Chapter 33 #2
“Look,” he grumbles, “we don’t have all the details. There were some other injuries on him, but we think they were self-inflicted.”
Hanged himself? Self-inflicted injuries? A gnawing feeling clenches my stomach because something isn’t right about this. My father is, or was, a narcissist. He wouldn’t have taken his own life. Somewhere inside of me, I know this, but I won’t say it out loud.
The sheriff’s eyes don’t find mine. He doesn’t give me the well wishes and sympathies that he gave when Mom died. He doesn’t offer comfort. He simply turns around and walks back to his car.
I listen to the gravel crunching under his tires and my silent sobs shift, their pitch elevating into something else entirely.
As I watch him drive away, the sound of my laughter echoes through the woods.
Birds scatter from their branches at the hideous cackle that spews from my mouth.
I barely register the pain as my knees crack against the wooden porch.
Even as I laugh, tears stream down my face, creating sopping wet spots on my thighs.
The frightened little girl that still lives inside me sobs with me. Her tears flow down my cheeks. Her heart beats with my own. I’m free, she cries. I’m finally free.
When I step back inside, I walk through my home, staring at every aspect like I’m seeing it for the first time.
I look at the grooves in the wood of the staircase, no longer seeing my broken, bleeding fingernails dragging my beaten body to safety.
Mom’s blood no longer oozes through the cracks of the kitchen tiles.
The tiny closet in the guest bedroom is just a closet, not a place for a small child to hide.
My home smells of citrus. It no longer holds the pungent stench of bleach that Mom used to scrub the evidence of our pain from the floors.
“We’re free, Mom,” I whisper the words into every room, hoping that somehow she can hear me.
* * *
Emily’s eyes are wide as she stares at me from across the table. They’re blue, but so different from another set of blue eyes that I think of often. Hers are light and airy like wind blowing over the Caribbean. His are darker, colder, like chips of ice floating through a frigid lake.
“So, he’s really gone?” she asks so softly that I can barely make out her words over the noise of the busy restaurant.
“He’s really gone. I’m free, Em.”
She releases her breath all at once, along with that happy little squeak she makes. The leather of our booth seats groan as we both lean forward, hands reaching for each other. She grasps my fingers in hers and squeezes gently.
“Maybe it’s not right to say,” she whispers hesitantly, “but I’m so fucking glad your dad is dead.”
The laugh that bubbles out of me is loud, the unrestrained sound of pure joy. Our shoulders shake as we chortle.
A server approaches our table and pulls a notepad from the pocket of her apron. “You ladies look like you’re celebrating over here!” She shoots us a beaming smile. “How about a drink?”
“Yes, this celebration needs booze!” Emily chirps happily. “I’ll have a Manhattan.”
The waitress’ eyes turn to me. “And for you, honey?”
“A margarita with salt.”
“Oh, good choice! I’ll be right back with those for you.”
My phone squawks out an irritating beep. I shove my hands into my purse, rooting around for all of a minute before I find it hidden amongst tissues and lip glosses. The screen comes alive with a new text from Gray, whose number I finally programmed into my contacts.
Just one drink, little bird. You’re driving home tonight.
My mouth drops open in surprise and I whip my head around the room, searching for him.
The restaurant is popular. Even in the early evening, it’s filled with diners.
Couples hold hands over scratched tables.
Groups of friends squeeze into booths, their shoulders pressed together.
Singles are perched on barstools, sipping cocktails.
I know he won’t be in any of those places.
My eyes find the dark places, the corners, the edges of the room, the small crevices where the shadows live.
Of course, I’m left wanting. No dark hoods or black leather catches my eye. I type quickly, hoping that Emily won’t notice my distraction.
Are you watching me?
He doesn’t leave me waiting. His response is almost instantaneous.
Always.
Something unfamiliar sparks inside my chest. Something that feels oddly like bravery, being unafraid of consequences.
And what if I want more than one? You’re not the boss of me.
I stare down at my own words, wondering how I can be so brazen. I shake my head as my teeth sink into my lip. Am I channeling Emily’s flirtatiousness? Her outgoing nature? I must be, because this isn’t me. Or maybe it wasn’t me.
His reply pops up, pulling me out of my head. I can almost hear his dark chuckle in it.
Oh, little bird, please try me. I’d love to take your bratty ass over my knee again. I’ll spank you until you can’t sit for a week.
My mouth goes dry as all of the fluids in my body change course, shooting south and dampening my thighs.
“Ava?” Emily’s eyes are on my heated cheeks, a smirk pulling at the corners of her mouth. “Whose texts are turning your face into a tomato?”
“I…uh…no one, just—”
Her hand snaps out and latches onto my phone. She yanks it from my fingers and holds it up to her face. Her little smirk morphs into a devious grin.
“Oh, shit! Girl, I had no idea you were into that kind of thing. Fuck, that’s hot.” She fans her face with her hand and shoots me a wink. “Tell me everything.”
Oh, crap.