Текст книги "The Redemption of Callie and Kayden"

Автор книги: Jessica Sorensen

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Текущая страница: 3 (всего у книги 18 страниц)

Chapter 3

#46 Transform yourself

Kayden

I’ve been here six days, almost a week, but it seems so much

longer. It’s just after lunch and I’m in the middle of my daily

individual therapy session, which is better than group (I don’t

bother talking in that one). I’m sitting in my room in an

uncomfortable metal fold-up chair. My side hurts like hell and I

can’t stop picking at the wounds underneath the bandage on my

wrist. It’s cloudy outside and thunder and lightning keep snapping

and booming, lighting up the room with a silver glow.

“Tell me how you feel,” the therapist says.

He says it every God damn time.

And every God damn time I give him the same response.

“I feel fine,” I reply and flick the rubber band on my wrist

over and over again until the skin on the inside of my wrist stings.

This is what they gave me to help my self-mutilation, like a tiny

sting can replace a lifetime of cuts, stabs, broken bones, the raw

pain of life.

My therapist’s name is Dr. Montergrey, but he told me to call

him Doug because using his professional name makes him feel

old. But he is old, well into his sixties, with gray thinning hair and lots of wrinkles around his eyes.

Doug puts his finger to the bridge of his nose and adjusts his

square-framed glasses as he reads over the notes he has on me. I

can only imagine what they say: a threat to himself, angry,

irrational, uncooperative, self-damaging. He jots down some notes

and then looks up at me. “Look, Kayden, I know sometimes it’s

hard to talk about how we feel, especially when we have so much

hate and rage going on inside, but you might find it helpful to talk

about it.”

I flick the rubber band again and the snap is covered up by

the deafening clap of thunder. The room lights up and the rubber

band breaks, the pieces falling to the floor. I stare at them as I rub my swollen wrist. I still have a bandage on one of them, the one

that I made the deepest cuts on. The other one is starting to heal

and soon there will only be scars. More scars. One day I wonder if

I’ll be one big scar that will own every ounce of my skin.

Doug reaches into the pocket of his brown tweed jacket and

retrieves another rubber band, a thicker one that’s dark red. I take

it, slip it onto my wrist, and begin flicking it again. Doug scribbles some notes down, closes the notebook, and then overlaps his

hands and places them on top of the notebook. “You know, the

longer you stay in denial, the longer they’re going to keep you

here.” He gestures around at the room. “Is that what you want?”

I stop flicking the rubber band, fold my arms, and lean back

in the seat with my legs kicked out in front of me. “Maybe.” I know

I’m being a pain in the ass and I don’t know why. I feel bitter on

the inside, unworthy to be here. I feel everything and maybe that’s

the problem. I clench my hands into fists and jab my fingernails

into my palms, which are tucked to my side so the therapist

doesn’t see them.

“I just don’t want to be here,” I mutter. “But it’s fucking hard,

you know?”

He leans forward with interest. “What’s hard?”

I have no idea where I’m going with this. “Life.” I shrug.

His gray eyebrows dip underneath the frame of his glasses.

“What’s hard about your life, Kayden?”

This guy doesn’t get it, which might make it easier. “Feeling

everything.”

He looks perplexed as he reclines in his chair and slips off his

glasses. “Feeling emotions? Or the pain in life?”

Fuck. Maybe he does get it. “Both I guess.”

Rain slashes against the window. It’s weird that it’s raining

instead of snowing and by morning the ground is going to be a

sloshy mess.

He cleans the lenses of his glasses with the bottom of his

shirt and then slips them back on his nose. “Do you ever let

yourself feel what’s inside you?”

I consider what he said for a very long time. Sirens shriek

outside and somewhere in the halls a person is crying. “I’m not

sure… maybe… not always.”

“And why is that?” he asks.

