Rose asked as her light brown eyes brightened. I felt like a project.
The worst part about all of it was that she was right. My mother broke me because she hated her life. She tossed me on the floor in some experiment to work through her issues, and there was no one left to pick up the pieces. “I feel like sleeping. I’m tired, Rose.”
Rose picked the vase up again and thrust it out toward me, the cold glass colliding with my chest. “Throw it on the ground,” she ordered. “Do it, or I’ll fire you.”
I gritted my teeth, so angry at the world and her that I didn’t know what to say. I clutched the glass and lifted it. If she wanted me to throw the damn base, I would do it with vigor.
I slammed it at the earth like shattering it was the only thing keeping me alive. I watched the glass crumble and crunch on impact, slicing across her marble floors and scattering around our feet. Slivers of glass crashed into my ankles as I heaved air in and out of my deflated body.
I didn’t enjoy it.
“How did that feel?” Rose asked. She wasn’t smiling anymore, and something in me wondered if she was prepared for the level of commitment I exhibited while throwing the vase at the ground.
Some people would’ve felt satisfaction at breaking something. But I felt indifferent. I felt nothing. The things in my life I wanted to break were unbreakable.
I wanted to break my mother’s influence on my new life. I tried to break the hold that Decker Harris had on my mind, body, and soul. He was so strange today, and I didn’t understand it. It was like we were back to being strangers meeting in the hall for the first time.
I wanted to break my resistance against building a relationship with Lance, and I wanted to annihilate my tendency to fuck things up. “I didn’t feel anything,” I replied in a shaky voice before bending over to pick up the pieces.
Rose simply watched me. She didn’t warn me about slicing my finger, nor did she offer to get a broom. I cupped the shards in my palm and thought about my mother. Maybe Rose wanted to make some metaphor comparing the broken vase and my life. But I didn’t feel like the broken glass on the floor. I felt more like the displaced flowers without a home. “Go home, Blakely,” Rose said while crouching down to meet me at eye level.
“I would really like to work tonight, Rose,” I whispered. I didn’t want to go home and talk to Lance about my first day of school. I didn’t want to run into Decker and feel the nothing we both promised each other. I didn’t want to start on all the readings I’d have to catch up on and feel inadequate for this school. I didn’t want to check my phone to see if Maximillian had sent me a text. I wanted to work.
“Go home, hon. I’ll pay you for the day. You need to rest. Cope. You’ve been working your entire life, child. Take a day off. That isn’t a suggestion.”
“I don’t know how to rest,” I admitted before tossing what few shards I had in the trash and sitting down. Rose let out a hefty sigh before sitting on her desk, crossing her legs and resting her chin on her fist.
“Okay. Get it out,” Rose said with an encouraging wave.
“I hate that everyone at this new school knows about my mama. Back home, I was always known as Sharron Ramone’s daughter. The daughter of the woman that slept her way through east Texas. The mama that couldn’t afford food because she was too self-absorbed to remember to save for groceries. I don’t want to associate with that anymore.”
“So don’t be her daughter anymore,” Rose offered.
“How? How can I escape something imbedded in my blood?” I picked at my skin to emphasize the point. “How can I just escape her? She’s dead but still alive and breathing her toxic venom into my new life, and I hate it. I hate Decker for telling everyone my story. It wasn’t his to tell.”
Rose nodded. “Decker likes to focus on other people’s lives because it’s easier than sharing his own,” she explained. “You’re angry that he told the school where you’ve come from, right?” Rose asked, seeking clarity. I hadn’t precisely explained everything and was thankful she didn’t make me spell it out. Rose