“What are you trying to say, Maddox?” My eyes were trained on him. His weren’t trained on me. This wasn’t good. “Look at me, Maddox,” I whispered, and even then, he still didn’t.
“Before he’ll write me into the will,” he said, his voice a lot steadier than my shaking hands. He paused and scratched at a spot on his head then swiped his hands down his face.
“Just spit it out, already,” I demanded. All the cool was gone from my voice and I pushed away, putting some distance between us. If he was going to take a sledgehammer to my heart, I didn’t exactly need to do him the honor of being close enough to make it easy.
“He wants proof that I’m not the same hotheaded asshole I’ve always been,” Maddox finally said. “I need to be dedicated, determined, and committed and nothing screams ‘commitment’ like a man-ho turned married man.”
My lips parted but no sound came out. Maddox searched my face and the longer it took to find words, the more he shut down. His hand reached for mine and I pulled away. When his touch left my skin it felt as if some tether had been cut and I was cast adrift.
My eyes squeezed shut.
“Why are you here, Maddox? Why did you sign up for the show?” I’d asked.
“I came here for you,” he had said.
Liar. Liar. Fucking liar.
I felt sick to my stomach and I didn’t realize I’d spoken aloud until he replied.
“I’m here because he gave me six months to find a wife and start a family,” Maddox said, shattering the lie he’d told me back then with the truth. “Westbrook isn’t just a brand, it’s a bloodline.” He grinned bitterly and I surged to my feet, unable to listen to another word.
“I know you’re too scared to admit when you want something, so you make excuses as to why you can’t have it.” His words seemed to mock me. “That won’t work with me. With us. This isn’t a game for me, Cornelia. I didn’t come here for a car, a paycheck, or a vacation around the world.” At least none of that was a lie, though it didn’t exactly have the sickly romantic meaning that it did back then when he said it.
“You son of a bitch,” I spat, fighting the tears that were trying desperately to drown my eyes.
“Would it have mattered?”
“What?”
“If someone else had walked down that aisle. If you’d ended up marrying Phee or Sheila, would it have mattered?”
“No.”
The room blurred, and I realized with a twist of the knife in my gut that I wasn’t keeping the tears away. They flooded my eyes, cheeks, neck. No matter how hard I tried to pull it together I just kept falling apart over and over and over again.
The scary part, however, was that this was just the beginning. I was the kind of girl who, when dug into a hole, took forever and a half to pull herself out. The kind of girl whose past really stayed with her. The kind of girl who actually needed therapy for a broken heart. Thick on the outside, thin around the heart.
“Cornelia.”
Cornelia. Not Sunshine. Not Lei. I was grateful for the lapse because I was no longer sure he deserved to speak the words any more than I deserved to hear them.
“Were you ever planning on telling me?”
“No.”
“How long were you planning on pulling this thing through?”
“For as long as it took to convince my father that I deserved to inherit the company,” he said flatly, knowing better than to sugarcoat anything right now. At least the answer was honest. I could give him credit for that much.
“No wonder you never gave a shit about the show.” I swiped viciously at the tears on my cheeks. “At the end of the day, you win either way.”
“Not now,” he said and I felt the cracks in me open into a big gaping hole. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at Maddox.
I turned away, my knees weak as I tried to stand. But even that wasn’t as hard as trying to carry the heaviness that had become my heart. All the moments we’d shared together flashed before my eyes and I wanted nothing more than to send them up in flames.
Marcus might have spat on my heart and stomped his feet all over it. But at least he did it openly, to my face, making sure that I didn’t mistake his hatred for me for something else.
Maddox…he was playing a whole different game. A game fit for adults with steel around their hearts and venom in their veins. A game played by the rich. Not something I’d ever thought about or wanted to dip my feet in, but here I was, the butt of some stupid fucking joke.
“What would have happened once you were signed onto the will?” I asked.
Maddox’s lips parted as he prepared to give an answer, but then I decided that no, I didn’t want to hear what he had to say. The truth was a sharp clawed bitch I didn’t have the strength the fight right now.
One more look at Robert and I could see the look that just about everyone in America would wear once the show aired. Poor, pathetic, Cornelia, so far out of her league. Can’t believe she thought this would lead to some happily ever after. Can’t believe she thought a man like Maddox would ever fall for her.
They were all wrong. I made sure to fix my gaze on Robert’s. “Fuck you,” I hissed, then spun to face the camera, making sure America knew that if they thought the things Robert thought, then my ‘fuck you’ extended to them as well. Because no, as much as I was hurting and as much as I felt like a fool, this wasn’t a poor me situation.
Maddox was the asshole.
Maddox was the one who deserved pity.
It was one thing not being able to find love. It was a whole other thing being incapable of loving. And so yeah, maybe I had a big heart, and maybe I was optimistic, but at least I saw colors in the world that had nothing to do with the bullshit glitz of gold, gold, gold. Evidently, you can have a boat filled with cash and still be a miserable little fuck.
I spun and started charging away, my heels clanking as they hit the tile.
“Cornelia,” Robert’s voice came. Once and then twice. Again and again.