I think back to all the kicks, the punches, the screaming, and

how eventually I just drowned it all out, shut down, and died

inside. “Because it’s too much.” It’s a simple answer, but each word

conveys more meaning than anything I’ve ever said. It’s fucking

strange to talk about it aloud. The only person I’ve ever said

anything to was Callie and I sugarcoated it for her, to keep her

from seeing how ugly and fucked up I am on the inside.

He removes a pen from the pocket of his jacket and his hand

swiftly moves across the paper as he scribbles down some notes.

“And what do you do when it becomes too much?”

I slide my finger under the rubber band and give it a flick,

then do it again harder. It breaks again and I shake my head as I

catch the pieces in my hand. “I think you know what I do, which is

why I keep breaking these damn rubber bands.”

He chews on the end of his pen as he evaluates me. “Let’s

talk about the night you got in a fight.”

“I already told you about that night a thousand times.”

“No, you told me what happened that night in your own

words, but you’ve never explained to me how you felt when you

were making your decision. And emotions always play a large part

in the things we do.”

“I’m not a fan of them,” I admit, slouching back in the chair.

“I know that,” he responds confidently. “And I’d like to get to

the bottom of why.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” I tell him, dragging my nail up the inside

of my palm to soothe the accelerating beat of my heart. “No one

wants to hear about that. Trust me.”

He drops the pen on top of the notebook that’s on his lap.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because it’s true.” I stab my nails deeper into my skin until I

feel the warmth and comfort of blood. “I’m nineteen years old and

everything that’s done is done. There’s no point in trying to save

me. Who I am and what I do is always going to be.”

“I’m not trying to save you,” he promises. “I’m trying to heal

you.”

I run my finger along a thin scar on the palm of my hand that

was put there when my dad cut me with a shard of glass. “What?

Heal these? I’m pretty fucking sure they’re not going anywhere.”

He positions his hand over his heart. “I want to heal what’s in

here.”

Usually I bail on these situations. Otherwise I’ll end up feeling

things I don’t want to, and then I have to take it out on my body

just to cope. But I can’t here. They won’t let me anywhere near

anything sharp, especially razors. My jawline and chin are

extremely scruffy because I haven’t shaved in a week.

“This is getting way too heart-to-heart for me,” I say and

grab onto the sides of the chair to push myself up.

He holds up his hand, signaling for me to sit back down.

“Okay, we don’t have to talk about your feelings, but I want you to

answer one thing for me.”

I stare blankly at him as I lower myself back into the chair.

“That depends on what that one thing is.”

He taps the pen against the notebooks as he deliberates.

“Why did you go to the party that night?”

“It’s always the same question with you.”

“Because it’s an important question.”

I shake my head as my pulse speeds up with either anger or

fear—I can’t tell. “I went there to beat Caleb Miller up. You know

that.”

“Yes, but why?”

“Why what?” I’m getting annoyed, frustrated, and pissed off,

and the anger snakes through my veins underneath my skin.

“Why did you beat him up?” It’s like he’s stuck on repeat and

I want him to shut the hell up.

My heart knocks inside my chest like a damn jackhammer

and all I want is something sharp or rough—anything that can

calm my pulse down. I’m glancing around in a panic, searching for

something, but the room is bare. I can’t do this. I can’t do this.

Fuck! “Because he hurt someone.” My voice comes out piercing

and uneven and makes me sound weak and pathetic.

He sits forward in the chair. “Someone you care about?”

“Obviously.” I shake my head, annoyed. My heart is still

beating too loud and I can barely think straight.

He raises his eyebrows. “Someone you love?”

My pulse speeds even more, erratic and without a distinct

beat. I feel it pulsating underneath every wound and scar on my

body. Love? Do I love Callie? Can I? “I don’t think I even know what

love is.”

He looks like he’s struck gold and found an insight into

what’s locked away in my soul. “Can you answer just one more

question for me?”

I throw my hands in the air exasperatedly. “Do whatever the

hell you want. You’re already on a roll.”

He asks, “Do you think you deserve love?”

