Mama was silent. Riley looked her up and down. “You remember that guy, right? God? The one who said he had a day for all the proud and lofty, on which they would be humbled? Guess what, bitch . . . the day is on your fucking Google calendar, because I hacked that too.”
Mama had drawn up on herself as if about to pounce, the tumbler twisted up in her arms. She stared savagely at the paperwork on the desk as if assailed by the scent of burning flesh.
Riley took her cue, retrieving her phone and the several external drives she’d used. “Sign the paperwork. Deliver it to me at the facility tomorrow by ten. If you don’t do this, I will expose you for the fraud you are.”
“I’ll have you arrested for theft,” Mama hissed.
“Yeah? So what? I’ve already been down that road and if you think I wouldn’t happily do two years in county for your daughter, you’re fucking stupid. And by then, the damage will be done and I get a day in court to do even more. You on the other hand . . . you’ve never been called on your bullshit. You have no idea how bad it can get. You wanna find out? Test me.”
At the office door, she stopped and tried one last time. Not because Mama deserved it, or would ever change, but because Riley had made a decision about the kind of person she would be from that moment forward.
It wasn’t enough to end shit once. She had to end it forever.
“What’s stupid is, none of this would have happened if you hadn’t been so caught up in crushing your daughter’s identity. You just had to leave the computer as bait. Your psyche just fucking relied on that like an addiction—what you got out of controlling her meant more to you than good common sense. Because of that . . . you lost. That’s some Greek Tragedy level shit, right there.”
A whistling sound was her only warning. Riley ducked just as the crystal tumbler exploded on the wall near her head. The force sent shards in every direction and practically converted the bourbon into a mist, but Riley’s armor was impervious.
“Meet me outside the facility at ten. And if you ever come near us again, I will turn every single detail of what I have over to the press. You and your husband will lose everything you ever cared about.”
As she sat in the circle, El saw more similarities than differences. A few of the others had nervous ticks, scabs where they’d clawed themselves. One had obvious bindings around her wrists. Every woman stared at their shoes or rolled their heads to the side, refusing to acknowledge any of it. Almost every single one had a story of abuse and neglect, remnants of the girls they used to be. And yet, they were still girls. The law kept them here, the orderlies spoke to them like infants, and stimulation and mental exercise were strictly controlled.
For their own good—El heard repeated at least five times a day, but where was the dignity? What was good for them should grant them at least that.
“Elyrra, you haven’t shared yet.”
She took a deep breath. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”
“What’s a’matter? We ain’t good enough?” one young lady snarled.
El had grown accustomed to her outbursts. She sighed and shook her head. “Has nothing to do with these ladies. It’s you I don’t like.”
The therapist didn’t bat an eye. “Talk about that, then.”
“No point, because to you it’s a symptom of something. Really, I just don’t like you, because you’re keeping me here against my will.”
“It’s for—”
“No. It isn’t. These cuts? I didn’t do them. My mother did. And the medications you say I took? They did it to me.”
The therapist tilted her head. “Who are they?”
“The four men who kidnapped me from the tattoo parlor where I got this. Go ahead, call the owner. She was there. But no, you won’t, because I’m just a girl who has lost her mind. Never listened to me before I supposedly lost my mind, but so what.”
“You sound as if you feel very helpless.”
El couldn’t help her laugh. It erupted and echoed over the walls, agitating a few of the others. “No. I don’t feel helpless, that’s why I’m here. I know how to deal with my mother, and she knows it too. Every time she does something to me, she is teaching me just how strong I need to be and just what I need to do. No matter how many times she tries to hurt me, I am going to leave and keep going. Until she stops or dies. That’s terrifying to her. So, here I am.”
A few faces lifted, one wearing the ghost of a smile. In them, El saw reflections of the girl she had been, the one before Riley. The one before she had focused her thoughts on deciphering Riley’s confidence, her strength, her clever mind. The girl before that revelation that life could be different. Now these women were looking at her the same way, like they’d never seen anything like her before. Especially not in the mirror.
That was the real tragedy.
“Tell us about—”
“I’m finished sharing, thank you.”
“Elyrra, you know that therapy is participation. We’re not here to tell you what’s wrong with you. We’re here to give you support for anything you might be feeling.”
“I don’t trust any support that comes from the hand of my abuser.”
The woman pushed her glasses up her nose. “Your mother?”
“Did you hear me say that she cut me? While I was asleep?”
“Why would she do that?”
The tiny skeptical smile was so subtle the doctor likely didn’t even know she’d done it, but it was enough to put El’s teeth on edge. She’d grown tired of the subdued religious rhetoric, the refusal to embrace her name, the way some of the girls were treated when they discussed their gender. El hated it, and even if these doctors were actually wonderful people whom she was seeing the worst possible light, the fact that they wouldn’t listen to her was enough to assure her that she was thinking clearly.
“Probably so that she’d have a legal reason to index me into this fucking place.”
“That’s a serious allegation.”
“You know what I’m just realizing is hilarious?”
