Chapter 1
Willow
I had only been at my mother's house for two weeks. In true Rose fashion, she’d taken off on holiday with her husband without an ounce of care for how her daughter was dealing with the loss of her father, once again reminding me that I was nothing but an inconvenience to her.
She hadn’t bothered showing up to my father's funeral, claiming she was far too busy.
Although I should never have expected anything different.
My mother never cared, not really, not about her marriage, her child, or the family she tore apart with her choices.
The only reason I ever saw her, after she left, was because of my grandparents, her parents, forcing her to acknowledge my existence during the Summer when I stayed at their place with River.
I should be thinking about a job or applying to university, but after spending so long taking care of my dad, juggling three jobs, and letting my studies slip, my love for dance had slipped somewhere along the way, too.
Leaving those things behind had been easier than trying to hold onto them and watching as it all fell apart.
So, I coped in the only way that I knew would help ease the pain inside me, even if for a short while: drinking until I no longer felt the pain, dancing at every nightclub that would have me, and orgasms, fake ones mostly.
It's not like I was racking up a monumental amount of men that I’d slept with, but honestly, what I had experienced was pretty disappointing.
None of them could find my clit, and I doubt they would even if it was labelled in neon lights, and I felt a pang of pity for every other girl they'd been with.
I was starting to believe orgasms from men were a myth.
It had been a long two weeks filled with hazy memories from club nights, and if I wasn’t drunk, I was wide awake, staring at the roof while my grief consumed me. I occasionally left my bedroom, even if it was just to give proof of life to River.
I couldn’t tell you what day it was or the last time I ate. Time is meaningless, and I know River is becoming increasingly worried. I can sense it with the way he's staring at me from across the table with some sort of disgusting green smoothie and his usual gym wear.
“What time did you get in last night?” he asks finally, and I shrug.
“No idea.”
“I noticed you didn't bring anyone home this time.”
This time.
I eye his smoothie before meeting his worried gaze. “Been spying on me, Riv?”
He splutters at that, eyes widening slightly.
“No, not in a weird way, you're my sister. Just sometimes I hear things, not on purpose obviously, but you know.”
I smirk at his rambling.
He might be some hunky buff football player that all the girls fancy at his college, but all I see is a sweet, innocent, goofy boy who used to chase me around at our grandparents with whatever insect caught his fancy that day.
“Relax.” I cross my arms, leaning back in the chair. “I know you're not some creeper.”
He blows out a breath and leans forward, arms on the table. “I just worry about you, you know. You barely come out of your room, and when you do, it doesn't feel like it's actually you. I know it's been hard losing your dad, and I’m sorry; just know that you aren't alone in all this.”
The only person aside from Dad who has ever worried about me is River, and I love him for that.
The guilt consumes me; he shouldn't have to worry about me. I’m his big sister.
I give him a soft smile. “I know, and I’m fine, anyway; don't you have a football game tonight?” I try my best to change the conversation, hoping to wipe the worry from his eyes, distracting him with his love of football.
He shouldn't have to worry about me; he should be focusing on sports and his friends.
His face practically lights up, and he gives me the biggest boyish grin, “Yeah, are you coming? I can get you a seat at the front.”
I lightly kick his leg under the table and roll my eyes at him. “Obviously, I’m coming; I’ll be there, face painted with your team colours, sporting the team jersey with pom poms, the whole lot.” I tease, and he groans before letting out a laugh, dimples popping out.
“Are you serious?”
“Deadly.”
We both laugh, and for the first time in ages, my smile is real, not forced and rigid like it has been the last few weeks. It sends warmth through me, and I can’t help but be thankful for River.
River downs the rest of his smoothie, causing me to laugh as it spills down his chin and he wipes his mouth with the back of his hand—right as the sound of her voice cuts through the house and abruptly ends the happy moment.
“River, darling, I’m home.”
Wonderful. The wicked witch is home.