“I already told you I don’t even know what it is,” I mutter and

he waits for me to divulge more information. What does he want

from me? To tell him that my dad beats the shit out of me? That

my mom’s a drug-addicted zombie? That the only exchange of

love I’ve ever gotten is from Daisy and that felt about as plastic

and as fake as things can get.

He writes down a few notes, then clicks his pen and tucks it

away in his pocket before shutting his notebook again. “I think we

might have made some progress today.” He checks his watch and

then gets to his feet, retrieving his trench coat from off the back of the chair. “Keep it up, and maybe you can have visitors who are

not family.”

I slump back into the chair. “I’m not sure if I want visitors,” I

mumble.

He doesn’t seem to hear me. When he reaches the door, he

slips his arm through the sleeve of his jacket, secures the belt

around his waist, and sticks his hand into his pocket. “And Kayden,

keep using this, no matter how many times it breaks. We can

always get you a new one.” He throws a rubber band at me and I

catch it effortlessly. For a second I’m back on the field, running and catching the ball, free from life.

I wish I were back there, fixed and mended. But unlike the

rubber band, I’m not sure I can be fixed so easily.

Callie

“I can’t believe your truck doesn’t have a CD player,” Seth

says with his arm extended across the front of me as he fiddles

with the volume on the stereo. He has on a jacket, with the sleeves

pushed up, and skinny jeans. “Or an iPod hookup. I swear I’m

having flashbacks of mullets, spandex pants, and crimped hair.”

“I think you’re going back a little too far.” Luke has his hood

pulled over his head and a leather band on his wrist that has the

word redemption on it. I wonder if it means something to him or if

he believes in redemption. I wonder if I believe in it. He stretches

his arm in front of me and flips open the glove box. “Back to the

eight-track era.”

I cringe at how close he is, but then release the tension,

refusing to go back to that place. I zip up my jacket, because it’s

cold inside due to the fact that they keep rolling down the

windows to smoke.

It’s early in the morning, the sun is kissing the frosted land,

and the highway is a hazard from last night’s storm so we have to

drive slowly. There are a few cars stuck in the mounds of snow in

the strip of land in the center of the opposing traffic and people

have turned off onto the ramps because they’re too afraid to drive.

Luke and I are used to it though. It’s the conditions we grew up in.

Seth slaps his hand away from the glove box and Luke looks

at me in disbelief, but I just laugh. “No, eight-tracks were still in play in the eighties.”

“Early eighties,” Luke corrects. “They faded out by

mid-decade.”

I laugh because they are fighting over something so

ridiculous and I’m tired and nervous and my head’s in a very

strange place. “You guys are fighting like an old married couple.”

As soon as I say it, I want to take it back, because I’m not sure how Luke will take it.

When I look at Luke, he seems perfectly fine. He shrugs and

then sticks his hand into the glove box and pulls out a tape labeled

Let’s Get High. “Whatever,” he says and feeds it into the tape

player. “As long as I’m the guy in the relationship, it’s all good.”

Seth rolls his eyes. “Whatever, you’d totally be my bitch and

you know it.”

That’s it. I can’t hold it in any longer. My body falls forward

as I cover my mouth and my shoulders shake as I laugh into my

hand. “Oh my God, I can’t believe you just said that.”

“Yes, you can.” Seth pats my back. “I wouldn’t be me if I

didn’t say the first thing that pops into my head.”

He’s right. Seth is blunt and funny and he totally says

whatever the hell he wants. And I love him for it. I sit up, wiping

the tears from my eyes, and then give him a quick kiss on the

cheek. “Thank you for making me smile,” I say.

He grins. “Anytime, sweetheart.”

Luke shakes his head, but there’s a grin on his face so I know

he’s not offended. I like Luke. He’s not judgmental and he seems

accepting. I almost lean over to hug him and then realize how

weird it is because it doesn’t freak me out. What does that mean?

Crap. What does that mean?

“Come on Eileen,” by Dexy’s Midnight Runners, blasts out

from the speakers.

