One Small Thing(42)

“He can be. Most of the time I don’t think he realizes he’s being an ass, though. He really thinks he’s being helpful.”

“Why’d your mom marry him?”

“Because he’s not an ass to her,” Chase says, and he sounds reluctant to admit it. “He treats her like a queen.” Even more reluctantly, he goes on. “Some of the nastier people in Darling think he just wanted a trophy wife, but he doesn’t treat her like one. He’s good to her.”

“But he’s not good to her son,” I accuse, waving my hand around the barren room.

“I told you, I picked this place. The mayor isn’t going to stash his stepson in the basement. Bad for the image.” Chase shrugs. “I’m not some tortured character in a bad soap opera. He treats me fine. Feeds me, clothes me, puts a roof over my head. That’s more than what my own father was willing to do. In exchange, I stay out of Brian’s way.”

If this is really Chase’s choice, his guilt runs deeper than I ever imagined. That he would imprison himself down here in the basement of this huge mansion isn’t normal, but I don’t think he’d listen to me if I told him that. “At least you have some privacy.” A wave of annoyance washes over me. “I got home from school to find this stupid note from my mother.” I mimic her higher-pitched voice. “We’re trusting you to stay inside.”

Rather than the laugh I was hoping for, Chase’s blue eyes darken.

“What?” I say defensively.

He gives another shrug.

“No, tell me. What?” I stand up and cross my arms. “You think I’m overreacting that my parents won’t let me step foot outside the house?”

Chase shakes his head, but I don’t think he’s shaking his head no. It’s more a gesture of disapproval.

“Ugh, would you please say something?” I demand.

“Nah.”

“Why the hell not?” I stomp toward him and poke him in the chest.

He doesn’t even flinch. “Because you’re not going to like what I have to say.”

“Try me,” I challenge.

“Fine.” He snatches my index finger, gently twists my hand around and presses my own finger against my chest. “There you go, Beth. That’s your problem.”

“What do you mean?”

“You,” he says simply. “You’re the problem.”

My jaw drops. “Excuse me? I am not the problem!”

Chase lets go of my finger. “I told you, you wouldn’t like it.”

I fold my arms again. “I just don’t understand how you can possibly say I’m the problem in my house. There’s protective, there’s overprotective, and then there’s my parents,” I say angrily. “They took away my bedroom door!”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why’d they remove your door? What happened before they did it?”

I hollow my cheeks in frustration. “I snuck out to that party in Lex Heights.”

Chase’s smug little shrug makes me glare at him.

“Are you saying I deserved to lose my door?”

“Nope.” He’s quiet for a moment before hopping up on the desk and resting his forearms on his thighs. “This kid in juvie, Darren, used to have this saying—you teach people how to treat you.”

Although I’m still irritated by his accusations, I find myself sitting back down to listen to him.

“There was this other guy—Russ, a punk-ass dealer who always antagonized the guards, talked back to them, caused trouble. He got knocked around on a daily basis, and he’d get punished for doing the same shit that other guys never even got a slap on the wrist for doing. And Russ would constantly bitch about it on the basketball court. So one day Darren got fed up of hearing it and told him to shut the fuck up. ‘You teach people how to treat you,’ Darren said. If you keep causing trouble and stirring up shit, then they’ll treat you like a troublemaker and shit disturber.”

My anger slowly ebbs, replaced with a rush of remorse when I understand what he’s getting at.

“If you act like a stupid, reckless kid, then your parents are gonna treat you like one,” Chase says bluntly. “End of story, Beth.”

He’s right. But... “I didn’t act like a stupid, reckless kid after Rachel died. Or the year after, or the year after that. It’s only these last few months that I’ve been doing dumb shit,” I admit. “They’ve just... They’ve gone too far. What they’re doing lately is beyond inappropriate. It’s insane.”

“Yeah? And has acting out shown them the light? Has it changed their behavior?”

“No,” I say reluctantly.

“Exactly, because you can’t control or change how your parents act. You can only control and change how you respond.”

“I can’t stand their overprotectiveness anymore, Chase. I just can’t.”

His face conveys zero sympathy. “Guess what, Beth, there’s tons of crap you’re not going to be able to stand in your life. Are you going to sneak out to parties and get drunk or do some crazy rebellious thing every time you find yourself in a crappy situation?”

I swallow.

“You want my advice?”