Maddox didn’t say a damn thing.
Ignoring Robert’s anxious shouts, I hurried from the living room and up the stairs, eager to escape the mocking eyes, but knowing I never could. At least not for long.
Kids on the block
I’m in the house even before the cop has handed Cornelia her cell phone. The professionalism of the cops in this part of town are very worthy of being questioned. Or perhaps I’m just not familiar with the way any of this is meant to go.
They’re not handling this like a murder, after all. I mean, it’s not like they have a reason to. I’ve played a role that didn’t make me seem even a little bit guilty and Cornelia...well, she looks like a good girl. Oozes of one too.
If there was some kinda funny business going on, I’m sure the cops would be inclined to believe that she’d be chirping the truth like a fucking canary. Needless to say, there is no hesitation from the cop when I rush to the front door and push my way into the house. Damage control needs to be done and I need to stay at least a few steps ahead of them if that is going to be the case.
I have Cornelia to thank for even allowing this to be possible, of course. Without her holding the cop back outside, he’d be right here beside me, witnessing the needles on the counter and the mother who is more zombie than she is human.
Sucking in a deep breath, I look past her and tackle the counter first. There are no needles in her vein, though the content of the needles have long taken hold of everything inside of her blood stream.
I grab a bag from beneath the kitchen counter and scoop every syringe and every scrap of paper, foil, drugs, inside of the bag before shoving it into a drawer. The house looks like someone turned it upside down and spun it faster than a 100 mile per minute wind. There are stains dotting just about every inch of carpet and trash bags in the corner. The place used to look a lot better than this when we were kids. Back then, Sara had the energy to step in where my mother did not.
Every once in a while, one of my sister’s
cleaning spells would hit and she’d scrub this place from top to bottom. As she grew older, she adapted more of our mother’s ways than any of us would have ever hoped - or saw coming. Yes, sometimes she’d clean, but it wasn’t like it was before. The same goes for the bedroom that we shared. Back then, she was meticulous about where everything was. It was our space and what we did with our space mattered more than what my mother and my stepfather did with the rest of the house. Even that dissipated. Though, not to the degree that the rest of the house did. I still pulled my weight in the bedroom, employing the tactics that my sister had so long ago instilled in me.
“Mom,” I say to the lifeless figure on the couch. Her eyes move. Not in my direction or in any particular direction at all, they just move. And she does that thing with her jaw where it looks like she’s chewing on a jawbreaker. Just the sight of it breaks my heart all over again.
“Mom,” I repeat, my voice soft, my tone shaky. I want her to know that I’m here. I want her to know what’s happening. I want her to fucking feel something. God knows, I don’t have the right to because I am the cause of all of this, but it feels like at least a little justice will be done if my mother can grieve for her daughter the way that a mother is supposed to.
My mother doesn’t respond.
“Mom,” I try again, this time shaking her just a little.
“Marky boy,” she says and a part of my heart sings at the realization that yes, today, at least there’s a part of her still in there. Not enough to hold her up in the eyes of the cop as some kind of upstanding citizen. Not even enough for her to really grasp the severity of the situation, but at least there’s hope that the drugs will wear off soon enough and then she can hear me, really hear me.
I make a mental note to get rid of the drugs completely. Flush them down the fucking toilet if that’s what it takes. Maybe I’ll even scavenge around in her bedroom. See if I can find fifty bucks, book a room at Finny Jane’s motel and clean her up just for the day. Just until she understands that Sara is dead and then... I dunno, the rest is up to her, really.
Outside, I hear the sound of a vehicle. I don’t have to look to know that it’s Cornelia’s mother. It means that I haven’t got much time in here by myself with my mother. A thought runs through my mind and my heart squeezes just that much tighter. What do cops do with addicts? There are no drugs present as things are, though if one were to cut open my mother’s veins an entire county could likely get high off her blood.
Surely they won’t lock a woman up for being high when her daughter just died. Right? I fucking hope so. But the house... will they search the house? I’m panicking now. I’m not really sure what the fuck to do.
A knock on the door steals my attention. I don’t have to move to open it, though, because the cop does the honors himself, carefully easing his way in. When his eyes meet mine, there’s a question in there and I know exactly what it is.
I shake my head at him, tears threatening to flood my eyes all over again. What I see on his face when he draws nearer, is pity.
“She had a bit much to drink,” I say defensively. I’m not sure if he buys it because the expression on his face gives nothing away. Deep down, though, I know damn well that he’s very clear on the differences between a drunk and a heroin addict.
“Maybe you should let her sleep it off before you tell her,” he suggests.
I nod, then dare to meet his eyes, remembering all the codes that were being sung through the radio in his car.
Steeling armor around my heart, I force my lips to speak a question that I’m pretty sure I don’t want the answer to. “Did you find her?” I ask.
One Mississippi.
Two Mississippi.
Three Mississippi.
