I should feel good about it—or at least as good as losing her could ever feel. There isn’t a better way this could have ended. I can’t be there to protect her, but I’ve severed a tie here. I’ve made it better by making it worse. Hopefully one day, she’ll see that.
I’ll be long gone by then.
28
Sugar
The drive back to Preston is tense.
Memories of my mom keep rushing up like my mind is trying to saw the cut a little deeper. They’re not good memories. There are no cute, sweet moments where she took care of me, or comforted me, or taught me something new. I know some of those memories exist, but they’re long ago, from before, and they’re buried beneath the others. Her wincing silence as the back of Doug’s hand met my cheek. Her disappearing into another room when he had me by the hair, snarling obscenities at me. The way she’d turn to avoid watching him kick me in the stomach.
She didn’t like that he hurt me.
She just didn’t care enough to stop it.
The longer I think about it, Sebastian oppressively quiet at my side, the more I know that was the real reason the thought of coming back here made me sick. I’m scared of Doug, sure. But in a way, I’m also not. He’s sadistic and cruel, but there’s a simplicity to that. He can hurt my body, but it’ll never go past the surface.
Not like my own mother.
I’m broken out of the thought by the sound of Sebastian’s phone going off.
Again.
It’s been chiming with texts during the entire car ride, but all he does is jerk an aggressive glance down to it in the console every now and then. Since I can’t avoid doing the same, I know it’s his brother. His name keeps popping up on the lock screen, various nonsensical messages appearing below, the meaning of them broken by the way I miss the ones in between. He’s apparently one of those people who only texts in single sentences.
Winter transfer. Interesting…
Oh no, poor dad…
I’m thinking Ormewood Park…
Scholarship too! Bro, those can be fussy…
Really great tits, I’m excited…
“Look at me,” Sebastian says, grabbing my attention away from the screen. I do it because it’s the first thing he’s said since he asked me to buckle up. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
I look away. “I don’t have a concussion.”
He doesn’t lower his hand. “It was a hard hit, Sugar. Just tell me how many fingers.”
Annoyed, I cut my eyes at his hand. “Three.” And then I hold up my own. “You?”
He is the one with a history of concussions, after all.
“I’m fine,” he says, even though his eye is swelling. I’d only asked once if I should drive, but he wouldn’t let me. Nevertheless, he grunts out, “Two fingers.”
At least there’s that.
That doesn’t mean I’m not pissed at him, too. “I can’t believe you did that,” I say, trying to fill some of the silence. His complete stillness since getting in the car has been more unnerving than the fight itself.
“No?” he asks, jaw clenching. “What did I say that day at Merle’s? I said if I ever found out, I’d kill him. You knew exactly what you were getting with me. Don’t act like you expected me to do nothing, because I might have been sent into that bullshit blind, but I know better now.”
I stare out at the passing scenery, face growing hot. Sebastian isn’t wrong. I knew coming here with him was a risk, like putting two lit bombs together in one room. Bass’s fuse had already been lit that morning with the altercation between him and Heston. As upset as I am at him, I’m even more pissed off at myself. I know it’s my own fault. I didn’t follow my instincts. In fact, I’ve been outright ignoring them for weeks now.
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have brought you there,” I concede.
“Yes, you fucking should have!” He must see me flinch from the corner of his eye, because his shoulders drop, chest expanding with a deep inhale. “But you should have told me what I was walking into. You should have told me it was him—how fucking bad it was. At least then, I could have been a little smarter about it.” His bruised knuckles flex as he grips the steering wheel.
I know how he sees this. It’s just like that night at the docks. Bass storms in to save the day and ends up messing shit up. He means well—I see that now—but that doesn’t make it better. “I’ve handled it on my own for a long time, Bass.”
“With what?” He asks, shooting me an incredulous look. “Your knife? The panic attacks? By not letting anyone ever touch you? That’s not handling anything, it’s just helping you hide the problem.”
Irritation licks at the back of my neck and I flip it back on him. “Like I’m the only one not handling shit? Your whole life is one daredevil stunt after the other. Fights, street racing, pranks, police chases, concussions? You didn’t even give a shit when I threatened you with a knife! You came closer, like you were daring me to hurt you!” I swallow, watching his face darken with every word. “Don’t act like you’d handle it any better.”
“Yeah, I’d kick his fucking teeth in,” he argues, teeth gritted as the phone chimes with another ignored text. “If you’d heard some of the shit he said about you…” He’s getting worked up again, and that’s the issue.
“It doesn’t fucking matter. That wasn’t your fight, Sebastian. It doesn’t give you the right—”
“The people who had the right weren’t fucking taking it!” His hand comes down hard, loud on the steering wheel. “Your mom wasn’t even—and you. What the fuck were you doing, Sugar? You can’t let people treat you like that. You have to fucking—” He lets out this deep, frustrated sound when his phone chimes again. “You have to stand up for yourself.”
“Stand up for myself?” I ask, voice dangerously low. “You think I’ve just been going through life, getting the shit beat out of me like some passive little chew toy? You think I just sat there and did fucking nothing?!”
“That’s what it looked like to me.”
And the thing is, I’ve been pissed off a lot in my life. Most of it was impotent rage, just swirling around in my chest, completely without any place to really spend it. Despite that, I’m shocked to feel that nothing—not even years spent under Doug’s heel—has made me feel as irate as I do right this fucking second.
“How dare you.” God, I’m fucking shaking with it, entirely unable to keep the quiver from my voice. “How fucking dare you imply I’m to blame for this.”
He gives me a belligerent, shocked look. “I never said—”
“That’s exactly what you’re saying,” I volley back. “Because maybe you don’t know that I reported him when I was twelve. Hell, twice when I was thirteen! You obviously don’t know that each time, my counselor took me home, to my fucking mother, who told her I was just acting out. Clearly, it never fucking occurred to you how shit works sometimes when you aren’t the biggest name in school, so let me spell it out for you: No one fucking cares, Sebastian!” The phone chimes again and I consider chucking it out the goddamn window. “You know what each of those attempts at standing up for myself got me? I know you do. You’ve seen it on my back. So don’t you ever fucking suggest that I did anything less than survive, because that’s what I did. I survived. And that’s a hell of a lot more than some people manage.”