17. Zela
Family dinner…
The bane of my existence.
When I was really little, almost every meal was a family dinner, mostly because we had so little food we had to share.
After Dad went back to school, I mostly ate alone.
He was either at work or school, but once a month, he would splurge and go to the little convenience store, grab us each a slice of the cheap, greasy pizza and an icee.
Looking at the huge spread of food in front of me, that pizza seems so silly, but it’s still one of the best memories I have.
Even with all this food, this isn’t family.
I’d never dare tell my father or Diane that.
It’s not their fault; well, it might be hers a little, but I have a strong suspicion that Diane doesn’t know what kinds of monsters her sons are.
It seems to be something they learned from their father, which isn’t too far-fetched considering they inherited The Pit from him.
“You gonna stare at the food all night, Munchkin?” Dad’s voice snaps me out of my thoughts, and I feel my cheeks heat at his nickname.
“Dad.”
He holds up his hands in surrender. “I know, I know, you're too old for the nickname,” he says with a chuckle, scooping up some spaghetti onto my plate with a tight smile. “I’ve called you that for a long time, kiddo. You’ll have to forgive me as I try to relearn.
Old dogs and new tricks, you know.” He tries to make a joke, but I see the sadness in his eyes and feel like shit.
Damn it.
“It’s fine, Dad, just not outside the house,” I tell him, and as much as I know I’m going to regret this, I can’t help but smile as his smile curls his lips, the same dimple I have on my left cheek mirrored on his.
“You're just the sweetest thing, Zela,” Diane gushes, making me blush again as I pray to any god that will listen that the floor will just open up and drop me in hell.
It can’t possibly be worse than this, right?
“She’s like candy,” Jace says, and whereas I was just overheating a moment ago, I feel as though I’ve been dropped into a bucket of ice water now.
Diane and my father seem ecstatic about his contribution to the conversation, but I know better.
We do a fantastic job of avoidance, staying out of each other's way ever since the night Jace visited me in my room last week. But even before then, family dinners were quiet; it was as if an unwritten rule said we didn’t show them we hated each other.
When did that change?
“And smart,” Isaac adds, making the room feel like it’s closing in around me.
“And brave.” Kol’s voice is steady, but I hear the heat in those two words.
I don’t dare look at any of them, but it’s impossible to miss the way Dad beams and the pride that shines in his eyes.
Even if not for myself, I wouldn’t have the heart to tell him they aren’t complimenting me. No, these are fighting words; he just doesn’t know them like I do.
“How I got so lucky to have such a wonderful daughter after the hell she grew up in is beyond me, but she did turn out pretty damn perfect, if I do say so myself.” Dad all but puffs out his chest, and Diane smiles at him like he put the moon in the sky.
Yet another reason I keep my ass in the chair instead of running like I know I probably should.
Dad’s so happy, but so is Diane.
They deserve to be happy, even if their kids are fucking crazy, myself included, because who has dinner with a man who literally held you down and came on your face?
A man who is about to be your stepbrother at that.
“Pretty damn good indeed,” Jace agrees, and goosebumps break out over my arms with the way he looks at me.
He’s left me alone since that night, but I get the feeling it’s not because he decided to; no, judging by the way Kol’s glaring at me, he made that decision, and what Kol says goes.
The emphasis on his words feels intentional.
Even if Jace didn’t tell them about what he did, I know Kol is upset with me, but it’s not like I can just do what they want.
I’m literally between a rock and a hard place, damned if I do and damned if I don’t.
“So what’s this about your Saturdays being so busy you can’t spend time with your brothers?” Dad’s question stops me short with my fork halfway to my mouth.
I set my fork down and thank my lucky stars I didn’t have a mouthful of food to choke on.
“You know I took extra classes this semester,” I tell him, and by some miracle, my voice doesn’t give me away.
My dad believes I'm a terrible liar because I’ve never needed to lie to him about anything.
This isn’t like that.
He needs to stay out of this.
“Family is important, though, kiddo. I’m sure you can squeeze them in sometimes.” The look he gives me is one I don’t often see: the stern ‘dad’ look from when I was little.
I grit my teeth against the urge to argue. The very last thing he would want me to do is spend my Saturdays with them if he knew what they were up to.
But I can’t exactly tell him that, and they know it.
“I’m sure I can find some time, Dad.” I quickly take a bite and turn my attention back to my plate, willing dinner to be done.
I don’t need to see them to know how smug they are. I can feel it radiating around the room, threatening to choke me.
I can’t stay here.
“Have you had time to get your dress picked out for the welcome party and rehearsal dinner?” Diane asks, and now I do almost choke on my food. Dad takes pity on me and claps me on the back a few times before I turn my glare at him.
I hate dresses, and while I knew I would have to wear one for the wedding, I was not aware of the other fifteen times it would be required.
I swallow down my annoyance and remind myself this isn’t permanent; after the wedding, I’ll be gone.
No dresses, no family dinners, and best of all, no stepbrothers to try and ruin my life.
“I have something in mind,” I lie and force a smile to my lips that is so fucking fake I’m shocked she buys it, but she does, and that’s all that matters.
“You’ll look gorgeous, I’m sure, love,” she tells me, and I feel guilty for how hard I’m making this for her; she seems genuine enough.