“No,” he says and the pounding of my heart lessens a little. “But we’re still looking.” Reaching forward, he touches a hand to my shoulder and squeezes gently. “We’ll find your sister, Marcus. Our men are good. They know what they’re doing.” It’s a lie of course. Nothing like this has ever happened here. They haven’t a clue how wide to sail or how deep to dive. Still, I don’t let him know the lack of faith that I have in him and his team. After all, what right do I have? None. None at all.
“I’m gonna step out for a little,” he says, reaching into the front pocket of his neatly pressed shirt. “But if you need anything. Anything at all -” he doesn’t finish his sentence, but instead, allows the offer to hang.
“Thanks,” I say, taking the card from his fingers and scanning over the name, but not much more. Joseph. Such a righteous name. Something from the bible, I’m sure. It seems almost cruel. That a man with the name of Jesus’ father should offer a murderer like me his assistance and look so genuine while doing it.
He nods and stands to leave, but lingers for just a moment longer. “Is it just you and your mom?” he asks and I take note of the way that he doesn’t say my sister. After all, she’s not exactly with us anymore. Fuck. What the hell have I done?
I shake my head, but don’t elaborate.
“When’s your dad getting home? Maybe I can come by again, make it a little easier on you to break the news?”
I shake my head again. “Stepdad,” I say. “But...” He waits for me to continue, but I can’t exactly find the words to express what I want to say. A shallow breath enters my lungs and I’m surprised by how much it burns. “I’ll tell him,” I say.
“Are you sure?” he asks.
I nod. “I think its best if he hears it from me.”
Chapter Four
I spent the next three days living like a thief in the place I was supposed to call my temporary home. It was only during the stillness of the day and in the bowels of night that I dared leave, sneaking away to grab new stock to keep myself from starving to a near death.
By day two, I was all out of tears, but still not nearly emotionally strong enough to face Maddox or anyone else in the house for that matter. When day three came, I at least opened the door to Phee and listened while she promised that everything would eventually be okay. Deep down, however, I wasn’t sure if I believed her. Not only because it didn’t feel like this wrong could be righted, but also because this was a competition after all. She’d said so herself.
Day four came and I felt like I was going mad. Solitary confinement, as it would turn out, was not quite the thing for me. So, I slapped some makeup on and put a brave foot forward as I tread through the halls. I should have known better than to think the world would ever shift in my favor.
Robert was the first to approach me – because he was the first person I saw when I wandered the halls. He didn’t come to me with an apology, however. Instead, he let loose his urgency to move forward. My locking myself away for one day was okay, two days, sure, but by the third and fourth day he was growing anxious that I wouldn’t come out of the shell I’d built around myself. I’d signed a contract and in the contract I’d pretty much signed away my rights.
“We need to move forward with the show,” he told me, “we only have a few more weeks to wrap things up and –”
“Maybe you should have considered that before you went fishing for a way to break my heart,” I snapped, though somehow managing to keep the fake smile I’d plastered on my face in place. Just in case there was a camera.
He stiffened a little and offered a smile just as void of glee as mine was. “I’m not responsible for the secrets Maddox keeps,” he said firmly.
“You think I’m making an excuse for Maddox? I’m not. I’m just saying that what you’re doing here is a show, yes. You want views and ratings and all of that shit and in your search for that you seem to forget that you’re dealing with actual, living, breathing, human beings.”
“I’m sorry, Cornelia,” he said and at least this time, he had the decency to look like he meant it. “This isn’t the kind of thing you can’t move forward from, though.” He wasn’t wrong and fool that I am, I gobbled up his words, not realizing just how right I was in my initial thoughts.
Everything Robert did was for the ratings. No matter the apology and no matter the sweetness of his voice when he said some of the things that he said, we were not people to him. We were just pawns in the game he was playing in order to hit gold.
So yes, fool that I was, I ate a spoonful of pride and bravery and told him that I’d see things through. Just because of the contract. And because I wasn’t a coward. This show would come to a close and I would show all the girls out there who, like me, lacked confidence every once in a while, that we could shake off the hurt and come out stronger. And that was exactly what I intended to do when Robert told me about the dinner that had been planned for tonight.
I wouldn’t shy away from confronting Maddox then. Somewhere inside of me there was a strong woman. A woman who knew that Maddox’s fuck up would cost him greatly. Maybe sometime not far from now, he’d find another fool to sign her name alongside his and pose as his wife, helping him in the quest to secure his inheritance. But love, he’d lack it for as long as it took him to realize that money does not make a happy man.
Leaving Robert behind, I entered the kitchen and did what I came downstairs to do – have breakfast without the white of my bedroom walls staring back at me. I even got as far as scrambling eggs and frying up some bacon. By the time I was done licking my plate clean, my mood wasn’t in the questionable state it was in when I first sat down. I was actually feeling okay, ready and prepared for whatever life decided to send flying my way.
I cleared my plate from the kitchen counter and plopped the dishwasher open. Behind me, a soft voice lifted to my ears.
“She lives.”
“She does,” I answered, spinning around to face Phee. She had one hand rested on the counter, her body leaning to the left. There was no questioning just how much she felt like she was walking on eggshells around me.
Morally Imperfect: A Bully Romance (The Bully Project Book 2) Page 4