Cover design: Wicked by Design
Cover Photo: Dollar Photo Club
Editing: CDK & Associates
Formatting: Allusion Graphics, LLC
Other books by Jennifer Miller
Pretty Little Lies
Pretty Little Dreams
Pretty Little Vows – A novella
Perfect Little Plan
Whispering Wishes
To my husband, for giving me such a great idea, and for showing me what it means to have love that’s worth fighting for.
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Acknowledgements
About the Author
“You’ll never be anything special. Do you hear me, Rowan? No one will ever love you. No man will ever stay. You’re worthless, good for nothing.”
Words I’ve heard over and over again so many times, I’ve lost count. How could I have thought today would be any different? It may be my sixteenth birthday, but the shameful truth is, my mother doesn’t care. It’s not special, not to her at least. Just another day.
When I arrive home from school she’s actually sober for once. I’m momentarily excited and relieved thinking it will be a good night and just maybe it will be what I hope. The fact that she actually remembers that today is my birthday is a good sign. When she suggests that we go ahead and leave for dinner even though my twin brother Tyson isn’t home yet, I quickly agree. I’ll agree to anything if it means she will keep her good mood. I’ve learned any hesitance, disagreement or question can make her mood change in the blink of an eye, and I really, really don’t want that to happen today of all days.
Feeling excited that she lets me pick my favorite diner, Al’s, to go to for dinner, I’m positive we are off to a great start. Maybe this birthday will be different. Maybe she’ll even take Tyson and I to get our drivers licenses this weekend so we don’t have to take the bus. I momentarily feel bad again that Tyson isn’t here because it’s his birthday too, but I just go with the flow and do what she wants me to do.
Ordering my favorite BLT sandwich with fries, I happily begin digging into my food as soon as it arrives making small talk about my day. “I saw Tyson at lunch and he seemed like he was having a good day too. His friends even sang happy birthday to him. He acted like he didn’t like it – even started punching a couple of them, but I know the truth,” I laugh.
My first warning came as she orders a beer. She drinks it quickly and promptly orders another, as the little hairs on the back of my neck rise in trepidation. Forcing myself to ignore the feeling and her drinking, I keep talking.
“Then Mia, you remember her, right? She gave me a gift and it was wrapped in really pretty blue paper that said happy birthday all over it. I tried to open it slowly because I didn’t want to rip it, but she laughed and told me to go faster. It was a book I’ve really been wanting to read. It’s the one about the girl that likes a boy only she finds out that his family isn’t what they appear; they are all vampires. Mia told me that he even sparkles in the sun, mom. Isn’t that cool? Remember, how I told you about that book?”
I’m babbling trying desperately to hold her interest. She looks at me a couple of times and nods absently, but I lose her completely when a family sitting in the booth across from us distracts her. Out of the corner of my eye I see a mother, father and two children enjoying a meal together. Upon closer inspection it appears that the boy at the table is about my age, and he has a younger sister. He parents are sitting on one side of the table, the children on the other. My mom is facing the parents and I can tell she’s taking in the couple, the envy mixed with curiosity. Want and anger settle clearly on her face.
“My gift from Erica was this bracelet,” I hold up my wrist and watch how the thin silver bracelet with the small half heart sparkles even in the poor lighting of the diner. “Isn’t it pretty? She has one that attaches to the heart; see how it’s only half? She laughed that it may be kind of immature for our age, but I don’t think so. I really love it.”
She doesn’t answer. She’s too busy flagging down the waitress to order another beer. A bad feeling churning in my stomach grows and my heart starts to beat faster. I feel tears press against the back of my eyes. I blink and look up at the ceiling to keep them in their place.
She hasn’t looked away from the family so I turn to look at them as well, too curious at what she’s finding so interesting. I stare openly, even though it’s rude, desperate to understand what it is that’s holding her attention. The man is sitting close to his wife, her hand in his on top of the table. They are listening to something their son is saying and when they laugh, they look at each other clearly passing a sharing of amusement. When the man catches me in mid-stare, my cheeks flush with embarrassment, but he gives me a soft smile. As I start to return it, I’m quickly pulled back to my reality as my mom hisses my name, “Rowan!”