“This is so eighties,” Seth says and begins snapping his

fingers and bobbing his head. He really starts to get into it,

shaking his hips and shimmying frontward and backward. “Come

on, Callie, you know you want to dance. It’ll make you smile even

more.”

I grin from ear to ear. “No way.”

Cold air fills the cab as Luke cracks the window. The lighter

flicks and then the smell of cigarette smoke flows through the air.

Seth keeps dancing as he reaches into the pocket of his hoodie

and takes out his pack of cigarettes. Out of the corner of my eye, I

see Luke bobbing his head as he sucks on the end of his cigarette.

He takes a long drag, and then puckers his lips and a thin trail of

white smoke laces out of his mouth. Seth starts thrusting his hips

wildly as he flicks the end of his lighter and puts it up to the tip of the cigarette. The paper curls in and turns black as he takes a long

drag. The car starts rocking as the chorus comes on and both the

guys really start getting into it. The smoke burns my lungs and the

cold causes goose bumps to sprout all over my arms. I experience

almost every single detail of the moment and I decide to

experience it all.

“Oh fine, what the hell.” I start lifting my shoulders up and

down to the rhythm and Seth grins at me.

“That’s my girl,” he says and blows out a cloud of smoke with

his lips puckered out.

We both start doing this funny jiving thing with our hands

and Luke laughs as he cranks up the music. For a second I

transform myself into a dancer. When the chorus hits again we all

take a deep breath and belt out the lyrics at the top of our lungs. I raise my hands above my head and shut my eyes. It’ll be all right.

It’ll be all right. Kayden will be all right.

Because I’m here, dancing, smiling, and sitting between two

guys, and if that can happen, then anything’s possible.

Kayden

I’ve been in the clinic for a week now and today should be a

really good morning. Doug has informed me that I can have

visitors outside of family and that I can make a few phone calls

throughout the day. When he gives me time to make the phone

call, however, I get stuck on who to call. My first instinct is to call Callie, but I haven’t talked to her since it happened and I’m not

sure she wants to talk to me after finding me like that. The idea of

finding out scares the shit out of me. Besides, I’m trying to keep

my distance and protect her from me because the last thing she

needs is my instability and fucked-up head.

I dial Luke’s number and lean back in the bed, watching the

storm outside my window as the phone rings and rings.

“Kayden?” he says, sounding confounded. There’s an eighties

song playing in the background and I can hear a lot of giggling.

“What’s up?” It sounds so stupid after I say it. There’s a long

pause and then someone starts singing really loudly and really off

key. “Is that Seth in the background?”

“Yeah.” He hesitates again. “Are you okay?”

I flick the rubber band with my finger. It snaps back, hits my

wrist, and sends a sting through my arm. “Kind of… Why are you

with Seth?”

“Because… we’re in the truck.” He seems conflicted. “We’re

headed to Afton to see you actually.”

I snap the rubber band against my wrist a few more times,

but it’s not stilling the anxiety twisting inside me. “When you say

we you mean…”

“I mean, Seth, me and…” He trails off. “And Callie.”

The singing stops and so does the music.

“Who are you talking to?” Callie asks.

When I hear her voice I swear to God my heart stops. I clutch

at the chord and wrap it around my wrist until it’s tight and cuts

off the circulation. I stare outside at the slush on the ground and

the banks of snow around the mostly vacant parking lot.

“Umm…” Luke struggles for words.

“You can tell her,” I say, because if they’re headed here then

I’m going to have to face her soon.

“It’s Kayden,” he tells her and then it gets quiet.

“Oh…” She’s perplexed and I don’t blame her. “Can I… Can I

talk to him?”

“Hold on,” Luke says and then asks me, “You want to talk to

Callie?”

“I…” I never get to discover my answer, and it sucks because

I’m dying to know how I feel. My response would have revealed

the truth about my fear and how bad it’s going to be when she

gets here. But like always, my mother walks in just at the right

moment and steals everything away from me.

