childish bully I’ve ever faced. He is everyone who has ever tried to break me.
He’s the person who has come the closest.
But he still didn’t succeed.
“Now that you know I’m eating,” I mutter after swallowing a bite, “you can go. I don’t want to talk to you anymore.”
At least he doesn’t waste time trying to force me into forgiving him. At least he spares me that. All he does is stand up and leave the room silently, without giving me another look. I really hope he doesn’t have the audacity to turn this around and get mad at me for not giving him what he wants.
But something tells me he will.
With the mood I’m in, I don’t really care. In fact, I hope he does get mad. Because I’m mad, too. It feels good to be mad and to actually show it instead of trying to hide it for fear of retaliation.
I used to be afraid to push too hard in case he wanted to hurt me.
Now? The damage has been done, and I almost wish he would try again so I can have the excuse to take my anger out on him.