Chapter Two #3
Despite my weary body, I can’t help but think It was a good day. I’d just gotten off a video call with my parents, considering they are the only contact in the new phone. Their words of encouragement have my frantic heart only slightly calmed.
I look around the empty studio, save for the string lights I set up, and the few necessary items I picked up. My brand new scrubs sit folded next to my bed with my pre-packed backpack for work.
All I had coming into the city was that backpack I filled before Ryan was able to wake up. If he ever did. His absence when the police arrived tells me he did. Yet that voice still pesters. Murderer. Blood loss like that should be considered fatal.
I cashed out my entire savings, which was enough, but not nearly so, that way he couldn’t track me via card trail. Over and over my mind plays over each detail, hopeful there is no flaw in my plan.
I try to imagine the day I’ll have tomorrow, wondering how the hospital and coworkers will be. I’m in need of the distraction. My paranoid thoughts have me checking the windows and locks numerous times before settling down. Even then, I still glance at them every few minutes.
The exhaustion that weighs on me grants me new hope that I’ll be able to sleep through the night.
I haven’t been able to since the day I left.
I can’t shake the feeling that he can be around every corner, waiting for his chance to get back at me.
If he’s alive, he’s angry because I did the one thing he was always afraid I’d do.
I left.
Despite the anxiety that seems to be a part of me now, I actually have a small, genuine smile because for a minute, I finally feel a little fragment of myself again.
Like Sunny.
It’s a contradicting feeling — being free yet shackled. I glance around the empty apartment. There isn’t much here, but if I’m being honest, it’s more than I’ve had in a long time.
TYLER
Sam and I are greeted at the door by our mother’s big smile and sparkling amber eyes. “Hello my sweeties!” She chimes with her arms open for a hug.
“Hey mom.” Sam gives her a one-handed hug. Waltzing into the house, she beelines for the alcohol cart in the living room.
We always have drinks first in the living room, followed by dinner at seven. Ironic that alcohol still remains in this house when there’s a recovering alcoholic living in it.
“Hi, mom.” I wrap my mother in my arms, kissing her cheek, engulfing her in my broad, tall frame.
“Oh, my Tyler, sweetie. Are you okay? You look tired.” She cups my jaw.
“It was just a long day. Doesn’t help someone woke me up earlier than anticipated.” I peer at my sister, who already has a drink in hand.
“I’m not sorry about it.” She takes a sip.
“For you.” I motion the flowers to my mother.
Her eyes beam as if it’s a surprise. Yet my heart blooms a bit in my chest. I spent my entire life trying to keep that smile on her face. I’ll take the wins where I can get them.
“Oh, these are just lovely, Tyler. Let me go change them out and then we can sit down and catch up. Come on." She grabs my hand, leading me inside then disappears into the formal dining room.
Sam approaches me with a drink ready. I take a sip, my mouth burning from the alcohol. “Damn, Sam,” I choke. It’s basically pure vodka.
“Cheers brother.” She raises her glass.
“Okay, flowers are set up. Thank you, Tyler. I look forward to them every time.” She sits on the couch, clutching a glass of wine.
“No problem, mom.” I sit down across from her.
I peer around, unsure of why I do since it hasn’t changed from my childhood. Floral rugs, expensive antiques in each corner. Despite the large windows, the house still has an err of darkness by the thick, closed drapes. It’s a museum of old art, antique furniture, and my haunted memories.
As I watch my mother on the couch across from me, unbothered by the memories that sit with her, my own thoughts fester. I’d pulled the man she claims to love off her on that very couch.
“Your father won’t be joining us. His meeting got delayed so he won’t be back until later this evening.” Our mothers voice interludes my thoughts, “He said he’s so sorry, but he’ll for sure be here at the next dinner.”
“What a shame,” Sam says, sarcasm like venom laced in each word. I try not to smile as I swirl my drink in my hand.
“So, what is new with you two? How is work? Sam, are you still working at that art studio thing?” Diane attempts conversation.
Sam blinks at her. “Yup.”
So, it’s going to be one of those nights.
Sam is colorful compared to our parents who are strictly black and white. Her act of rebellion is running her own little art studio to live out the artistic dream our parents tried to force out of her.