“We need to talk.” Her chin is tipped high like she’s better

than everyone in the building and she’s carrying around a duffel

bag on her shoulder. “Now.”

“I gotta go.” I hang up, knowing I’m being a pussy and

dodging my feelings. I unravel the cord from my hand and lean

back in my bed, putting my feet up on it. I’m wearing a pair of

plaid pajama bottoms and an old blue T-shirt that has holes in it.

I’ve worn the outfit five times since I’ve been here and it’s getting old.

She heaves the duffel bag onto the foot of the bed and then

positions her hands on her hips. “You need to work on getting

better and getting out of here. It’s making our family look bad.”

I carefully hunch forward, because moving too fast still hurts

my side. “And what do you suggest I do, mother, because the

doctors seem to think differently. They think I need to stay here

and heal.”

“I don’t give a shit what the doctors think.” She unzips the

bag with a tug. “What I care about is that you get dressed in some

normal clothes, get everyone thinking you feel better, and then

come home so we can start planning what we’re going to do if

Caleb Miller presses charges.”

“I could always plead mental insanity.” Sarcasm drips from

my voice. “Maybe they’d just keep me here instead of sending me

to jail.”

Her face flushes red and she shifts the handle of her purse

higher onto her shoulder. “You think this is funny? Maybe I should

have your father come down here and talk some sense into you.”

No matter how hard I try, I’m sent straight back to that place

where I’m lying on the floor bleeding to death and completely

ready to accept it. I rub my hand across my face and then say

through clenched teeth, “I’ll see what I can do.”

She smiles and it looks out of place, like she’s the evil villain

about to execute her evil plan. She kisses my cheek and I can smell

the wine on her breath. Then she moves back and rubs her thumb

across my cheek. “I got lipstick on you.” She pulls her hand away

and smiles again. “Let’s work on getting you out of here.” She pats

my leg and then walks out of the room, leaving the door open. I

hear her say something to one of the doctors and then a nurse

shuts the door.

I take a long-sleeve thermal shirt out of the bag, which is

filled with jeans, shirts, and socks, and slip it on over my head.

Then I reach for a pair of jeans, ready to put on my full costume

and go lie to the world, just like I’ve been doing my entire life.

Chapter 4

#67 Reunite with something you thought you lost

Callie

We arrive in Afton late at night when the moon is a

ginormous orb in the charcoaled sky and the blizzard is creating a

veil in front of the truck, making it hard to see. We would have

made it here by dinnertime, but Seth made us stop for lunch and

play in the playhouse at McDonald’s. But it was kind of all our

faults for getting so carried away and staying until we got in

trouble by the manager.

I think we were all avoiding something. But what that is, I’m

still trying to figure out. After a very long, exhausting drive, Seth and I sneak up into the garage and crash on the bed without

having to talk to my mother. The place holds one of the strongest

memories in my head, and when I first walked in, I nearly fell over

as I remember how it felt when Kayden touched me, kissed me,

became a part of me.

“I’m bummed,” Seth states as we lie face to face on the bed

in our pajamas. The space heater hums in the background and the

glow of it and the lamp highlights the spackled spots on the walls.

He fakes a pout. “I was totally looking forward to meeting your

mother.”

I gently pinch his arm. “You liar. You’re so glad she’s asleep.”

He giggles and then rolls to his side, propping himself up on

his elbow. “I know. I wish I was, but from what you tell me about

her, she’s not going to be that fond of my colorful personality.”

I sit up in the bed, take the elastic out of my hair, and then

refasten my ponytail. I let my arms fall into my lap and I chew on

my lip, thinking about tomorrow and seeing Kayden.

Seth touches my bottom lip and my initial reaction is to

flinch, but I work at it and keep it under control. “A penny for your thoughts?”

“It’s nothing.” I sigh and flop down on the bed on my side.

“I’m just wondering what it’s going to be like… seeing him again.”

