He’s slow crossing the room, watching the mug as if he’s terrified he’ll spill a drop. When he reaches me, he meets my eyes again, and the concern there touches my heart. It’s weird that a stranger cares. So many people through the years have seen the signs, yet still turned their heads in the opposite direction. Scared they read between the lines wrong, scared to get involved, scared to know the truth.
Dust hands me the mug, his fingers brush mine and electricity rushes through my veins. I lower my head as my cheeks fill with warmth, and I cradle the mug in my hands. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he replies.
I’d like him to stay. I’d like him to sit on the other end of the window seat. I’d like to pretend I was a normal girl on the night of her high school graduation. What is it that normal girls would be doing on a night like tonight? Staying out until sunrise? Skinny-dipping with friends? Kissing a boy a little too long and a little too much? Pushing delicious boundaries?
I sigh heavily. I am pushing boundaries. My boundaries. There’s just not anything delicious about it.
A motorcycle engine revs, and then the sound of a car engine catches my attention. I watch as the motorcycle flies past where all the other bikes are parked and stops in front of the house. My forehead furrows as the car follows and parks close by.
I start to shake as panic sets in. They lied. They called my father. They’ve doomed me to hell. They’ve….
The mug in my hands becomes weighted, and I glance down to find Dust’s hands steadying it. My hands had been shaking, I’m still shaking, and I allow him to take the mug from me.
“It’s just Pigpen,” Dust says. “He’s brought someone he thinks can help, but if whoever it is makes you uncomfortable, I’ll make them leave.”
I believe him, and there’s a comfort in knowing that he’s on my side.
The screen door to the house squeaks open, there’s multiple footsteps and I freeze at the sight of the woman standing in the doorway. It’s one of the few adults in my life who have questioned my bruises, my hesitancy, my fear. She’s the lone adult, until now, who hasn’t accepted my answers. It’s my English teacher. It’s Ms. Whitlock.
One look at me and the crumpled expression on her face as if she’s ready to cry causes an ache in my chest. I’m breaking, she sees it, and I wonder how long it will be until the pieces that are me tumble and shatter on the floor.
Ms. Whitlock enters, everyone else leaves, and as she sits on the window seat next to me. I have a choice to make, and in reality, I’ve already made it. It’s just time for me to accept my unknown fate. I take a deep breath, and I do something I’ve never done before—I tell someone the truth.
Chapter 19
Eli
Edgy.
Those of us who understand the ticking time bomb of a situation currently hanging out in the bedroom of the cabin are teetering on that tense line. We can’t make the decision for Addison. It’s one she has to make on her own. But if she doesn’t accept the options we’ve offered her, we have no choice but to send her home, and the odds of her surviving that either emotionally or physically intact are small.
That’s the problem with free will—there’s always the possibility people will choose wrong.
The picnic table shifts as Emily sits next to me on top of it. Her feet rest like mine on the bench. She hesitantly smiles at me, and I offer a sad smile back. When I was eighteen, I was desperately in love with her mother. I never imagined I could love anyone as much as I loved Meg. I was wrong. I had yet to have a child. Now, I can’t imagine loving anyone more than I love my daughter.
“What’s going on?” she asks. “And don’t say nothing, because it’s something.”
“It’s something, but it’s not my something to tell.”
She nods like she understands, and I hope she does. I made a lot of mistakes with Emily. Some of it due to my keeping secrets from her. I thought I was helping her, saving her, but all my lying hurt her in the end. Emily’s given me a second chance, and I don’t have plans to screw that