Her footsteps grow louder as she approaches the kitchen, and I can feel my heart pounding and my palms becoming slick.
I know it’s inevitable that she’s about to either hurl some kind of insult at me or pretend to be indifferent.
Realistically, I should be used to the way she treats me, but today I feel particularly vulnerable.
She steps into the kitchen, heels clicking across the white marble floor.
It's at this moment that I realise how unprepared I am.
Seeing her is like staring into a mirror I want to shatter—deep ginger hair slicked back, green eyes like mine, that stick-thin frame drowning in a tight black dress, and makeup so thick it's practically begging to crack.
She flashes River a smile so fake it could peel off.
When she glances across the table, she finally notices me, and the smile falls straight to hell, where she belongs.
“Well, Willow.” Her eyes rake over me, slow and judgmental, searing straight into my bones. “You look… tired.”
I can practically see the insult she wants to spit out, sitting right on the edge of her tongue, but she won't dare—not with River sitting there. No, she reserves those for when we are alone, where it won't ruin the image of a perfect wife and devoted mother that she's curated so perfectly.
I give her my sweetest, fakest grin. “Usually happens when someone's grieving their dad,” I say. “What's your excuse?”
The look she gives me almost makes me laugh, the shock on her face evident as the insult lands exactly where I was aiming, because we both know we’re not talking about how tired I look.
She clears her throat and drops her purse onto the counter. “Didn't realise you would still be here.”
Clearly.
“Oh, trust me, I wish I wasn't.” Not with her now being home, the peace was nice while it lasted. “As soon as I've got the money to leave, you won't see me again.”
“Do you have a job?” she asks, arms crossed, eyes narrowed.
I bite my tongue. “No.”
Her lips straighten into a thin line. “Well, if you're going to be living here, then you need a job. I won't have you staying here rent-free and lazing about.”
I swallow every insult that I want to throw at her, taking a deep breath and steadying my hands.
She has no idea who I am or what I did to look after my dad.
I had three jobs, juggled University for as long as I could until it became clear that Dad was too sick and needed me more often than not.
He needed me, and I was there for every second till his last breath, and then I arranged his funeral all on my own.
I did everything on my own while she was nowhere to be seen.
The last thing that I am is lazy.
“Last time I checked,” I say evenly, eyebrow raised, “you don't work either.”
River nudges my foot under the table, a little warning, but I don't look at him. He knows exactly how I feel about her, and he knows I’m not going to let her talk down to me.
“That's different.”
“Right,” I scoff. “Because you fuck the very person who pays for you to live here.”
“Willow,” River snaps softly, not wanting us to fight. He has always hated conflict; it makes him a little twitchy.
I don't look at him. I keep my eyes on Rose. Her lips pinch into a thin, judgmental line, nostrils flaring, cheeks blotching red as she fights not to lose her temper. If River wasn’t here, I’d almost expect her to slap me. It certainly wouldn't be the first time.
“You might've spoken to your father like that,” she hisses. “But you will not speak to me that way. I am your mother.”
I plant my hand on the table and lean forward. “Don't talk about him,” I warn. “You don't ever get to talk about him.”
Her eyes widen, and River jumps between us so fast his chair screeches across the floor.
“Mum, where's Dad?” he blurts, standing directly in front of her like a human shield, trying to smother the wildfire with pure optimism.
All I want to do is rip her hair out. My fingers curl tight, and I force myself to stay put as she straightens, flicks her hair back, and gives River a little eye roll like she's the fun mum of the year.
My heart is racing, and I can feel the anger bursting at the seams, wanting to unleash on her exactly how I feel.
I take deep breaths to try and calm my racing mind, more for River than anyone else.
“Oh, you know your dad,” she says casually, turning her attention away from me. “He had to pop into the garage. But he’ll be back for your game. You should head to practice. I need to unpack, and your sister,” she really drags the word out, staring over at me. “Needs to start job hunting.”