Turning to her wide eyed and embarrassed at being caught, my stomach drops, painfully familiar with the tone of her voice. Her mood has officially turned and the night will be far from pleasant. She’s clearly feeling the buzz of the alcohol she’s consumed so far, and I know she’s far from finished. Ripping money out of her wallet, she throws it on the table, not caring that I haven’t finished my food, or that we haven’t received a bill. “Let’s go. Right now.”
Knowing better than to argue, I slip out of my side of the booth and wordlessly make my way out the door with my mom. I can’t help but allow myself one last look at the family over my shoulder, longing filling my heart and soul.
Gripping my arm tight enough to create a reminder in the morning, she drags me to the car. Knowing better than to cry out at the pain she’s causing, I bite my lip and walk as fast as I can. When I trip, her nails slice my arm, drawing blood. “Dammit, Rowan. You’re such a fucking klutz. Move it.”
Finally getting to the car, the minute our doors slam, she starts in. “Did you get a really good look at that family? The family that you wish you had instead of the one God gave you?”
“Mom, I was just-“
“Shut up, stupid girl. I saw the way you were looking at them. Do you think I’m stupid? You were looking at them wishing you could be with them, instead of me. Don’t you dare judge me, you stupid bitch! It’s not my fault your father left us. He didn’t want you two brats. It’s the family curse. I knew it would happen, I knew it. But I hoped… I hoped, but I was wrong. My mom warned me, but I didn’t listen.”
I remain silent. I’ve heard this so many times I’ve lost count. I find myself once again wishing for Tyson. For some reason she isn’t as harsh to me when he’s around. Not that he hasn’t heard the same thing I have over, and over, but he always does his best to protect me – a soft of buffer when it comes to our mother.
“She told me that just like her, and her mother before her, that men always leave. We aren’t worthy of love. We aren’t worthy of commitment. Our family is cursed. Men come and go, but never stay. Believe me, I’ve tried. I stupidly thought your f
ather was the one. And he would have been, but then I fucked up and got pregnant. As soon as he found out, he was gone. I should have gotten rid of you but I didn’t have the chance. He was gone the same day I told him and what the hell did it even matter at that point? At least I would have two children that have to love me. That have to stay.”
The only time I learn tidbits about my father is during her painful rants. She reveals a little bit more each time. I don’t even know his name. I know that they went to high school together, that he played basketball, and that she says he was very smart. My mom got pregnant with us right out of high school, and while he went on to college, she did not. We lived with my grandmother for a while and then jumped from house to house. Usually we’d move in with whatever man she was dating at the time – until they’d leave or she would leave because of “the curse” and then we would go off somewhere else. Always staying at my grandmother’s in between men. When my grandmother died from lung cancer, my mom moved into her house permanently. Now, even though men still come and go, at least we don’t have to go from place to place any longer.
“Did you see the way that man looked at you? He may have been with his family and looking like he cares about them, but he looked at you with lust in his eyes. I can tell you right now if his family wasn’t with him, he would have tried to have his way with you.” Her words disgust me and I know they aren’t true, but once again I know better than to argue with her. My thoughts on the subject aren’t relevant to her. “Just remember that, Rowan. Men are assholes and aren’t worthy of your love and attention, because they won’t stick around long anyway. You’re a Martin. You aren’t worthy of love any more than the Martin women before you.”
We pull into a gas station and I wait in the car as she gets out, knowing she’s going to stock up on beer. Hopefully it’s only alcohol and not drugs this time, but really, I should know better than to hope. She’s worse when she mixes the two. With alcohol she remains somewhat coherent, but when she adds the drugs, her words are harsher and she can get physically violent until she eventually seems unaware of herself and anything and anyone around her. She’ll say all kinds of things, throw things and invite men over and eagerly do inappropriate things right in front of me. Even boast about it. One time a man tried to leave her and hurt me. He had me pinned against the wall when suddenly Tyson was there with a knife in hand. The man laughed but backed off and Tyson and I left the house for several hours until they both had passed out.
