The weight of my love for you
Buried me so deep
I can no longer sleep
Or eat
Or meet
My own eyes in the mirror
Daria
When the first domino falls and my reality collapses in quick fashion, everything hovers in the air, motionless for a fraction of a second. That’s the moment I suck in a breath, bracing myself for the hit.
It’s where I am right now. Sore and wounded and scared. I’ve experienced the most tragic thing to ever happen to me—sexual, physical abuse—but somehow know the worst is yet to come.
I examine the red welts on my behind in the bathroom mirror at home, blinking back tears. They mar me with shame and horror and fear.
He touched me against my will.
He hit me against my will.
I played with fire and got so burned, it left a mark. Dozens of them.
The sad thing is, it doesn’t hurt half as much as seeing Penn in the hallways does.
I apply some aloe to the welts and slip into knee-long pajamas, going commando. Wearing any type of fabric against my bruised skin hurts too much. My phone chimes with a new text message, and I hesitate before picking it up.
It’s Prichard.
Meet me at Castle Hill Park at seven. The bench under the cherry tree.
Gabe Prichard doesn’t apologize or make excuses. He is dangerous, a loose cannon, and even though I’ve made up my mind about never seeing him again, there’s a good chance he came to his senses. Realizing Gus and Via can screw both of us over, he is probably planning to make it right. I know he thinks I’m too scared to tell my parents, but why take the risk? I type back.
So you can abuse me some more? No thanks.
He replies within seconds.
So we can sort out this thing and move forward with our relationship.
I’m about to let out a hysterical laugh when a fist crashes the door from the outside.
“You’ve been in there for an hour,” Via whines. “Save some hot water for the rest of us, princess.”
Of course, she feels comfortable talking to me like this when we’re home alone. I lift my pajamas, chance one last look at my butt in the mirror, and unlock the door, my hand still on the handle. I stare at her, waiting for an apology. An acknowledgment of what she did. Any. Freaking. Sign. Of. Humanity.
Nothing. Blank. Gurnisht.
Via arches a blond eyebrow, folding her arms over her chest. She is wearing a gorgeous floral minidress Melody probably bought her. Perhaps in New York. Possibly while I grieved the death of my family as I knew it.
“You look like shit. Have you been crying?” She snorts, shouldering past me to get into the bathroom.
I shake my head. “You’re so screwed.” My voice is quiet. Eerily calm.
It’s the only thing I can think of saying right now. Maybe the only thing that matters at all. Because my life may be over, but so is hers. The difference is that I know my fate, and she doesn’t.
“What are you talking about?” She unleashes her hair from its elastic in front of the mirror, grabbing the makeup bag and getting pretty, no doubt, for Gus.
“What do you think Gus wanted from me when you gave him my journal?” I ask, parking a hip over the cabinet. She takes a step back. I take a step toward her. Her back hits the shower glass, and this is where I keep her boxed in.
I’m not going to hurt her. Not physically, anyway. Maybe not at all, seeing as I am desperately in love with her brother, and he wants her happy. But she doesn’t know that. She doesn’t know what it means to love until everything hurts, and you shed your dignity and pride for someone else.
“Gus wants Penn to throw the game.”
Via’s eyes widen. It’s news to her, and that actually makes me release a little sigh of relief. Her wanting to screw me over is a given. Her getting back at Penn, however? I can’t stomach the idea.
“He wants to ruin your brother,” I say, my hand traveling from the glass to her chin, tilting it up, so we stare each other in the eye, something we should’ve done weeks ago. Years ago. “And you just handed him the weapon with which he’ll do it.”
She swats my hand away. “Bullshit.”
“Yup.” I grab her face, willing her to look into my eyes again. “Penn is broken, frustrated, lost, because of you.”
“You can’t tell him.” Via swallows, pushing me. I stumble backward, laughing. That’s what she cares about right now? She sounds like the old me.
