I just wasn't expecting to see sadness on her face. Sadness for me.
Why?
I hear the door slam, and I stiffen. I pray it's Cara coming back for another slew of insults, but I'm never that lucky. The heavy footsteps leading towards my door make the automatic response of me wanting to curl up inside of myself. I'd get hit for that, too. Now that I'm a man, I can't act like some pussy, is what my dad would say.
I thought once I got older, I could start standing up for myself. But over the years, he has just gotten more ruthless. I know if I were to ever talk back to him or raise my fists against him, he wouldn't hesitate to bury a bullet so deep inside of my skull it would never come out.
The door flies open, banging on the wall and then squeaking to a standstill.
"Was that who I think it was?" He stands in his suit, looking polished and so unlike how he used to look during my childhood in his faded blue jeans and too stretched out wife beater.
"What?" I play dumb, leaning over to pick up my only nice button up that I tossed on the ground last night.
"Look at me, Jackson." I look up. "Leaving our trailer, was that the neighbor girl? Logan's girlfriend?"
His eyes tell me he already knows that answer, so I don't know why he wants me to tell him. To see if I'd lie? To get a response out of me? If I tell the truth, I'm fucked. If I lie, I'm fucked.
Lose, lose.
"Yeah."
He runs his hands down his smooth face, no doubt trying to reign in shoving me in a fucking closet like the good ol' days. "So, I'm sitting all night with my business partner and good friend, while here you are on the other side of town, sticking your dick where it doesn't belong?"
I look at him, knowing that whatever answer I give him will be the wrong one. No sense in prolonging the inevitable.
"Yes."
In the next second, his shadow looms over me and I have excruciating pain in my side. He hits me directly in the kidneys, and I can't do anything besides stand straight and let him fucking kill me. Because the moment I crumble, I'll be useless to him and the entire business I'm working for.
"You're a fucking disgrace to this family. That doesn't surprise me, though. You've always been a disappointment. I should have had your mother swallow you when I had the fucking chance." He does one more punch to my side, the rings he's wearing digging into my skin with each jab.
I go to the dark place inside of me where I know my father can't get me. I hear nothing. I see nothing.
I don't even exist.
When I come to, I'm alone in my room. Thank fuck. My dad knows that when I go to that place, I don't come out for anyone. He tried to beat me for hours one time. No one is breaking through when I go to that place, not even Randall Shaw.
The pain in my side is barely tolerable, but enough so that I can hobble over to my bed and lay down.
I lean into my end table and grab my bowl and lighter. I light it up, take a hit and nearly fall into pieces as I cough through the pain.
I so badly want to go out into the kitchen and grab the liquor from the kitchen. Mixing them two together will give me the best high and I won’t feel a damn thing. But I don't want to run into my dad again. I also don't want to run into my mom, but it's not like she'd do anything. I don't even know if she stayed here last night. Maybe she was in her room the entire time, coked out to hell as she laid in bed and listened to me fuck the neighbor.
She's as worthless as a broken shoelace.
I could go to school, but then I risk running into Cara. That, and I'm not sure how well I could walk without wincing. My fucking back hurts.
Doesn't matter. It's just another day.
Instead, I'll lie here and drown out my life with music, and fade into the shadows. Just like I'm good at. Where I don't have to do anything. Where I don't have to speak.
Where I don't have to exist.
3
Cara
Now
I can’t believe I’m doing this.
Walking down the street, I near the bar where I know my mom stays. In no way do I want to confront her, but for the first time in my life, I really need my mom. The last time I walked past this bar was one of the worst days of my life.
I lay my hand over my stomach. I’m not sure if I want to protect my unborn child or stop the rolling of my stomach.
Yes, I’m pregnant.
I’ve been holed up in my house for the past four weeks. I have to be somewhere around three months pregnant by now. I don’t know, because I haven’t gone to the doctor yet. I don’t know what my plan is, but ever since I told Jackson about the baby, I’ve been pretending it doesn’t exist. Jackson’s reaction to the pregnancy made me revert to my pre-Logan self. I don’t want to leave my house. I don’t want to talk to anyone.
Just thinking about the day, I found out I was pregnant makes me start to cry. But lately, everything seems to make me cry.
"Shit." I roll over in bed and shove the pillow over my head, trying to block out the sun from glaring in my eyes. When I roll over, my stomach rolls with it. Suddenly, I realize how nauseated I am.
"Oh, no." I fly off the bed and into the bathroom, barely making it before retching the liquor and the little food I had in my stomach the night before into the toilet. Once I'm finished and my stomach is completely emptied, I curl up into the fetal position in front of the toilet and cry. I hate getting sick. I hate being nauseous.
I'm all alone in this house and all I want is to be held when I don’t feel good. There's just no one to hold me. No one even wants to hold me.
My life is so different now. I don’t know what happened, but six months ago I was living my best life. Now I feel lost and alone. I have Rose, but she’s so wrapped up in Easton and I hate feeling like the third wheel.
Then there’s Jackson.
Jackson, Jackson, Jackson.
My biggest regret and my worst enemy.
The man who sucked me into his web of silence and desire. Something inside of me melted when I saw the scars on his back and felt the desperation in his touch. One moment my life was turning at lightning speed and the next it screeched to a standstill.
Ever since Logan died, we have been a rollercoaster of lust and hate. He kept drawing me back in with his green eyes and his touch. It drew me in like a light and made me forget the worst parts of life. There’s something tantalizing about him that continues to bring me back. But no more.
Now, every time we cross paths, he sneers at me or completely ignores me. It’s like I don’t exist in Jackson’s world.
I hate him.
I hate him for making me feel something when I was a pile of dust on the ground, and then sucking up every ounce of life left in me.
I groan through my nausea, hating that I still feel sick, even laying here now. I don't ever get sick after drinking, so I don't know why I feel this way... Is it something I ate? I try to think back, but all I ate last night was a PB&J, and I know for a fact, none of it was expired.
Maybe I have a bug? Except I don't feel feverish or sick by any means. I just feel… bleh.
I roll over in an attempt to get up and flinch when my boobs press into the floor, then freeze. My eyes grow wide as I stand there and stare at the wall.