Chapter 2
Chapter Two
MONROE
I hate flying. It’s the second worst part of my life, but being dragged out to the Montana wilderness seems like a relaxing change.
Especially after overhearing the man who picked us up tell Mom and Claire they couldn’t stay with me.
I don’t think I’ve ever experienced them both being told no.
It was amusing how they turned red with rage, looking like matching tomatoes.
“Sit up straight, Marilyn,” Mom snaps under her breath, so the big guy up front—who gave us the name Draven—doesn’t hear her censure.
I’m slightly disappointed that he didn’t force Mom and my manager to leave at the airport, as he told them on the phone. But if I know anything about these two women, it’s that they’re master manipulators. The only reason I’m even here is that my cousin Lorie insisted this agency was the best.
When Mom was told that Banks Protection Services had no one available to travel to L.A., she suggested we come out here. I don’t mind, really. After five minutes in this pure air, I could breathe easier, felt less suffocated, and my head was no longer spinning the way it has in recent weeks.
Ever since my sixteenth birthday, when I lost Miss California—on purpose—I haven’t had a free moment to myself.
Even in the shower, the door must remain unlocked.
There’s no peace and quiet for me, and frankly, I’m not sure how much longer I can live like this.
I’m an adult and should be able to do what I want, except I can’t.
Mother has spent my entire life beating away my self-esteem and sense of worth, leaving me lost as to who I am without the pageants, and since then, I haven’t lost a single one.
I practice my ballet daily, like my life depends on it. And I’m not all that certain it doesn’t anymore. If I lose, who knows how she’ll react.
When I lost Miss California, I wasn’t seen for two weeks.
Just long enough for the pageant world to believe I was a diva throwing a fit.
In reality, I was being worked into the ground until I became sick.
Until I bled. Until I learned there were far worse pastimes than smiling for the cameras and realizing what a monster my mother truly is.
“All right, ladies, here we are.” The man up front smiles back at me and frowns when I don’t reciprocate the gesture.
It’s not that I don’t want to; it’s that smiling about anything is hard after being forced to do it for so long.
If there’s no emotion behind it, I just don’t do it anymore. I can’t.
Slipping out of the vehicle, I inhale the refreshing mountain air and close my eyes.
My lungs expand, and I no longer feel as if a weight rests on my chest. Green fields flow from the sizeable rustic house back to the valley leading into the snow-capped mountains, but my mother’s indignant huff ruins the moment.
Claire is glued to her phone as a door slams shut nearby. My gaze follows the noise, and I notice a gruff, dark-haired man standing on the porch. He doesn’t seem pleased we’re here, and with the way my mother eyes up his ranch, I can’t say I blame him. I wouldn’t want me here either.
Remaining in place, beside the car, I admire the beauty of the surrounding land. The sounds of nature. The clean air. This is something I could get used to. If only I could escape my mother’s clutches.
In the distance, the forlorn moo of a cow grabs my attention, and I’m curious why he or she sounds so desolate.
To find out, I quietly head towards the back of the house as the strange man glares at Mom, Claire, and Draven; then I make a run for it, careful not to trip over any holes, snakes, or other obstacles in the way.
Halting in my tracks after clearing the patio off the back of the house, I see a large white cow by a water barrel and listen as she cries into the sky.
As I walk closer, she must hear me because she turns her head and looks directly at me, staring into my eyes.
I recognize her pain. I feel it in my very soul.
“Who hurt you, pretty girl?” I whisper as I walk toward the steel gates. Knowing nothing about cows or ranch life, I maintain my distance. I wouldn’t want to encroach on this man’s land and break some rule I don’t know exists. I do that enough in L.A.
Her heavy steps wander closer to me, and when she lays her chin in one of the metal rings of the gate, I reach out a hand. Touching her head, I’m surprised at how soft she is. Her eyes close, and I wish I knew her thoughts.
Taking a small step forward, I continue to scratch her head and explore the area with my eyes. I’ve never been so near to a cow before, and the moment is a bit surreal. It’s a cow, and yet I feel closer to the massive animal than I have to anyone else in my life.
It’s odd, yet it strangely makes complete sense. She’s in pain, and so am I. On some elemental level, we understand each other.
“Dear god, Marilyn, take your hands off that filthy beast,” my mother’s shrill voice calls behind me, ruining the special moment. I ignore her, but the cow can’t and opens her eyes at the newcomer.
I don’t know if cows can glare, but I feel certain she just did, and I can’t help giggling.
“Marilyn!” she barks, and when I turn around, I’m stopped in my tracks as the ranch owner's eyes snare me in their depths. His gaze narrows as he looks on from beside the house.
“Sorry, Mother,” I whisper as I take one last look at the tormented cow and stroll back towards the woman I’ve come to loathe.
“We aren’t staying. We’ll find someone else for protection.” She grips my arm so tightly I wince. Her manhandling continually bruises my skin, and the latest one hasn’t healed.
“I’d like to stay, though,” I protest softly. I’ll never win; we’ll just head back to Hollywood and the lights and smog and so many people; but for once, I wish my opinion mattered.
“Well, tough. We don’t always get what we want in life, now do we?” I’m brought to an abrupt halt as a hand reaches gently across my belly, holding me in place.
“Let her go,” the masculine voice growls behind me, and I fail to contain a shiver.
“I will not!” My mother's nails dig into my skin, sinking deeper with each passing second, and when the skin breaks, I whimper. “Knock it off, Marilyn,” she hisses.
“You can take your hand off the girl, or I’ll take your hand off your body.” Never in my life have I seen my mother so speechless or pale as her fingers suddenly release me.
He doesn’t. He holds me tighter.
Tenderly bringing my arm back to my body, he inspects the new damage mixed with the old while my mother blusters about his threats to Draven. The poor man looks like he’d rather run away.
“Remove them from my property, Draven.” At the rancher’s demand, I begin to step forward when he stops me. “Not you.”
My eyes close of their own accord, and so many questions pop into mind, but I can’t formulate the words to ask them.
The recession of my mother’s bitching voice as she’s herded back to the car brings a sigh of relief, and I don’t remember the last time I spent more than a shower’s length of time away from her.
This is what I need. Being here, the space, the quiet; it’ll definitely give me the perspective I’ve been craving for so long.
I hate the pageant life and need to get away from it. From her. I need distance from a life I never asked for, and that’s not possible if I continue letting her control my every move. Problem is, she’s beaten me down so badly that my confidence is gone, and I don’t know who I am anymore.