I hold back a laugh. Of course, she would bring that up again.
I bite my tongue because if I open my mouth, I’m pretty sure the next words out will get me kicked out before I even get the chance to stand up.
River glances over his shoulder, sympathy written all over his face. I force a reassuring smile. “Go on, Riv. I’ll be fine.”
He comes around the table and pulls me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me tightly. It soothes something in my soul, and I’m reminded once again how grateful I am for him.
His mouth is close to my ear when he whispers, “I've always got you. You and me against the world, right?”
I hold back the sudden sting in my eyes and nod. “Against the world.”
He steps back with a soft grin. “Alright, I’ll see you both later.”
“I’ll be there in red and blue with my pom-poms,” I tease, a small smirk tugging at my mouth. Rose looks ready to spontaneously combust, and that lightens my mood just a touch.
That would be a bonus.
“I can't wait to see that,” he laughs, ruffling my hair like the giant golden retriever he is. Walking over to the bench, he presses a quick kiss to Rose's cheek and heads out.
The second the door closes behind him, the room feels quieter.
The pressure weighing on my chest and the small amount of happiness I felt before is gone just as fast as it arrived.
I turn to head upstairs, already picturing collapsing face-first into my bed, when she clears her throat again. Louder this time.
“Not so fast.”
I stop. Close my eyes, praying for a sinkhole, a lightning strike, literally anything to take me out of this conversation.
“What now?”
She lifts her chin. “What have you been doing the last few weeks I haven't been here?”
“None of your business.”
She steps forward, shoulders stiff. “It doesn't matter. I've already been made aware of some of the extracurricular activities,” she sneers at me.
I raise a brow, bracing for what is to come “Then why ask?”
She's right in front of me, taller because of the six-inch heels she loves to wear. Her perfume invades my nose, causing my stomach to roll. It's the one smell I remember hating growing up. It's too sweet, too strong, and the way it lingers long after she's left a room haunts me.
“It stops,” she says. “Now. I won't have my daughter out drinking until God knows what time, or opening her legs for every man in this town.”
The words hit me as though it was her fist, trying to embarrass or humiliate me, but I couldn't care less.
I don't show her any emotion. “Funny that you think you get a say in my life.”
Done with this conversation, I spin on my heel to leave, but her hand clamps around my arm.
“Oh, I do,” she snaps. “While you're under my roof”
“Don't you mean Elijah's roof?” I spit back. “Let's not pretend that you contribute to anything in this house.”
Her jaw tightens, and her hand squeezes hard around my arm. “My husband. My house. And you will not show us up. If you do, you'll find yourself on the street.”
Honestly? The street sounds like a promotion.
Anger flares hot and fast, and I yank my arm free. “Fuck. You.”
She's damn lucky I didn't deck her for touching me, or for having the audacity to bring up my dad in front of me. She has zero right.
I don't wait for her reaction. I storm out, past the polished floors and the too-perfect decor that screams show home rather than a family home, up to my room and away from that bitch.
Sassy is curled on the bed. I slam the door, lock it, and press my back against it. The wood is cool against me as I steady my breathing, a whooshing sound filling my ears. I refuse to break down or give her the satisfaction of going back down and ripping her a new one.
I move to the bed, crawl into it, and curl beside Sassy. She purrs immediately, warm and soft, like she knows something is wrong.
My head hits the pillow.
And then it all caves in, as hard as I tried to push it all down.
Tears come hard and fast, unstoppable, my chest tightening until it hurts to breathe. Every awful word she threw at me keeps echoing, digging deeper, like she's tearing into me. For a moment, I’m eight years old again, wondering why my mother never wanted me the way she wanted them.
What made her give up on me?
Why wasn't I good enough for her?
I feel my heart cracking at the edges, inch by inch, my eyes burning and throat tight. My breath comes hot and fast, and I can't seem to stop the flood of emotions wreaking havoc on my body. I bury my face into the pillow so no one hears me fall apart.