Stealing Cinderella(63)
“Frida,” he agrees. “It isn’t uncommon for children to keep the abuse secret in these circumstances. Thorsen went to someone he thought of as his protector, and he was punished for it. In Thorsen’s mind, it only compounded his shame. I think it would be very difficult for anyone to trust that someone would believe or help him after such a betrayal of trust. Perhaps this would explain why he didn’t feel he could tell anyone else.”
“Calder said he mocked you.” My mother’s fist curls in her lap, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen her so angry. “Is that true?”
“You know what he’s like,” I say. “I don’t want to talk about it anymore.”
Her face crumples, and her tears multiply, making me feel like an asshole all over again.
“I’m not upset with you, Thor,” she assures me as Calder hands her some tissues. “I just… I would give anything to change this. To go back and fix it for you.”
“But you can’t. It was a long time ago.”
“Is this why?” she croaks. “Is this why you tried to hurt yourself before?”
When I don’t answer, Dr. Blom intervenes. “Would you like me to tell her, Thorsen?”
“Please,” she begs me. “I need to know.”
My shoulders are stiff, but I force myself to nod and then try to tune out the conversation that follows. It doesn’t work.
“Thorsen has never opened up to you about his diagnosis because he didn’t want to worry you. But I think maybe it will help you to understand. He has a peculiar form of OCD. It causes him to have intrusive thoughts about self-harm on a frequent basis.”
My mother brings an unsteady hand to her mouth, stifling a sob. “You mean… you still… have these thoughts every day?”
“They can feel uncontrollable,” Dr. Blom answers. “But they are manageable if the patient is willing. Thorsen has a prescription that can often be helpful if he were taking it.”
I scowl at him, feeling betrayed by his keen observation.
“I’ve noticed a shift since your mother’s diagnosis,” he says. “You haven’t been doing the work. You’ve been telling me what I want to hear. And I suspect that you are making plans.”
Calder glares at me, and my mother breaks into hysterics again. Dr. Blom manages to calm her down with some reassuring words, but it doesn’t change the fact that she knows now.
“My oleander concentrate,” she whispers. “You took it, didn’t you?”
When I don’t respond, she nods as if she’s starting to understand.
“Your father told me I was imagining things, but I knew it had gone missing.”
“Where is it?” Calder demands.
“It doesn’t matter,” my mother says. “Because Thor is going to dispose of it, and he’s going to make me a promise.”
I stand and turn away, fighting the urge to pace. Dr. Blom watches me as my mother makes her decree.
“Promise me you’re not going anywhere, my darling. No matter what, even on your hardest days, you will keep fighting. Can you do that for me? Can you give me your word?”
When I say nothing, she goes on.
“I won’t have any peace until I know you’re okay. I can’t leave you here like this. Please, sweetheart.”
My eyes pinch shut, and I wish I could start this day all over again. I wish that Calder never told her. But it isn’t just her. It’s Ella too. The guilt is eating at me. They both threw a wrench into my plan, and everything is all fucked up, and I don’t know what else there is to say. If I make her this promise, I’m breaking the one I made to myself. But I don’t see any other alternative.
“I can only promise to try.”
“You will,” she says without a doubt. “And don’t you worry about your father, I will deal with him. As for Lavinia—”
My attention snaps back to her.
“I made a mistake,” she says. “That has become painfully obvious. And I am making it clear right now that I don’t want you to marry that girl, Thorsen. Promise me you won’t.”
Calder chuckles, and despite the gravity of the situation, even I can find some humor in that too.
“I won’t marry her,” I promise.
“All I want for you, my son, is to follow your heart. Wherever that may lead you.”
Calder pins me with his gaze, adding, “I think you already know where that is.”
28
Ella
“Thorsen?”
My eyes roam over the shadow lingering above the bed, but the room is so dark, it’s impossible to make out his features. I’m on the verge of fear when he pulls off the blankets and flips on the bedside lamp. He looks haunted in the soft orange glow, and it’s obvious that whatever happened tonight, he’s been through hell.
“Is your mother okay?” I sit up and reach out to touch him, but he pushes me back onto the bed.
As he stands there, eyes on fire, I’m not quite certain whether I should run or beg for mercy. But when he reaches out for my face, his touch is full of reverence.
“I just want to look at you,” he murmurs. “Sometimes, I think I only imagined you in my head.”