Stealing Cinderella(36)
Her story reeks of half-truths, but for now, I don’t push it.
“Come.” I hoist her body up into my arms again, drenching my own clothes in soapy bathwater. “I’ll dry you off, and then I’ll bring your dinner.”
“Thorsen.” My mother lights up when she sees me. “Lavinia will be so pleased you’re here. She hasn’t spoken of anything else all week.”
I force a smile for her benefit and sit down beside her. “I’m more interested in spending some time with you first.”
Her eyes dim, and she drags her hand across her lap, trying to reach out for me, but it’s not working as well today. Soon, it won’t work at all, and this is a stark reminder that these moments are fleeting. The problem is I simply don’t know how to make the most of them.
“I thought you’d be happy,” she says. “Isn’t Lavinia the woman you’ve been looking for?”
When it takes me too long to answer, it only seems to add to her anxiety.
“Oh, dear. Have I gotten things confused again?”
“No, Mor.” I squeeze her fingers. “You haven’t.”
The threat my father made still lurks in the back of my mind, and truthfully, I can’t bring myself to admit any alternate reality. My mother has always thought so highly of me, even when everyone else turned their backs. She never abandoned me or told me I needed to snap out of it or tried to correct my behaviors with harsh words and a cold heart. She has only ever been warm and considerate, and I can’t bear the thought of her discovering how much of a monster I truly am. If she had so much as an inkling of what I’ve already done to Ella, she wouldn’t have the will to live through the week.
“Thorsen.” Her hazy eyes roam over my face. “Have I been a bad mother to you?”
“What?” I inhale sharply. “Why would you even ask me that?”
“I just… I don’t know.” She stares off into the distance, recalling something I’m probably better off not knowing. “All these years, things have been so tense between you and your father. And you’ve always been so… angry. I can’t help wondering what I might have done differently.”
My eyes fall shut on a sigh, and pain lances through my blackened heart. I have to remind myself that it’s better she doesn’t know. I’ve always wanted to protect her from the ugly truths hiding in this family, and now more so than ever. But it doesn’t change the regret I carry deep in my soul that she wasn’t the first person I went to in my time of need.
“F-f-father, may I speak with you?”
He looks up at me from his desk, his face stern. Even at ten years old, I understand that he’s a man with many burdens. Too many to count. I don’t want to be another. But I’m scared, and I’m tired, and the pain is too much to keep inside anymore.
“What is it, Thor?” he asks. “I’m busy.”
My lips freeze, and my body ices over as I wonder if I should just leave. I don’t want to make him mad. All I ever seem to do is bother him. But the pain, I feel it every time I move. Every step I take. Every breath I inhale. I’ve never known such pain, and even now, my eyes are blurry with unshed tears. Father always tells me that men don’t cry. I know I can’t let those tears fall because it will make me weak. But I also know if I leave here right now, I’ll be a different sort of coward.
“I-i-it’s about the speech therapist,” I blurt. “Ms. Nilsen.”
“What about her?” He drops his pen, focusing his attention on me. And for a minute, I think it will be okay. I think he will help me.
“I d-d-don’t want to do p-p-private lessons with her anymore,” I tell him, harnessing my bravery like every hero I’ve ever read about has taught me to do.
“And why is that?” His eyebrows pinch together, and the vein in his forehead throbs. Is he angry with me or Ms. Nilsen?
“She d-d-did something to me,” I whisper, the shame eating me from the inside out. “S-s-she does stuff to me. Bad stuff. She t-t-touches me, and it hurts—”
My father’s desk rattles as he stands, startling me. I stumble back into the door behind me, and fear steals the breath from my lungs when he rounds the desk, looming over the room like a dark cloud.
“You dare to come in here and lie to my face?” he roars. “Is it not bad enough that I have a fucking retard for a son, and now you want to make up stories because you’re too lazy to do what’s required of you. You’d be so lucky to have a woman like Ms. Nilsen even look twice at you, you pathetic little fuck.”
My mouth dries up, and my body trembles so badly, I can’t move or speak or think. I hate myself for this. I should never have come to him. I should have hidden the pain, stuffed it down, and forgot about it. This is what always happens. I freeze when I need to move. The same thing happens with Ms. Nilsen, and I just want it to end. I want everything to end. But it’s far from over when my father grabs me by the collar, shaking me.
“I asked you a question.” Spittle flies from his lips and hits my face, and all I can focus on is that throbbing vein in his forehead that looks like it’s going to explode.
He yanks me up off the floor and drops me face down onto his desk, tugging me back, so my legs hang over the edge. I know what’s coming, but I’m paralyzed, and when his palm collides with my ass, a guttural scream erupts from my belly until I no longer sound human.