39. Break the Chain
39
Break the Chain
Part of me wanted to believe Jen was just bloated. It was a food baby. Period cramps. Anything but her demon seed. Yes, she had a semi-recent smell sensitivity, and she’d swapped her fitted clothes for baggy sweats, but she could be going through a phase. A new job. A new guy. That could change a person—for better or worse.
I eyed her stretched skin and gripped my knife. If my sister was stressed, I’d need the defense.
She tugged her shirt down and scowled at me. “I’m not fat, I’m pregnant.”
And that was how she announced it? I couldn’t help it—I laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Jen snapped.
“Nothing. That’s just…random.” I hadn’t even said anything about it. No wonder the house had been more tense than the haunted mansion. Jen plus hormones was a recipe for disaster.
“Congratulations?” I tried.
Tori squirmed.
“Thanks,” Jen said flatly.
Was her pregnancy planned? Or was she zoned out during the million safe sex talks we got from Mom over the years? I might’ve gotten a few more of those than my sisters based on the way I dressed, but Jen had gotten the condom on a banana demo in sex ed.
Dad slumped over his meal and Tori nudged her leftovers with the blunt side of her knife. No one made eye contact.
What was I supposed to say? My family blindsided me with this. I ventured something akin to interest. “So, when do we meet the boyfriend?”
“Never.” She flushed and stormed away.
“We’re not that bad.” I turned to my dad. “Is he dead? Or did he ditch her?”
Jen banged some pots around in the kitchen. “Shut up, Kat. At least I had a boyfriend. No one wants your trashy ass.”
“Jennifer,” Mom reprimanded.
“What? It's true,” she said, her voice rattling the walls. “You know how she is. Guys are only interested in her for sex. They don't even need to dump her. What, are they supposed to take home a girl in fishnets? No one wants to be around someone that desperate for attention.”
My face stung like I’d been slapped.
“Wow.” I didn't know she still had it in her. Dazed with a dull, hollowed ache in my chest, I stood. “And on that note, bye, fam.”
“You don't have to leave,” Tori pleaded.
Dad clenched his fists. “Once you both calm down, we’ll sort this out.”
I scoffed. “What’s there to say? You all knew about it.”
Tori slunk into her oversized hoodie like a sad turtle. “We weren’t supposed to tell anyone.”
“Not even her sister?” I raised my eyebrows.
She shook her head, morose. “You don’t tell her everything.”
Of course not. She was awful. Opening my heart to someone never seemed to matter in the long run, anyway.
“Why should I? You let the whole family know about my bad day,” I snapped. “But sure, keep her secrets and heartache.”
Tori’s mouth hung ajar. “I didn’t know it was a secret.”
The monster in my chest chewed at the bit. I fluffed my hair and strutted to the door. “Well, I’m fine staying out of her mess. I’m too trashy to babysit her demon spawn, anyway.”
“Demon spawn?” Jen shrieked.
Mom held her back from throwing leftovers at me through the kitchen doorway. “Oh, Kat, you had to chime in.”
Jen snarled. “Let me at her.”
I smiled and flipped her off on my way out. It was almost nostalgic.
I slammed the door shut and stood on the porch. No one would follow me. I wasn’t a leader. Or a girlfriend. I wasn’t even a confidante.
I was a final girl.
They didn’t have happily-ever-afters. They survived. Haunted. Probably forever.
Cold air pricked my skin and nestled in my lungs. Dark suburban streets and their soft-lit houses held so many secrets. Especially from me.
I marched across the lawn. My fingers flexed with the urge to destroy just a little more. I could call Victor a coward. He could call me a freak. It would be ugly, and maybe exactly what I needed to walk away for real. Forever. No more hoping. No more VIP.
In my parents’ yard, twisted branches raised like spires in the bloody sky. A black rubber ring hung in wait for an offering. It was a death trap. A happy, weightless swing. Something risky.
I shoved the tire and relished in the horrible cracks and creaks. Everything was breaking. Or changing.
Invisible cords tightened over my writhing, wretched agony. I pushed the swing again. It soared, trembling in the embrace of gravity.
I wanted Victor to see me: fishnet tights and bleeding heart. I imagined him sucking pumpkin guts off my fingertips and savoring every second. It didn’t matter if it was gross or raw or strange. I wanted him to love me. All of me. The same way I adored him. But he wouldn’t let me in.
The tire sank and swung back to me. One more push and I’d break the damned tree. I closed my eyes and clutched the chain on the swing, the cold metal gnawing on my fingertips. My heart raged in a silent inferno.
I deserved someone who loved me.
The door creaked open. I dug my heels into the crunchy grass and grit my teeth at the sound of Mom’s low heels.
Here she came, ready to fight over a goddamned swing.
It wasn’t worth tearing apart my family.
I let it go gently. “I’m leaving.”
Mom rubbed her arms and shuffled to the edge of the porch. “I’m sorry about Jen, sweetie. Do you want to come inside?”
“No. Not tonight.” I marched toward my car, the tire swing’s prickled skin brushing my leg in farewell.
“We love you,” Mom called to my backside.
I scoffed and closed myself into the car. Sure, they did. They loved Jen too.
Love. What weird, stupid fuckery. I didn’t know why I couldn’t keep its magic burning. I turned my phone back on, popped it on my dash, and set my playlist through Bluetooth.
Various alerts lit up my screen, including a text preview that read:
Can we talk?
No. Whoever it was, I wasn’t in the mood to talk.
I sang along to heartbreak on the way home. Guitar riffs broke up the darkness and synth filled my soul. Nobody got angst the way my high school playlist did.
I pulled into the parking lot. A red car idled in a spot near my apartment.
I sucked in a sharp breath and white-knuckled the steering wheel.
What the fuck?
I jabbed my cell phone: pause the playlist, make a call, and wrangle it out of the holster to take a blurry pic.
Victor’s voice cracked. “Hello?”
“He’s here.” I hunched down in my seat and peered out the window. “He’s in my apartment’s parking lot. I don’t know if it’s him, I guess, I’m just driving in, but there’s a fucking red car and, and—”
“I’ll be right there. You’ll be okay,” he said, his voice the strong focus I needed.
For a minute, I let myself believe him.