Too bad her boys are the fucking spawns of Satan.
Thursday
I’m going crazy.
Every sound, doors closing, wind blowing, my phone vibrating with another message from Reed… has me jumping and paranoid.
Let me help you, Vix.
With a huff, I swipe away the text app and drop my phone on the bed. That’s easily the fifth or sixth time he’s said that, and every time I ignore him.
A part of me longs to let him try to help, to whisk me away from this house…this life.
I know it would never work, though. I can’t escape who I am, and now, whether I like it or not, I’ll be a DuPont.
Just the thought gives me the ick. Something tells me it won’t be the least bit off-putting to Jace once our parents marry and we’re actually legal siblings.
But maybe I can be a DuPont somewhere else. That was originally the plan. I was going to move into an apartment on my own, but Dad insisted there was more than enough room, and while he was right, back then, I didn’t know about the added stress of having siblings.
I clean up my books, tucking my work into my schoolbag and stacking them up on my desk.
I really did take an extra class this semester, thinking I would have the time; joke's on me. Now I’m drowning in work while also trying to keep my identity hidden and not get fucked by my new brother as either Vixen or myself… .
No biggie.
I can help myself, thanks.
I text Reed back, feeling like he’s been left on read long enough that he might get it…
But you shouldn’t have to. I told Ozy I would look out for you.
I groan out loud and stuff the phone in my pocket as I yank on my sweater and pull on a baseball cap.
Every time he says that, it makes me want to scream.
Ozy left both of us.
Neither of us owes him a damn thing.
Not to mention it makes me feel like a goddamn charity case, again.
Jace coming in through my window did one good thing, though. I throw on my backpack and head to the window, looking around before I duck out the window and pull it closed behind me.
Reed sent me a link for a window lock that automatically locks when closed, and I bought it on the spot. It arrived this morning and works like a charm, but that also means I’ll have to start going back through the back door.
At least for now.
It’s not terribly cold, thankfully, but I wish I’d worn more than just a sweater. I huddle up at the bus stop and say a silent thanks to the universe for the glass walls that stop the wind.
The bus should be here soon, but in the meantime, Reed’s sent me a link that I’m on the fence about clicking.
Reed confuses me on a good day, but today he’s really annoying me.
With a huff, I click the link and wait as my phone loads. My phone is pretty old, a hand-me-down from Dad a few years ago when I was going to ‘school,’ and he was working late, so I'd have a way to reach him in an emergency.
I’d never needed it, never had the balls to tell him when I needed help most. I was a lot younger—not that it would have saved me.
No, I relived those ‘tutor’ sessions a million times in my nightmares for years before I accepted that I didn’t do anything wrong. And as much as I might wish I could change things, I’ll never really know if something would have changed the outcome for better or for worse.
The damage is done now, but it was good for passing the time when I was bored, like now.
The video finally loads, and I scramble to turn the volume down, even though no one else is around, as the song blares.
It’s from a TikTok account I didn’t know was a thing, simply called ‘The Pit.’
Great marketing guys.
Rolling my eyes, I let it play back again and actually pay attention this time.
There aren’t any faces, but it’s clear what they're hyping: the co-ed fight.
Vixen vs. Tank.
Fuck.
I’d heard the guys talking about it when they brought me with them that first day, but I’d hoped it wouldn’t happen. Mostly because I wanted to live, and while I’d never been in The Pit with Tank, obviously, I knew well enough that one hit from him might very well kill me.
Tomorrow’s fight is the last before the big event next week; it also doesn’t count. I could totally throw it and still have to face Tank.
Which is only made worse because they put me against Widow. She’s great and sits right below me in terms of wins, with only two losses. She’s also twice my size and a heavy fucking hitter.
Fan-fucking-tastic…
One thing at a time.
If I can get out, maybe I’ll just disappear. Get a place and stop fighting. I have enough money to float for a few months, if not a whole year. I’d have to get a real job eventually, but it would be worth it.
To be free, my own person.
The bus pulls up, and I climb on, scanning my card and falling into my regular seat about halfway back. I’ve been riding buses since I was little. First, the school bus, and then the city bus when I got older and the schools didn’t offer transportation.
A lot of people think it’s dangerous, but you’ll find it sure beats walking alone at night, and it’s also warmer.
It doesn’t take long, about twenty minutes, before my stop comes up in a solid neighborhood.
Though it seems like trash compared to the gated communities and mansions I came from. But if you compared it to the shit holes on the street from my childhood, well, it's leagues above that.
I don’t need amazing; even this is a little more than I care for, but it’s close to school and safe.
The reviews said it’s well-maintained, and everyone kept mentioning how safe the neighborhood was; that’s what I craved more than anything.
Safety.
My phone vibrates in my pocket as I climb off the bus, and I fish it out of my pocket. I need to double-check the address anyway; all these apartments look the same.
You can’t fight him, kid. He’ll kill you.
I chew the side of my lip for a moment, my thumbs ready to type out a message, but I don’t know what to say.
‘A girl can hope’ seems a little morbid, but telling him I’m just as afraid of that as he is seems like admitting defeat.
With a shake of my head, I double-check the address before locking it and shoving it back into my pocket before I cross the street and hopefully move into my future.