Ricochet (Addicted #1.5)(33)

He hesitates and nods to me in acceptance.

“What do you want from me?!” our mother yells. “I’ve been there for you your whole life!”

“I want you to say you’re wrong! I want you to apologize for this evening and for putting me with Matthew Collins and for thinking I’m a tool that a man can use and dispose. I’m your daughter!” Rose screams, angry tears burning from the corners of her eyes. “You’re supposed to love me by telling me that I’m beautiful and I’m smart and no man is good enough for me. You’re not supposed to tell me I’m worth less than I am.”

My mother inches forward a little. “Can you listen to yourself, Rose? We’re at an event for your father’s company, and you’re making it about you. You think you’re a woman? You’re acting like a child.”

Rose stares directly at our mother. Unflinching, unwavering. And very coldly, she says, “Go to hell.”

My mother’s hand flies and connects with Rose’s cheek, the slap heard like a gunshot in the lounge room. Jonathan, Aaron and my father go silent.

Rose drops her champagne glass, and it shatters on the marble floor. She stares in a trance at the ground, as though she felt nothing when the contact was made. My heart hammers so hard that the only thing I hear is the pulsing in my ears.

I have never seen my mother hit anyone. Maybe because I spent most days with Lo. Maybe because I haven’t been attuned to the happenings of my family. But the shock strikes me cold. I don’t have the same relationship with our mother that Rose does. We’re not hostile towards each other. In fact, we’re…nothing really. I say hi, she asks me how Lo is, and we move on.

I don’t wish for this. To be silently boiling, having to restrain myself from spewing hateful words and from feeling a hand sting my cheek. No one would ask for that. And I want to take Rose away from it, but she’s twenty-two.

The damage is done.

I think we’re all old enough to feel the scars of our upbringing. Now we just have to find a way to heal.

My mother lets out a breath and says, “I’m sorry…We’ll talk later. Clearly we’ve both had a lot to drink…” She shoots a quick glance to my father, and he stands and excuses himself too, following her out of the lounge room and back to the party.

Aaron keeps pulling me closer to his lap, and I swat him away, keeping track of Rose in case she needs me. I doubt she’d like to be reminded that she’s losing control. My interference is like saying, “Your fucked up little sister is going to rescue you. How screwed up does that make you, Rose Calloway?” Which is why I asked Connor here in the first place.

He approaches her like a man tiptoeing towards a sleeping lion. “Rose,” he breathes. “Sweetheart…”

She’s shaking. Her arms tremble, and her eyes keep growing wider and wider. “She’s wrong,” Rose whispers. I can practically hear her chant in her head: I’m not like her. I’m not like her.

Connor closes the gap between them, and his hands touch her face, holding her cheeks, and gently soothing the reddened one with a soft stroke. “Look at me, hun.”

Rose tries to push him off. “Why…” She keeps shaking her head, but he holds her tight, trying to make her focus.

“I’m right here,” he tells her.

She weakly tries to push him off again, not really wanting to, and he grabs her hand. “I don’t need you,” she reminds him. But the silent tears start flowing. She’s crying in front of him, actually letting Connor see her cracks. I wonder if the emotions are too hard to bottle since she drank so much. “I don’t need you,” she repeats, her voice breaking.

“You’re right,” he says softly. “You don’t need a man, Rose.” He pauses and I barely hear him whisper, “But you do need me.”

She looks down and then back at him, her lashes wet and glistening, making her face look more porcelain and delicate than I ever remember. “What are you doing here?” she asks with the shake of her head. “You shouldn’t be here.” Her tears drip on his hands, both rising back to her face. He tucks a flyaway piece of hair behind her ear, and his eyes graze the welt on her cheek.

“A little bird told me you were upset.”

Rose lets out a choked cry. “Are you crazy?” She places her hands on his arms that hold her face but doesn’t force him away anymore. “You’re talking to birds now?”

His lips twitch into a weak smile. “I’d talk to any woodling creature if it gave me answers about you.”

“Would you walk through fire for me?” she deadpans.

“Yes,” he accepts the challenge.

“Brand my name on your ass?”

“Possibly.”

“Drink cow’s blood in my honor?”

“You’re so fucking weird,” he says with the biggest grin.

She breaks into a smile but it’s a pained one and then she starts sobbing. Like truly sobbing. He wraps his arms around her, and she falls into the hug. He guides her to the bathroom door to the right, and they disappear inside.

The room has almost cleared out, and I just remember who I’m actually sitting next to. Aaron leans close and whispers in my ear, “I will ruin you the way Loren ruined me.”

I gape. A mixture of shock and fear prick me at the sudden proclamation. Bad timing can’t even begin to describe tonight. I try to stand, but he grips my wrist so tight that when I jerk up, he brings me right back down.