Addicted to Mr Parks (The Parks Series #2)(37)
“Before she died,” I went on, cuddling into the safety of his warmth, “she wrote me a letter.” I would forever remember the day I found a white piece of lined paper tucked in a pink envelope signed to me when my aunt and I were clearing out her house. I was sixteen, and reading such a letter after losing my nan ripped out a huge lump of my heart and left me numb.
Parks stoked my hair tenderly. “What did it say?”
The heavy lids of my eyes closed. “She told me that whatever happened, whatever I chose to do in life, she would be endlessly proud of me, just like she had been since the day I was born. She told me to promise I would stand in the mirror and tell myself I was beautiful every single day, because she wasn’t going to be around to do it anymore. She told me to wipe away my tears if I ever had any and turn them into a smile, because I deserved to be happy.”
Tears came rolling down my face like a silent waterfall, and I let them fall. The deep, gut-wrenching ache I held within my bones from how much I missed my grandmother needed to be released. “She kept me from breaking because she told me to stay strong. She hated that she couldn’t be around for me, and I know it would have killed her to know she was leaving me behind in a life I didn’t want to live.” My tears poured out, and my throat closed so tight it hurt to talk. “I feel so guilty because I never wanted her to spend her life worried about me. I know her last breaths would have been agony because she never wanted to leave me.”
The drive to never want to rely on anyone in my life was partly due to wanting my nan to see I could succeed on my own. “She tried so many times to take me from my mother, but my mum was vindictive. She didn’t want me, but she kept me to spite my nan.” I gripped his arms, but he held me tight, trying to shield me from the past, from the pain. “She was my life. My protector. And she was taken away from me because of the stress my mother caused throughout her whole life.” I glanced up through my tears to Parks, who was holding back emotion of his own. “Why is life so cruel?” I asked before going into a full-blow whimper, my tears completely misting my view. A sob tore through my throat. “Why does God take the good ones, Wade?”
He pulled me into him and clutched at my body, holding me close and safe. “Oh, Princess.” My anguish unsettled him because he’d never heard me talk this way and never saw me sobbing. He was also tormented because he couldn’t take away all the hurt and distress I carried around with me, and that tore him apart. “I hate that I could never save you from your parents. But I vow to you that I will make it better.”
After I’d sobbed, we remained silent until he started to ask me questions about my past. I knew he was waiting for the right moment to ask, because in a way, it was a question he didn’t really want to know the answer to.
“What was the worst thing she did to you? Your scars?”
Aggrieved, I closed my eyes tightly. “That’s one of the mild ones. I remember my mother asking me to try cocaine at the age of eleven. I remember being smacked over the head so hard with an iron that I woke up the next day in a stranger’s home. My mum thought I was dead and left me at a junkie’s house to let him take the blame. But you know, it’s not so much the physical abuse. Most of my smacks were forgotten. The pain goes away quickly, depending on how severe. But what never goes away are the names she’d call me. The goading. I can remember everything. Fat. Ugly. Thick. Worthless. Good-for-nothing. Unwanted. A burden. They will never go away.”
“You are none of those things, Evelyn.”
“But when they are drummed into a child, how the hell does anyone expect us to forget?”
“They can’t.” A painful sound was entwined with his breaths. It was like he felt the torment I carried around with me, but his eyes displayed something different. Familiarity?
“Sports day,” I went on. “Everyone’s parents came to cheer on their child. I looked around the crowd of families to see if I could see my parents, but they never came. I’d won two races, and I couldn’t wait to get home to tell my mum. My neighbour picked me up that day, and I ran into the flat, calling for my mum. I told her with a huge grin on my face that I’d won and held the medals that were around my neck to show her.” My eyes rolled the ceiling as I tried to knock back my emotions. “She ripped the medals from my neck and threw them in the bin. Told me I’d probably cheated so I didn’t deserve them. I was heartbroken. She stopped me ever enjoying sports day. She also stopped me enjoying birthdays.”
Parks was quiet, and I sensed his apprehension, but also I noticed the surprise. He was shocked I was opening up to him. Shocked I was so willing to let him in.
“Why birthdays?” he asked.
“It was my six birthday, and my mother wouldn’t let me see my nan. But I can remember opening the door to her when my mother was asleep on the sofa. She brought sponge cake and sang “Happy Birthday” to me. She told me to make a wish before I blew the candles out. My mum woke up as soon as my nan left and ripped the cake from my hands, forcing me to watch the dog eat every piece. She said it was what I deserved. Since that day I’ve never wished for anything whilst blowing candles out because my wish never came true.”
“What was your wish?”
I sucked in a nauseous breath and told him on a shattered heart. “I wished for my mother to love me.” That hopeful wish, that one thing I desperately wanted more than anything in the world never came true. Hope and love. Four-letter words that meant nothing to me.