The doctor looked around the circle. Every girl was watching, something El was about to use against her.
“Everyone always tells the victim it’s serious. We were the first people to know that! You get that, right? We were the ones who suffered, who bled, who built up the courage to speak about what was being done to us, and instead of turning to the abusers and saying this is serious, you look at us. You look at the victim and ask them if they know what ruin they’re about to bring to someone who hurt them. Do you think that’s right?”
Agreement was passing through the circle in a wave. The therapist glanced at the clock. She was about to use time as an escape. Well, then El would make it brief.
“Every person in this room is a woman and is in search of mental health, two of the most victimized groups. Some of them are people of color, some are disabled. More layers of victimization. Every single one of us ends up here, in a sharing circle where we’re told it’s serious. Yeah, it’s serious. So serious you don’t take any of it seriously. And you expect us to trust you? To get better?”
A few of the patients had begun to rock. The ones who had difficulty with social settings began responding to the tension with ticks and laughter. The woman who’d first criticized her let out a guffaw and flapped her hands.
“Thank you! I hate that! I hate that word.”
“Yes . . . well, you’ve made an excellent point Ely—”
“My name is El, and if I have to tell you again, you won’t like the name I start calling you.”
She fixed the woman with a stern glare as a giggle went through the gathering.
More than once, the doctor had let group therapy run over to address the trailing revelations of the circle. Today, however, she dismissed it immediately, and gathering her things, left the patients to the orderlies. El was escorted to her room to await her afternoon lunch tray and the cup of pills.
The first two days, she’d swallowed them. On the third, she le
arned to vomit. They were perhaps necessary for those with serious troubles and difficulty with self-restraint, but as El sat on her bed, she knew it wasn’t restraint that was her dilemma. It was the opposite. She needed to stand up for herself.
Even as she calmed herself down from the encounter, she found her palms sweaty and her heart racing. She’d gotten better at framing words, at spitting out precisely what she meant to say, though the emotions were turbulent. If she had a little longer, she might be able to get someone to listen to her. She just had to remain calm and patient, and hold tight to the rational.
Nothing was more grounding than the memory of Riley’s touch, her smile, the subtle diffidence in her affection. Nothing was as joyful as Riley revealing she knew how to make napalm. Nothing was more rational than Riley’s story of her journey cross-country and all the lengths she’d gone to just to track El down.
Somewhere out there, Riley was still stomping through the dirt, doing whatever it took. El had to trust that, and even if she never saw that beautiful face again, even if Riley never came for her, it didn’t matter, because Riley existed, and that was enough to teach El all she needed to know about the world.
The door opened. El stood up beside the table, but the orderly didn’t have a tray. Instead, he waved her out into the hall.
“Someone is here to see you.”
“I thought visiting time was in the afternoon.”
The man said nothing. El stepped out into the hallway, surprised that he didn’t follow closely on her heels. Near the nurses’ station, a uniformed staff member with a terse demeanor drew her into an office. Several of the doctors were standing around the walls, all of them talking at once. Her appearance silenced the debate. A person seated in the chair turned around, but El recognized her before their eyes even met.
Her fists clenched. It was the first time in days she’d looked her mother in the eye, and while she would have expected a return to meekness, all she felt was contempt.
“I have nothing to say to this woman.” Mama’s mouth fell open, but El cut her off. “I don’t ever want to see her again. If she comes, I won’t visit with her.”
She turned on her heel, but the orderly blocked the door.
“Elyrra, your mother has signed the paperwork to take you home.”
El scowled at her feet. It probably didn’t feel as good for Mama not to be the torturer. It was probably the only thing she didn’t want to pay someone to do.
The doctor cleared his throat. “We’ve told her we don’t think it’s in your best interests. If you did hurt yourself, then your health is in jeopardy. If you didn’t hurt yourself, then . . .”
Mama let out a huff. She seemed impatient, and her usually perfect makeup and flawless condescension were very different. She looked as if she hadn’t slept in days. Something about her wandering, glassy gaze told El that it wasn’t motherly concern that brought her here. She was nervous and, remarkably, sober.
Mama fidgeted in her seat as if looking for the right words. “I’ve told them that I’ve arranged an alternative treatment for you but—”
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Teeth clenched, Mama managed a pained smile. It was clear she didn’t like being the one in the room with the least control of the situation, and for a moment, El took pleasure in watching her squirm.
“You wouldn’t be with me. Riley is going to take you to treatment.”
El sucked down air. For a moment, she could swear she’d misheard. “What?”
Mama gave a little shake of her shoulder. “Riley is waiting downstairs.”
“Prove it.”
Waving toward the window, Mama fell oddly silent. She was the shadow of her former self, and didn’t even criticize when El ran to the opening and looked out. Parked in the lot was the old bike, with Riley’s helmet chained in place.
“Elyrra?”
