IT HURTS TO WALK.
It hurts to move.
It hurts to breathe.
But I still have Quinten and I still have me, even though I’m beat down and quiet.
I’m a survivor.
And I know I’ll get through this the same way I have everything before it.
Today is the Festival of Fools, so despite the fact that I’d rather be anywhere other than here, in front of Notre- Dame where I know Cade will be, I paste a smile on my face and fake it for Quinten’s sake. He’s been in such a great mood since Christmas with me and Dalia.
Parker’s arm sits on my shoulders, and the feel of it makes me sick, bile rising in my throat and burning my esophagus until I ache to reach up and rip off my skin entirely.
It’s January 1, and the weather shows it, frigid air whipping across my cheeks and freezing the tips of my fingers, even though they’re covered with gloves. The entire square is filled with small white tents of vendors and space heaters laid out to keep people warm. Street performers line the walkway, clad in tight spandex clothes while they juggle bowling pins and balance on unicycles, which is only more impressive since there’s ice and slush on the ground. Still, there’s a general sense of merriment in the air, of people coming together to laugh and celebrate. It’s the one day of the year when Festivalé isn’t so grim, callous, and cold.
The warmth is almost more ominous, and I shake off the uneasy feeling that’s wrangling my neck like a noose.
The cathedral doors are open today, serving hot chocolate and pastries out of the front entrance, and people mingle just inside, chatting and laughing while they catch up with friends. And in the sanctuary itself, there’s a makeshift stage, set up along the dais, where the children of Louis Elementary are about to put on their play.
My stomach rocks back and forth like a ship in a storm as I scan the area looking for Quinten. I haven’t seen him since we first got here and I passed him off to Lydia.
Parker and I move down the rows of pews and sit in the very front, waiting for the play to begin. I stay silent and still, trying not to wince every time I move on the uncomfortable wood. I’ve been bleeding a bit this morning, and if I move too much, it will draw attention.
The only attention I long for today is for Quinten. For finally being part of something in town after so many years of being the brunt of everyone’s ire.
The thought sends nausea curling through my gut, the same way being in Notre- Dame with the entire town always has, flashbacks of the last time I saw our mother playing behind my eyes on a constant loop.
No. Things are different now. Things are changing, I remind myself. That’s why we’re here, with Quinten taking part in the community.
I want to glance around and see if Dalia is on her way, but I’m too afraid to look up and see Cade. I can feel that he’s here, but I won’t seek him out. Parker made it very clear what’s expected, and I’m under no illusion he won’t make good on his threat.
Besides, I have no doubt that if Cade takes one look at my face, he’ll know something is wrong, and I’m still coming to terms with what happened myself. I don’t want him to know, because he’ll find a way to get to me, and I crave his comfort too badly to stay away.
He could kill Parker for you, a thought whispers.
More voices filter in from behind us, people filling up the pews and chattering while they wait, and my shoulders tense, my body on edge even though there’s no logical reason for it. My foot taps against the floor, and Parker’s hand moves from my shoulder down to my thigh, squeezing tight enough to make me wince.
I stop the movement, letting the anxiety build inside me instead.
Someone knocks into my shoulder and my heart jolts. I snap out of my daze, looking over into the smiling face of Dalia.
“Hey, girl.” She leans forward. “Hey, Parker.”
He nods to her, his arm tightening around my shoulders.
I hadn’t realized that just seeing a friendly face would make me want to scream, but here we are, with me wanting to do exactly that. “Hey,” I force out.
Dalia’s smile drops and her brows furrow as she looks at me. I smile at her, trying like hell to be convincing because she can’t know anything’s wrong.
I don’t want her to know.
I just want to forget that it ever happened.
“Can you believe Quin’s about to be in a play?” I ask, taking the risk and glancing toward the stage.
The concern drops from her face, and she laughs, settling into the pew. “I know. He’s gonna be such a little badass. Is he excited?”
I shrug because honestly, this morning he acted like he couldn’t care less. “He seemed kind of meh about the whole thing. I don’t even know how big of a part he has.”
“Doesn’t matter.” She waves her hand in the air. “He’ll be the show stealer either way, obviously.”
“You’re right,” I sigh, shifting and trying not to visibly wince. I glance around again, hoping to see Quinten getting ready, but none of the kids are in sight. I do see Florence freaking Gammond though, her beady eyes locked on Parker and me.
I don’t have the energy to deal with her, so I pull my gaze away, and then they fall on Cade.
He’s standing off to the side of the stage, his shoulder leaned against the wall and his hands in his pockets, clerical collar around his neck, and like usual, he’s watching me.
Longing spreads through my chest, sticky and slow like molasses, and I wish so badly to stand up and run into his arms. To have him soothe away the pain that’s sitting heavy on my soul.
I inhale deeply, and the pain in my side from where Parker kicked me pinches tight, making me wince, my hand flying to the spot.
Cade straightens, his eyes narrowing.
Parker leans in, his lips against my hair. “You better stop looking at him, or I’ll be forced to make a scene.”
My spine stiffens and I rip my gaze away, faking a smile over at Parker instead.
There’s this weird ball of energy swirling in my solar plexus, tightening and tensing like barbed wire about to snap.