He considers this as he sweeps his bangs off his face. “It’ll be

like the first time I decided I was going to talk to you. You have to think of Kayden like a skittish cat. If you say the wrong thing, he

might flip out.”

“You thought of me as a skittish cat?”

“A skittish kitten.” He grins and winks at me. “You looked like

you were going to claw my eyes out the moment I approached

you.”

I fluff the pillow and tuck my hands under my head. “What if

I say something wrong, though, and he gets upset?”

He unlatches his watch and rolls to the side to set it on the

Tupperware bin next to the bed. Then he pivots to his hip and

faces me. “You won’t.”

I lift my legs up and slide them underneath the blankets.

“How can you be so sure?”

He smiles and touches the tip of his finger to the tip of my

nose. “Because he opened up to you the first time, which means

you’ve already said the right things. So all you have to do is go

there tomorrow and be yourself.”

“I hope you’re right.” I click the lamp off and the room goes

dark. The pale glow of the moonlight filters in through the window.

“I really hope you are.”

“I’m always right, darling,” he says, and then squeezes my

hand. “Just don’t overthink it.”

I shut my eyes and hold onto the thought that tomorrow I’ll

see him, alive, and not bleeding on the floor. Maybe then I can

finally get the god-awful image out of my head.

Kayden

It’s mid-December, the start of winter break. If I weren’t here,

I’d be heading home from school, probably with Callie and Luke.

It’s weird knowing she’s probably driving into town right now, just

getting home, so close to me in distance, and yet she still seems

far away, almost unreachable, since I’m stuck in here and she’s out

there.

I’ve secretly been collecting rubber bands and I have five of

them on my wrist. Not that Doug knows it. I kept pretending that I

broke them until I had a collection. The thickness gives more of a

sting and it settles me on the inside each time I flick them. I need a lot of settling because my mother showed up tonight and has

been here for over an hour trying to work things out with the

doctor and Doug to get me released.

They’re over by the doorway having a conversation about me

like I’m not even here. It’s actually more of an argument than a

conversation.

“But we’ll be there watching him at all times.” My mother

talks with her hands a lot and she’s got long fingernails. Every time she says something she swings her arms animatedly and almost

nails the doctor in the eye.

Doug fans through his yellow-sheeted notebook and reads

through his notes. “Look, Mrs. Owens, I know this must be hard for

you, but I don’t think it’s healthy for Kayden to leave the facility

just yet. In fact, I’d advise against it.”

My mother taps her foot on the floor and crosses her arms

as she stares Doug down like he is a small, insignificant piece of

shit. “Look, I understand what you advise, but I’d rather not take

advice from a doctor who got his PhD from some low-budget

college.”

“I got my PhD from Berkley,” he says, pulling out a pen from

his pocket.

Her gaze sweeps over him and she elevates her eyebrows.

“Really? Then why are you here?”

Doug stays calm as he balances the notebook on his arm

and writes something down. “I might be asking you the same

thing.”

I think I like Doug at that moment and I smile to myself as I

wiggle my finger under the bands and flip them against the inside

of my wrist and let the burn soothe me. I’m sitting in the corner of

the room, not the one I sleep in but a larger one with a lot of

tables and chairs scattered around. The walls are brick and cracked

with old age, but it’s more comforting than the dull white ones in

the room. Some people eat lunch in here, but I choose to eat in my

room because there’s always too much going on, like fights and

yelling and crying.

My mother stabs her fingernail against Doug’s chest. “Don’t

you dare insinuate anything.”

“I wasn’t,” Doug says simply, wincing as he grips the spot on

his chest where my mother stabbed her finger. “It just seems like

you’re awfully eager to take Kayden out of here when it’s clear he’s

not stable.”

I scan the scars on my arms and the bandage on my wrists.

I’ve been picking at the scab that’s underneath it a lot, which is

why it’s not healing. But it’s a fucking habit and I can’t seem to

break it.