Via paces back and forth, raking her fingers down her face, leaving pink streaks in their wake.
“He can’t know. He can’t know,” she repeats.
I turn around, making my way to my room. I need to start getting dressed if I want to make it to the park in time. Prichard chose the same place where Penn took my virginity, which is something he knows, of course, because he’s read my journal. We’ve met a few times after Penn entered the picture, though our sessions were few and far between. I tried not to think about them, to push them to the back of my mind. And, for the most part, I succeeded.
Via follows me, yanking my pajamas and spinning me on my heel.
“What do I do!” she screams.
I stop. I smile. Enjoy the view.
“You know, Via? For the longest time, I envied you. For years, actually. Ever since you showed up at my mother’s studio. Not because you were pretty or allegedly rich or any of those things. But because you were talented. You were better than me, and, well, I guess I couldn’t accept that. So imagine my delight and surprise when you returned, and I found out that you weren’t better than me after all. Sure, you might have been the better dancer, but everything else about you is rotten. You are selfish and ugly and even more insecure than I am. You’re vindictive and small and afraid. You will never be happy, Via. Ever. And that’s the best revenge one could ask.”
I arrive at the bench fifteen minutes late.
Panting and sweating, I spot Gabe seated on the bench, wearing gray sweatpants, a North Face jacket, sunglasses, and a ball cap. He obviously doesn’t want people to recognize him. I take him in for long moments from afar, trying to adjust the image I have of him in my mind—sharply suited and ready for war—to this unexpected, destructive time bomb.
“Sit,” he commands, still staring at a spot across the park from where he sits. I stumble to him, my heart pumping in my chest. I take a seat on the other end of the bench, as far away from him as possible, stifling a groan. My ass hurts so bad it is hard to breathe. But I won’t show him any more of my misery. I’m done giving him what he wants. I pray for this nightmare to be over, and right now, I need to concentrate on minimizing the damage and making sure the journal isn’t leaked.
I don’t ask him why I’m here. I don’t demand an apology. In fact, I keep the very little, very shitty cards I have close to my chest.
“Look at the bench across from us under the oak tree,” he clips.
I follow his gaze. A hill and scattered trees veil us from the other side, but because we’re at a higher point, we can see through them and have a direct view to the bench on the other side of the gardens.
My breath catches. Penn and Adriana are sitting together, huddled close. Harper is between them, cooing in Adriana’s lap. Penn props himself down, kissing Harper’s nose and pretending to bite her cheek. The toddler giggles, waving her little, chubby fists in his face, begging to be picked up.
Adriana grins and hands Harper to Penn. Penn smiles down at Adriana and laughs. I can feel his laughter in my empty chest as I break into a thousand minuscule pieces. So tiny are the parts of my broken heart they feel like dust and ash rattling in my chest.
I want to look away, but I’m chained to the moment. Their moment. To this perfect picture of family bliss that I tried to stomp all over. My family is crumbling, and I tried to kill another one in my quest to have this boy.
But this boy is in love with another girl—the mother of his child.
I’m the mistake. A blip in his existence. A plaything to pass the time with. This? This is real. Penn Scully is not mine. He never pretended to be.
Everything I’ve given up—my time, my heart, my vanity—was in vain.
“This is the reason you turned your life upside down. For a guy who is deeply in love with his high school sweetheart. Who fathered her innocent baby.” Gabe’s voice prickles with an edge. “There are times in life when evil takes over our soul, and it is our job to seek the purity and solace in those who care about us. You came to me wounded, corrupted, and without direction, Daria, and I did what I had to do. You needed that spanking today. Needed this wake-up call. You have to allow Penn Scully a fair chance to build his family. Come back to me, sweetheart. To us. It is time to let go.”
“You’re not going to help me retrieve the journal,” I whisper, realization dawning on me.
“Of course, I will. After all, I am your savior.”
You’re my demise.