People continue to fill in the pews, and then Florence takes center stage, announcing the children and saying what an honor it was for her to work with them. I hadn’t even realized she was part of the production, and I chew on my bottom lip, wondering what else I don’t know.
I should have paid more attention.
The kids file out onstage, and I scan the area for Quinten, but I don’t find him. So I wait. Minutes pass and I zone out, going to the safe corner in my mind where I don’t have to feel the things hurtling through my body or my heart.
Dalia leans in when the play is coming to a close. “Where is he?”
I shrug, wondering the same thing, but I don’t voice my concern because that ball of energy in my middle is winding up too much to speak. Parker’s hand has moved from my shoulder to my thigh, and he squeezes, right on top of a bruise.
I bite my cheek until it bleeds and that odd feeling coils tighter.
The play ends and all the kids take their bows, and I’m fuming that Quinten wasn’t there. Where the hell is he?
Florence shows up onstage again, her eyes flicking toward me, and I just know like I know anything that something bad is about to happen.
“This year, we’re doing things a little bit differently.” She pinches her fingers together and chuckles. “We thought since the church has been so kind to take part in the festival this year that we’d bring it back to its roots to honor where the festival originated from.”
I sit a little straighter.
“And originally, the Festival of Fools always crowned a king.” Her eyes meet mine, and dread fills up my stomach.
No.
I try to stand but Parker’s hand jerks me back down, and I hit the pew with an audible smack. Tears spring into my eyes from the pain that bleeds from between my legs and spreads up my back.
From the corner of my eye, I can see Cade move off the wall entirely, and I risk a side- eyed glance, shaking my head, hoping he gets the message.
“What the hell is going on?” Dalia asks, nodding toward Florence. “Why is that bitch looking at you like that?”
A couple of kids, her asshole son included, bring out a little makeshift throne, made from a small child-sized chair with streamers down the side and a giant sign on the back that reads “King Fool.”
My stomach burns, and my fingernails cut into the palms of my hands.
I look at Dalia. “When you find Quin, you take him from here.”
She frowns. “What?”
“Promise me, Dalia. Take him far away.”
Slowly, she nods. “I promise.”
I turn my head to my husband.
“Parker,” I say through clenched teeth. “Let me up.” He looks at me, scowling.
“Parker, I swear to God, if you don’t let me up, I will scream at the top of my lungs.”
His jaw tenses, and for a moment, I think he’ll test me, but I’m banking on the fact that he doesn’t like to be embarrassed. It isn’t good for his image if his wife seems like she’s losing her mind.
He releases my thigh and I shoot up to a stand, shoving my way through the pew and to the side of the stage. Parker’s eyes are on mine, and they narrow into slits when they glide just beyond my shoulder, and I know without looking that Cade is right behind me.
I stiffen my jaw and don’t say a word.
“Please welcome our King Fool, Quinten Paquette!” Florence cheers.
Laughter and cheers ring out around the sanctuary as Quinten is brought out by a small group of kids.
My heart cracks in half and my eyes blur from rage, because while he may not understand what’s going on, I sure as hell do.
She’s mocking him. In front of everyone.
That tight ball inside me unravels and snaps, and I’m lost to everything except my fury.
Florence moves off the stage, walking right toward me, a smarmy smile on her face that I can’t wait to rip off her face.
Because I’m done. I’m sick and fucking tired of everyone thinking they can do shit like this and get away with it. She moves by me and into the back hallway, and as soon as I see Dalia snatch Quinten off the stage, I’m after Florence.
I think I hear Parker call my name, but I ignore him, my vision tunneled into a singular focus. He might be following me, but I don’t care.
She heads into the bathrooms at the end of the hall, and I’m right behind her, anger snapping and hissing at my back.
“You fucking bitch.” My voice echoes off the tile, and she halts from where she was leaning over the sink to look in the mirror, slowly spinning toward me and quirking a brow.
“Oh, please. Get over yourself.” She rolls her eyes.
My body shakes. “That was cruel. And he may not know it, but I do, and years from now, he’ll look back and he’ll remember.”
She huffs out a laugh. “Don’t be so dramatic, Amaya. It’s just a little bit of fun.”
I step forward slowly, a sense of anticipation thrumming in my veins, and I whip my hand out and smack her across the face, so hard she stumbles into the counter, her head flung to the side.
She sucks in a breath, her palm covering her reddened cheek, and she looks back at me, straightening with a sneer on her face. “You are such trash, Amaya Paquette. You’re trash, your brother is trash, and your little slut of a friend Dalia is trash.”
I point at her, my finger shaking. “Shut your fucking mouth.”
“I’m not saying anything that isn’t true. Even your own mother knew it.” She smirks. “Why do you think she’s not around?”
I lose all sense, reaching out and swiping the metal tissue dispenser that’s sitting on the sink. I don’t even register the weight as I grab it and slam it down on her head.
A door opens behind me, but I don’t give a shit who sees, and I slam the metal on her face again. She crumples to the floor, and I follow, hovering over her while I bash her skull in and watch as her blood spills out onto the floor.
Arms surround me and pull me back, and then I’m lifted into sturdy arms and swept away from the room all together, my fingers caked in blood and stuck to the tissue dispenser that’s still in my hand.
The familiar smell of pine fills my senses, and I breathe out fully for the first time since yesterday, slumping against Cade’s chest while he whisks me away and down the hall.