“He’s perfectly stable,” my mother insists. There’s a slight slur

to her speech and I wonder if the doctor can hear it. “And it’s my

call, since I’m the one who signed him in to be here.”

I stand up, stunned. “You did that? I thought that was the

hospital?”

She glares at me with annoyance. “I put you here for your

own good. You needed to be watched for a while, but now…

you’ve been here for a little over a week and it’s time to move on

and get your act together.”

Or kept away from my father. “Then I want to leave,” I say,

walking across the room. “And I want to go back to school, not

back home.”

“You can’t,” she replies curtly. “It’s Christmas break.”

“Okay, then maybe I want to stay here.” I back up to the chair

and sit down. I tip my head forward and rub the sides of my

temples with my fingers. “Fuck.” I have no idea what to do. I don’t

want to be in this God damn room anymore, but leaving means

facing the world, myself, my father, Callie.

“If Kayden wants to stay here,” Doug interrupts. “Then he

can.”

“I’m sure as hell not paying for it,” my mother snaps

venomously. She reaches into her purse and takes out the car keys.

“I’m signing you out first thing tomorrow morning and then you’re

coming home—that is, unless you want to fork out your own

money.”

She clutches the keys in her hands and storms out the door,

taking my hope with her. I wonder why she’s doing it. Why she’d

put me in here for barely over a week and then suddenly want me

out. There’s got to be something going on.

Whatever it is, I don’t want to go home. If I do, there’s a

good chance my father’s going to finish what he started.

Doug sighs as he returns his pen to his pocket, and then he

turns to me. “Well, that didn’t go so well.”

“It never does with her.” I shove the sleeves of my

long-sleeved shirt up and rest my arms on my knees. “There’s no

use trying to fight her on anything. She always wins.”

He grabs a chair from the corner and positions it in front of

my chair. He doesn’t bother taking his jacket off, which means he’s

probably not staying long. “Does she win fights with your father?”

he asks as he lowers himself into the chair.

Warning flags pop up all over in my head. I know the drill.

Lie. Lie. Lie. “What do you mean? What fights?”

He crosses his leg over his knee and the bottom of his pants

ride up. He’s wearing these socks with smiley faces on them. “Your

mother and father never fight?”

I shake my head because it’s the truth. They really don’t

because my mother is a yes-dear kind of person. “No, not really.”

His brows pucker and I get the feeling I might have said

something wrong. “Kayden, what’s your dad like?”

My fingertips automatically jerk inward and my nails slice at

my skin. “He’s… he’s a dad. A normal dad.”

“Do you have a good relationship with him?” he questions.

“Because I find it kind of strange that he hasn’t visited you once.”

“Our relationship’s fine.” My throat feels thick with tar. “He

just works a lot of hours.”

His hand whisks across the paper as he writes something in

his notebook and then proceeds into the conversation with

caution. “Has he ever hit anyone in your family?”

It is the perfect opportunity to tell him everything: about my

life, about the pain, about the unworthiness. But it feels like

betrayal and I realize that I’m basically my father’s puppet. It’s a

terrifying and confusing conclusion, like the strings that attach me

to him have wound into knots. “I-I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” He’s skeptical. “Are you sure?”

I nod my head as I stare at the floor in front of me. There’s a

pink stain on it and a lot of the linoleum is cracked and chipped. “I really don’t know.”

He evaluates me, then takes a card out of his front pocket

and extends his hand toward me with it between his fingers. “I

want to see you first thing Monday. My office address is on the

back.” He flips over the card and shows me where the address is

written in his handwriting. “My number’s also on the front. If you

ever need to talk about anything, you can call me anytime.”

I take the card, realizing that committing to his request

means committing to more than just a visit. It means opening up

doors I nailed shut a long time ago and facing all the demons I

locked inside. It means telling him everything, even about my dad.

And then what? What if I actually do? Then what happens to my

family? My mother? My father? Do I care? I don’t know. I don’t

know anything. I think I’m the most fucked-up, confused person