Chapter 2
TWO
Elliana
Why won’t this end? What did I ever do to be tortured like this?
I don’t want the cake. It looks beautiful—three layers, thick chocolate frosting—but my stomach turns at the sight of it. Really, this cake is like a symbol of my life. Now that we’re living here, now that Mom is married, everything looks beautiful on the outside.
The inside? That’s another story.
“This is delicious,” Mom gushes, because that’s all she does anymore. She gushes. Everything is the best, everything is perfect. Nothing has ever been as great as it is right now, this very minute. “What do you think, honey? This is the bakery in charge of our wedding cake.”
I didn’t realize she was talking to me. She never calls me honey. But when I get another kick under the table, I force myself to look her way. “It’s good.”
“I was starting to think you forgot how to talk,” Carter mutters while Mom talks about cake fillings or whatever it is she’s interested in.
He’s a bully, and I know how to deal with bullies. It’s just like trying to fight a fire: deprive it of oxygen, and it has nowhere to go. I don’t know what his problem is with me, but it’s nothing new. He’s not even original.
“I don’t know. I like a nice raspberry filling. What do you think?” Paul asks Carter, who is barely picking at his slice.
“Whatever you want. It’s your wedding.” Somehow, he manages to make that sound like a great big, fat fuck you.
The sharp look Paul gives him tells me he already told his idiot son to behave himself, but Carter doesn’t feel like it. He hates us, and he’s not trying to hide it. No, he wants us to know. He wants to make us as uncomfortable as he can.
The thing is, he doesn’t need to try. At least, not with me. I’m uncomfortable enough already. Every day. But especially now, when I can’t look at this bully for fear of what he’ll see in my eyes when I do. It’ll be like blood in the water. He’ll know exactly how scared I am. Not of him, especially , but of everybody.
Even Paul, and he’s at least been nice to me. He’s gone out of his way to be kind and welcoming. He wants so much for us to work as a family. But when he came too close to me a few times today while he was directing the movers, my heart stuttered, and I froze. The man was only passing by, but I almost lost it, when he’s never been anything but overly devoted to Mom’s happiness.
It’s such a shame he doesn’t understand. She’ll never really be happy. Nothing is ever enough. I’m not enough of a daughter for her. A simple courthouse wedding wasn’t enough, and she’s already thinking about redecorating the house. I don’t know if he’s aware of that yet.
But a man with all his money can afford it. That’s what Mom says, anyway. I wonder if he knows. I wonder if he would care if he did. He’s completely infatuated with her. I hope for her sake it lasts.
The sound of Carter’s fork hitting his plate startles me, and I jump a little, my heart in my throat. All he does is give me a funny sort of look while Mom laughs. “I swear, it takes nothing to make you jump. Why in the world are you so tense all the time?”
Because even that, she treats like a personal offense. Like I’m reflecting poorly on her somehow.
“First night in a new house,” Paul offers, all warm and smiling again. Like Carter, he wears his blond hair short. Unlike Carter, there’s genuine kindness in his blue eyes. “It’s not easy. But I want you to know this is your home now, and it would make me so happy if you became comfortable here. If there’s anything you need, anything at all, tell me right away, and I’ll make it happen if I can.”
How about you get your son to stop staring daggers at me like I stole something from him? I mean, he’s not even subtle about it. He wants me to know he hates me. He won’t stop until I know it.
No. I don’t think that’s enough. He wants a reaction out of me, and it’s driving him crazy not to get one. Am I supposed to apologize? He’s a spoiled baby who can’t handle being denied. A spoiled baby with a very muscular body.
I won’t dare take a glance across the table now, while he’s glaring at me like I’m the human embodiment of the Black Plague, but I’ve gotten enough glimpses of him so far to know he’s strong. Those thick arms and that broad chest tell me he spends time working out, taking care of himself. That doesn’t give me a lot of confidence, since I can’t even do a pull-up, much less fight off somebody so much bigger than me. He’s got at least a foot on me in height, too.
But he wouldn’t try to hurt me physically… would he?
Who am I kidding? I know exactly how far people will go if it means breaking an innocent person’s spirit. And he seems like just the kind of person who would consider breaking my spirit a sport.
Something tells me he won’t quit until he’s crowned champion.
That’s why I excuse myself from the table the second I finish the cake that tastes like cotton in my mouth. Whatever it takes to get away from this table and the entire ugly charade being played out here.