“And Tyler, honey, how are you? How is work? I hope your father isn’t pushing you too hard. That man works himself to death.” Diane says while taking a sip of her wine.
“Work is just fine, mom. Nothing out of the usual.”
“And how is Shelby doing?” My mother pries.
There it is.
I see Sam holding back a smile as I glance at her from the corner of my eye. She scoffs a laugh into her drink, succumbing to the complete humor that is our life.
I sigh. “Oh mom, how many times do I have to tell you, that ship has sailed. For a while now.” Well, it hasn’t necessarily sailed, but I’m about to fucking sink it.
“I just don’t understand, Tyler. She is just such a lovely girl, and comes from a good family. You have known one another since you were babies! You’re arranged. How will you get your way out of that?” she chimes, thinking she won the battle when she brings up that fact.
I open my mouth to speak but am interrupted by the house maid. “Dinner is ready, Mrs. Caddell.”
“Oh, thank god,” Sam blurts, pouncing from the couch.
“Thank you, Serena. We will be right in,” Our mother says, standing.
As she leads the way to the dining room, I feel Sam tug me back.
“You owe me a coffee, bitch.”
The three of us sit at the too big table with the head vacant in my father’s absence. Our designated seats haven’t changed since we were kids.
As I stare at the empty seat, another memory floods my mind, destroying all the dry corners I’ve managed since the last invasion.
Just short of seven years old, Sam sat in our fathers chair, twirling around in it while wearing her brand new tutu she received that day. It was innocent, but not for long.
Soon enough, my sweet little sister was sitting on the floor, cradling her arm because he pulled it right out of its socket. I held my crying sister as I attempted to dial for help.
“You want to be a hero?” He’d asked. “I’ll make you into a villain.”
I can’t remember much after that and I’m glad for it. If I’m being honest, I can’t even remember how I got to bed that night. The next day I awoke with bruises in all the places no one would see with clothes on. Even in his drunken state, everything he did was with meticulous purpose.
Blinking away the memory, I reach for my drink, making my shirt sleeve move and expose my scars.
It catches my mother’s attention and her eyes fall to the evidence of what her husband did to me.
As if the one running vertically across the right corner of my lips isn’t a reminder any time she sees me.
His one slip up he won’t let me forget.
“Don’t look surprised, mother. You know what he did to me.”
Sam chokes on her food, stifling a laugh, or a cry. I’m not sure. Whenever we are here, it can honestly be either.
Rolling up my sleeves to prove my point, I expose the others that lace my forearms. Some old, some new. He may not give me the scars himself anymore, but he’s still responsible for them by making me his personal hitman.
“Tyler,” Diane grumbles. “You know that he changed. He worked on himself and went to rehab…”
“I don’t want to hear the spiel.”
It’s the same conversation, just different words to describe it, on a different fucking day.
It wasn’t too long after his rehab I noticed his drinking again. Mitchell isn’t a good person sober, and he’s an even worse person drunk. I won’t call myself a good man, either. In our world, we are all by products of evil, somehow; whether you’re born into it or created by it through circumstance.
By my unlucky stars, I have experienced both.
“Tyler, I know you made so many sacrifices as a child…”
“Mom, just stop!” Sam yells, smacking a hand on the table. “He said cut it out. Stop making him relive things he clearly doesn’t want to. Or me for that matter.”
I rub a hand up and down my face, knowing she feels guilty. Her little brother had to protect her. But there is no world where I won’t act as a shield to the people I love, even if it means permanent scars.
“Well, are you two going to be bringing dates to the hotel opening?” Diane changes the topic to yet another conversation we frequent.
“If I feel like it.” Sam sips her drink.
Diane rolls her eyes. “What about you Tyler?” Her tone sounds hopeful, but she already knows my answer.
“Oh, please woman, you already know the answer to that. It’s Tyler, when has he ever brought a date to an event? Too much of a statement.” Sam laughs as she bites into a piece of roast chicken.
“I’m sure Shelby would be available.”
Sam lets out a loud laugh. “HAH. Two coffees, bitch.” She points her fork at me.
“That’s not how it works, Sam,” I mumble into my hands.
“Huh? What?” Our mother blinks, turning her head back and forth between us.
I can’t help but laugh in my hands, not sure if it’s from the pure comedy or pure hell of this dinner tonight.