Corrupt(139)

She slides her arms around my waist and presses close, shivering. “You never apologize,” she states. “To anybody.”

“I’m not apologizing.” I shoot back, kind of joking.

I am apologizing, actually. I feel bad, but I have a hard time ever admitting I did anything wrong. Probably because my father never fails to let me know anyway.

But she’s right. I never apologize. People take the shit I dole out, but not her. She ran away from me. In the dark. Into a cemetery.

“You got a lot of guts,” I tell her. “I don’t. I’m just a coward that picks on kids.”

“That’s not true,” she replies, and I can tell there’s a smile in there somewhere.

But she doesn’t see what I see. She’s not in my head. I’m a coward, and I’m mean, and I feel so f*cking aggravated all the time.

I tighten my hold on her, trying to keep her warm. “Can I tell you something, kid?” I ask, a lump swelling in my throat. “I’m always afraid. I do what he tells me to do. I stand and speak, or I stay silent, and I never say no to anything he wants. I never stand up for myself.”

I told her she was weak. But it was me. I’m weak. I hate who I am. Everything gets in my head, and I have no control.

“People don’t see me, Rika,” I confide. “I only exist except as a reflection of him.”

She tilts her head up a little, her eyes still closed.

“That’s not true,” she mumbles sleepily. “You’re always the first person I notice in a room.”

My eyebrows pinch together in sadness, and I turn my head away, afraid she can hear my heavy breathing.

“Do you remember when your mom made you and your friends take Trevor and me hiking with you last summer?” she asks. “You let us do everything. You let us get close to the edge of the cliff. Climb boulders. You let Trevor swear…” Her fingers curl into my back, clutching my T-shirt. “But you wouldn’t let us go too far. You said we needed to save our energy for the return trip. That’s how you are.”

“What do you mean?”

She inhales a deep breath and then exhales. “Well, it’s like you’re saving your energy for something. Holding back,” she says, nestling into me and getting comfortable. “But it doesn’t make any sense. Life is one-way, and there is no return trip. What are you waiting for?”

My chest shakes for a moment, and I stare down at her, her words hitting me like a truck.

What am I waiting for?

The rules, the restraints, the expectations, and what was considered acceptable were things that held me back, but they were all things of other people’s design. Other people’s restraints. Other people’s rules and expectations.

And they were all an illusion. They only exist when I let them.

She’s absolutely right.

What is my father going to do to me, and do I care?

I want that.

You can’t have it.

Well, what happens if I take it anyway?

I want to do that.

You can’t.

Who’s going to stop me?

Jesus, she’s right. What the f*ck am I waiting for? What can he do?

I want a little havoc, a little trouble, a little fun, a chance to go where my heart takes me…who the hell’s going to stop me?

Every tense muscle in my body begins to slowly relax, and the knots in my stomach start to uncoil. My skin buzzes, and I feel my insides flip, forcing me to hold back a smile.

And I inhale a deep, cool breath, filling my lungs with air that tastes like water in a desert.

Yes.

Keeping her in my arms, I stand up, holding her tight as I carry her back to the car.

I don’t bother taking her home. I don’t want her to be alone.

I carry her inside my house, the foyer dark since it’s almost ten. My father is no doubt in the city for the night, and my mother is probably on her way to bed. But as I climb the stairs, I pass her in the hallway, Rika passed out in my arms.

“Is she okay?” My mom rushes up to us, already dressed in a nightgown with book in her hand.

“She’s fine,” I reply, stepping into my room.

Walking over to my bed, I lay her down on top of the comforter and pull the blanket kept down at the bottom over her.

“Why don’t you put her in a guest room?” my mother suggests.

But I shake my head. “I’ll sleep in one tonight. Let her have my room. She needs to feel safe.”

And then I look at my mother. “She should have her own room here, though.”

She sleeps over a lot since her father’s death, and given her mother’s behavior, I don’t see that changing anytime soon.

Let her have a space here that feels like a home.

My mom nods. “That’s a good idea.”

I walk past my mother, grabbing a clean pair of jeans and a T-shirt out of my closet. “Poor thing.” My mother strokes her hair. “So fragile.”

“No, she isn’t,” I correct. “Don’t coddle her.”

I snatch my black hoodie off the chair by the door and head into the bathroom to change, since the dog’s blood is all over my jeans.

After I’m in fresh clothes, I dial Kai, hearing loud music and lots of voices in the background.

“Do you still have those masks we used for paintball last weekend?” I ask, stuffing my wallet in my new jeans and running my fingers through my hair.