I will not let you ruin this for me —my loving mother’s final words as we pulled up in front of the house earlier today with a moving van behind us. You had better start learning how to be a normal person, and fast, because I am not going to help you. This is my time! Do you hear me?
I heard her loud and clear. Was I supposed to be surprised? She has done everything she can to separate herself from me over the years. The criticism, the disdain. There are times I think it will drown me. I couldn’t even tell her about what I went through in high school.
Don’t think about that now.
Too late. Being around that spoiled, snobby bully brings it all back.
Not now. Later. I have to force myself to push the memories aside—if only so Paul doesn’t hold me up by asking if everything’s okay. I know everything I’m thinking shows on my face.
I just want to get to my room, where I can be alone.
I should know by now it isn’t that easy.
“I think I’ll head up and finish a little homework,” Carter announces as he gets up from the table. “Gotta pull the grades, right?”
There’s something about the way Paul’s head cocks to the side that tells me he sees through this bullshit excuse. I doubt Carter is big on studying. People like him never are. “See if Elliana needs help with anything up there. Maybe taking suitcases up to the attic?” he asks me.
Does he notice the ripple of tension that runs through his son? Maybe he does notice but doesn’t care. The man is determined to force this family thing down everybody’s throats. It’s nice of him, but he’s trying too hard. I wish I could tell him not to bother.
But how can I do that when I can’t get up the courage to tell him I will be fine getting my room straightened out and don’t need any help? Scared of my own shadow—something Mom has accused me of too many times. Not that she’s wrong. I wish she was.
If I refuse now, I’ll only look ungrateful. That, plus Mom’s sharp, unforgiving look, means I duck my head and start out for the stairs. Carter’s heavy footsteps follow behind me, and every step pairs with an angry grunt. He’s trying to send a message. This is my home, and you don’t belong here . He might as well tattoo it across his forehead.
I wonder if he’d believe me if I told him I don’t want to be here any more than he wants me here. I would rather go back to living in a house a fraction of the size, so long as it meant not having to interact—being forced into this new family dynamic. I never asked for this. Will he believe me?
And why do I care? Maybe it would be nice to take him down a peg or two and show him he doesn’t know half of what he thinks he knows.
“Taking your suitcases up to the attic,” Carter mutters behind me in a dark, menacing tone. “I’d rather help you pack everything back up. You don’t belong here.”
He’s right. I don’t. I don’t belong anywhere. Please, let this be over soon . With my arms wrapped around me, I reach the top of the stairs, then turn left. There are so many rooms up here, and until now, only two men lived in this house. So much empty space.
Yet with so many choices, Carter’s room is directly across the hall. I’m sure Paul chose this room for me because it was so close to Carter’s, like he wants us to have an excuse to run into each other all the time or something. He has good intentions, but they’re not helping me as we come to a stop outside the bedroom.
Carter only glances through the open door before rolling his eyes. “You’ve not even finished unpacking yet? What the fuck? Why didn’t you just say that downstairs?”
Nothing gets past you, genius . If only I had the courage to say that out loud. He deserves to hear it—and so much more. Something tells me there are a lot of things he needs to hear, the sort of things nobody has ever had the courage to tell him.
It’s a shame I don’t have the courage, either. Who am I kidding? I can’t look at him. Instead, I stare at the floor, studying the pattern of the wood in front of my feet.
He grunts, then pushes his way past me, even though there is plenty of room. “You probably don’t even have enough shit to make it look like anybody’s living in here,” he mutters in disgust. Is that supposed to be an insult?
Going to the bed, he picks up a corner of the duvet between his thumb and forefinger before flinging it aside. “Cheap. Guess Mom was too busy buying her new tits to get you decent bedding.”
Ignore him. He’s not worth it . I don’t know why he’s determined to get a rise out of me, but I’ll be damned if I make it easy for him. Is it enough that I have no comeback? I have nothing to say. No defense. He’s already won.
Why is that not good enough? My heart wants to burst out of my chest when he moves toward me. All I can do is back away until I end up in the corner, trapped. Since I don’t have it in me to look at him, I can only go by his snickering to tell how he feels about this while his arms cage me in, his palms against the wall.
I can’t take this. It’s too much. What did I ever do to him besides exist? The words are right there on the tip of my tongue, but something is holding them back.
“What the fuck is your problem?” His hot breath fans across my face—it smells like garlic and chocolate. Not the best combination, but it’s something to focus on beyond the absolute hatred dripping from his voice. “What makes you so much better than me? Too good to say anything? Too good to even look at me?”