El turned back to the expectant doctors, putting a damper on her elation with pointed stares. This was a line. She either had to take back the accusations she’d made of her mother in order to be released into her care, or she had to hold her ground and stay put. If she held to it, what would happen? If she pushed and pushed and went to court, she’d just end up in foster care, and that was assuming it was all accomplished by her eighteenth birthday. If she took back all the serious allegations, her mother would not only get away with it, she’d have medical records that called El a compulsive liar.
She turned on Mama, examining her sunken features carefully before she responded. “You want me to go with her?”
“That’s the arrangement, yes.” Mama nodded curtly, her eyes on her nails. “It’s all been worked out.”
El’s mouth twitched. She’d never seen her mother defeated, but this must be what it looked like. The price to be paid for such triumph was the lie. People always said the truth brought freedom. They didn’t know Mama.
For now, El could be a liar.
“I believe . . . uh . . . I think that cutting incident may have been a misunderstandin’.” Mama interrupted, just as she opened her mouth. “That’s why I’m here.”
The group therapist was frowning, El’s story fresh in her mind from the circle. “How can self-harm be a misunderstanding?”
“My attorney has the matter. I don’t believe El did it to herself, as I’ve said.” Mama gave the woman a snide look. “She was drugged and assaulted, and we will handle it. Now, may I please remove my daughter?”
El was dismissed from the room. Down the hall, she found another window and searched eagerly for other signs of Riley. What had she done? What had she said to beat Mama? It had to be so clever! It had to be magical. Riley was too spellbinding for it not to be.
Hyper-vigilant to her mother’s moods, she heard the elevated tones of what had always been called a discussion. For the first time in her life, she was glad that Mama always got her way.
Well . . . almost always.
The door opened. Mama swept by her and hooked her arm. On their way through the various checkpoints, Mama said nothing to her, instead choosing to focus on the dial of her watch. El was nearly shoved down the steps, and when she put her foot down and wrenched her arm free, her mother looked as if she would just as soon scalp El as save her.
“Elyrra, I don’t have time—”
“Hey there, Snow.”
El looked up. There, haloed in sunlight from the open door, stood a victorious Riley. The emotions hit her like a blow to the stomach, robbing her of the words she needed to say. El was left blinking back tears and trembling.
Riley kicked away from the doorway and took her hand. “Sick duds. You going for Silent Hill Chic?”
She flung her arms around Riley’s neck, burying her thoughts in the scent and the feel of her skin. “I don’t know what that is.”
“It’s cool.” In her ear, Riley let out a soft breath. “I missed you.”
“Not as much as I missed you.”
“I don’t know. I was pretty jacked. I’ve been pounding energy drinks and chewing my nails. I was so worried.”
“Oh, puh-lease,” Mama snorted. “Can you not hump my daughter like a horny—”
Riley lifted her head off El’s shoulder to comment, but El snapped before she could. “Don’t talk to her like that. Ever. Do you understand me, Mama?”
Before El’s eyes, Riley’s fierce mask slipped. She nestled her forehead back in place and let El be strong on her behalf.
“Don’t talk like that to—”
“Take a walk, Mama, or I swear you’ll regret it.”
Surprisingly, with a huff, Mama obliged, wandering off in a meandering trail of unfinished invectives and stuttered nonsense.
Giggling, El leaned back and took in the view. There she was, Riley Vanator, in all her smug glory, with some added ornamentation. Sticking out her left arm, Riley presented the replica of the snowflake tattoo.
“Happy was so unhappy she did it for half price.”
El’s face was sore from the str
ength of her smile and warm with contentment. “Where’s Aella? What happened after . . . I don’t even know what day it is!”
Riley kissed her suddenly and possessively. Surrendering to the communion of it, El forgot where she was. She forgot about her mother. She forgot she’d just been locked behind bulletproof glass windows. Parting, El felt as if the last several weeks had all been some kind of hallucination. She would scarcely have believed it if not for the signs on her body.
“I actually have no idea what day it is either. I’ve been a bit preoccupied.”
El laughed. Her mother had gone to her car and was sitting in the front seat, banging her hands on the steering wheel and waiting impatiently. With a knowing shake of her head, she nudged Riley.
“What did you have to promise her?”
“That I wouldn’t destroy her. I’m giving back the keys to the kingdom.”
“What?”
“I’ll explain later.” Riley looked her over. “Are you okay?”
“I’m hurt, but since when is that news?”
Pulling her close, Riley drew her into a kind of meditation. Foreheads touching, fingers laced and clenched, they stood there breathing.
“Go say what you need to say,” Riley whispered. “You never have to see her again. She’s never going to hurt you again, okay? So say what you need to.”
“I love you.” El smiled. “That’s all I need to say.”
Riley broke the prayer to look her in the eye. The stare was so deep and intense, El found she could scarcely think as her soul was turned over carefully and then installed back in her body.
“Are you forgiving her?”
El looked across the grounds at her mother’s car. “No. She doesn’t deserve anything from me, least of all the permission to blame me for what she did to herself. She gets apathy. That’s it.”
Love Under Glasse Page 31