“How did you know they’d be here?” My lips tremble, and I sniff. I’m keeping the tears at bay and getting good at doing it.
“Bauer,” he says simply. “I’m the puppet master, Daria. I play you all, keeping your strings tight and short. Gus would never defy me. Now, we can do it the right way and make Penn see that he needs to throw the game. I’ll recover your journal—I will even get Gus to hand it back to me personally. Or we can do it the wrong way, where the journal comes out and we’re done.”
“Done?” I blink. He still thinks there’s an “us.” Unbelievable.
He slides the length of the bench between us and cups my cheek. I want to bite his hand off.
“Adultery is the greatest sin of all, but I am willing to forgive you. You are, after all, terribly young and impressionable.”
So many things slam into me at once. This psycho actually thinks I cheated on him. And he is in on it with Gus. He is so desperate for our school to win, to justify the insane amount of money spent on the Saints, that he is actually making pacts with a teenage bully.
“Why do you think I have a hold on Penn? You said it yourself. He is in love with someone else.” I turn to him. Ripping my gaze from Penn and Adriana is like taking off a Band-Aid. I can hear her laughter bouncing on the trees. It’s everywhere, and I can’t escape it. Her happiness is my misery.
“Because”—he turns to me—“you’ll tell the whole world he lives with you if he doesn’t. You will blackmail him, my darling.”
My mouth falls open. The consequences are clear.
He’ll lose his captain badge.
Get kicked off his football team.
And his friends and peers would hate him for living on the right side of the tracks without fessing up about it.
“Sylvia told Gus about her brother’s little secret,” he explains calmly. “Teenage hearts are highly traitorous, but it worked to my advantage in the end. See, after your stint in the girls’ locker room, I sent the message across to lover boy that he was not to put his hands on you anymore. Now, after it is obvious that he has, I have no choice but to retaliate. And what’s more beautiful than killing his future and having him suspended from the team?”
Every hair on my body stands on end.
Via betrayed Penn. She destroyed his acceptance letter, so to speak. She never wanted to come back to start over. She came back to get even.
“Tell me you understand, that you will comply, and that this matter is sorted, Miss Followhill.” He stands up, parking his hands on his waist. His crotch is in my face, and I feel the need to throw up again.
I have an epiphany at that moment. I know what I need to do to save everyone.
Penn.
Adriana.
Harper.
Bailey.
Most of all—myself.
I nod, my heart hardening as I come to terms with what I have to do.
“Crystal clear, Principal Prichard.”
I crawl to my room with what little energy I have left. Every bone in my body is sore. My muscles are stiff, and my butt burns with each step I take.
The house is quiet. Bailey and Melody are at ballet. Dad’s at work. Penn—probably still at practice, or with Adriana and Harper. I don’t even have it in me to feel relieved that Via isn’t here. I haven’t seen the hideous pink Jeep she ended up accepting (“Mel, it’s the best thing that ever happened to me! So, so beautiful, thank you!”), and there’s no sign of anyone else in the house.
Pushing my door open, the sour scent of alcohol and wine fills my nostrils, and I stumble back, my spine hitting the opposite wall.
As the door creaks ajar, I get a better view of my room and see the reason for the odor. My bare toes are soaked and sticky on the floor.
My champagne aquarium wall is shattered. The hammer Via used is still hanging in the middle of the glass, from which the pink champagne filters down, making a hissing sound of a freshly opened beer bottle.
I stagger inside, supporting myself on random furniture. I’m trying to open my eyes all the way, but the skin around them is too swollen and tender. As I enter deeper into my room, I notice a piece of cream-colored paper stuck to a wet piece of glass that’s still standing in the aquarium. I recognize the note instantly. It was torn from my journal. I pluck it out.
Tell them it was an accident
Or your mom will find out you killed her dream, too.
My eyes roll inside their sockets, and my knees give out. Everything turns black, just like the book where I keep all my secrets, and there is no light at the end of my tunnel.