“And there’s my dad,” he continues, making me jump when he slams his palm against the wall inches from my head. “Bending over backward to make sure you’re happy and comfortable, and you can’t even bother to look at him, either. What makes you so much better than us?”
Don’t do it. The tears stinging behind my eyes are the last thing I want to feel right now. I cannot give him the satisfaction of making me cry. I don’t have much, but I can at least keep a little of my dignity.
“Maybe that’s not it.” His words take on a softer edge, but it’s no less threatening, like the gentle hiss of a snake that could strike at any second. “Maybe you’re hiding something. Is that it? What, are you two a couple of grifters or some shit? Huh?”
When all I do is stare at my feet, he cranes his neck, trying desperately to make me lift my head to look at him. “Maybe I’m gonna make it my one goal to find out what you’re hiding. What do you think about that? Huh?”
He’s nothing. He’s not even here. This can’t last forever. Once he gets tired of me, he’ll go away.
“Fucking freak.” He slams his hand into the wall again and growls when I don’t react. I’m too far away now. I can’t hear him. He’s nothing. He’s nobody.
When he shoves himself away from the wall with a grunt and leaves the room, I can breathe. The tension holding my body together melts away all at once, and I have to lean against the corner while I slide down to the floor. My legs are too weak to hold me up now.
But before he can come back, I manage to close the door, then reach up to flip the lock. The sound is like a pin piercing a balloon, and now whatever was keeping my panic locked away is gone.
Breathe. In. Out. I’m not dying. This is not going to kill me. It’s a panic attack, that’s all. My heart isn’t going to burst out of my chest, even if that’s how it feels. The cold sweat along the back of my neck will go away. I’ll be okay. I’ll get through this. One breath at a time.
I’m safe. Closing my eyes, I rest my head against the door and return to my slow, measured breathing. I’m safe. Nothing’s going to hurt me. I have to force myself to tune into the feeling of the floor under me, the door at my back. They’re both sturdy and cool, and they’re supporting me. I am supported. I am safe.
It feels like it takes forever for my heartbeat to slow down a little. It doesn’t hurt so much in my chest once I slowly open my eyes again to gaze at the room that’s mine as of today. To distract my brain, I study everything slowly, one thing at a time. The big, four-poster bed that does make my comforter look cheap. The pair of windows that look out over one side of the property with its emerald-green lawn. Not a weed in sight out there. Another huge difference from the neighborhood we’ve just moved from. That was more weeds than grass on the tiny strips of lawn in front of each house.
The closet is ten times bigger than I’ll ever need. I’m pretty sure it’s bigger than my old bedroom. Mom’s first words when she took a look at it ring in my head. “Finally, I can afford to start dressing you the way a girl should dress.” Right, because that’s all that matters. Not whether I want to wear the clothes she thinks will look good on me. It’s amazing she can manage to look at me at all, since I’m so completely wrong in every way.
No, I’m not thinking about that right now. I’m trying to calm myself down, not send myself into another panic attack as I imagine being dragged from store to store, forced to try on clothes I wouldn’t feel comfortable leaving the house in. Having every inch of me poked and prodded and criticized. That’s future stuff, anyway. It’s not happening now. I have to focus on the present.
The bathroom door sits diagonally from where I’m curled up on the floor with my knees pulled up to my chest. That’s one positive in all of this, having my own bathroom where there will be room for my things and not just Mom’s. I need to look for whatever little bit of happiness I can get out of this situation.
Finally, I’m myself again. I can push myself up from the shiny floor and go to the dresser to pull out a pair of pajamas. After the day I’ve had, all I want is to sleep. Not only because my body is tired after the crazy rush of last-minute packing. It’s my only escape. My dreams are the only place where I can be myself. Where I don’t have to be afraid to catch the wrong person’s eye or breathe too hard or attract attention in any other way. I don’t constantly feel like I’m under attack.
The way I feel right now. It’s been a while since Carter left, and I haven’t heard anything from him outside the locked door, but that doesn’t mean he’s not planning something. He won’t stop until he breaks me down and watches me crumble.
Just another thing to hate him for. When I crawl into bed, what should be comforting is anything but. What if he decides to come back? What if he has a key? Of course he would. This is his house. I’m sure he could find it if he wanted to. The dresser sits against the wall, close to the door, but it’s way too big for me to think about sliding over to block his entrance.
Meaning all I can do is lie in bed and stare at the door while the lamp on the nightstand glows. He might not come in tonight, but I need to be ready, just in case he does.