Both of us spend a lot of time behind locked and closed doors when we are home. A lot of times when Tyson and I leave the house we go to the library. It’s my favorite thing to do. I love to lose myself in someone else’s world. Sometimes, I dream that I’m one of the characters that I’m reading about and that I’m far away from here.
Tyson promises me we will get out of here as soon as we turn eighteen. I hope he’s right. The thought of going somewhere new, somewhere we can start over, is one of my favorite. Starting over with just my brother and no alcohol, no drugs, and no mom. Maybe it’s wrong because she’s my mother, but I want to get away from her. I don’t want to hurt like this anymore.
Immediately feeling guilty for my thoughts, I try to give my mom a smile when she returns to the car.
“What are you smiling about? Still dreaming about what you’ll never have? When we get home, I want you to get your ass to your room. And your brother too, if that little troublemaker has decided to grace us with his presence by then. Where the hell is he anyway?”
“I’m not sure,” I lie. “He said he had to get something from his friend Jeffrey after basketball practice today.” Truth is, he’s working his after school job at the car wash. He’s saving every penny he makes so when we leave, we have money to get an apartment and live for a month or so before we have to get jobs. Or at least, that’s the plan. If my mom knew, she would take all his money and spend it on drugs and alcohol, so I make excuses whenever she’s aware enough to notice he’s not around. Sometimes I work in the library after school. They pay me too and I save every penny, dreaming of the day we can start over.
“Yeah right. He just doesn’t want to be around you anymore than I do. Even on your birthday. He probably hates the fact that he’s your twin and has to share a birthday with you.” She laughs at herself and that’s all it takes for a tear to slip from my eye. I was holding it in as tightly as I could, she doesn’t deserve my tears, but the dam has sprung a small leak at the constant pressure. I feel angry with myself. I know better than to let her see any emotion.
“Oh that’s right you big baby. Cry. Cry all you want. It’s not going to matter. News flash. No one cares.” She’s wrong. Tyson would care.
When we finally pull into the driveway, I practically throw myself out of the car and run into the house not stopping until I get to the safety of my room. Locking the door behind me, I shut out my mother’s cruel laughter and the words she yells. Walking to my bed, I stoop down and reach under it and pull out the gift that Tyson gave me this morning. It’s a travel book. Inside are thousands of places in the United States. The book talks about each. Closing my eyes, I flip through the pages until I randomly land on one and begin to read. Columbus, Ohio. I wouldn’t mind moving there. Fact is, I would move anywhere if it meant not being here.
Reaching back under my bed, I take out my old CD player. I hide all the things I don’t want my mom to find under here, she’s too lazy to check under my bed. Putting my headphones into my ears, I turn the music up loudly, and then begin to read. Flipping pages and dreaming about a new place, I use music and the captivating pictures in front of me to drown out the words that keep replaying in my mind, “No one will ever love you. You’re not worthy. You’ll never amount to anything. When God gave out looks and brains you were obviously in another line. ” Closing my eyes, another tear falls down my face, and I know full well that like it or not, the words I run from have embedded themselves in my heart and soul.
“Come on baby, I really want it.”
“I said I’m not in the mood, Jason.”
“I promise I’ll make it good for you, baby. I just really need this.”
Sighing, I rub my swollen belly. One week past my due date and I’ve never been more uncomfortable. Instead of massaging my back or rubbing my feet to bring me a bit of comfort, he’s more concerned with his own needs. Then again, I have heard that an orgasm can help kick start childbirth. When I tell Jason as much, he smiles his manipulating smile, knowing he’s about to get his way.
Several minutes later Jason is bucking and moaning while on his knees inside of me. He could give a shit about getting me off and is lost in doing whatever he needs to get himself there. I stare at the ceiling and just wait for it to be over. “Oh yeah baby. I’m coming. Yeahhhhh.”
Jason falls to his side next to me trying to catch his breath, oblivious to the fact that I just let him use me, and I turn away from him, curl up with my body pillow and close my eyes praying for sleep to take me. I sigh, pretty sure that to start labor, I would have actually needed to orgasm. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve had an orgasm with this man, and when it happened it was because I helped myself. Sighing, I do my best to let go of my thoughts and relax.
Something wakes me.
Feeling a strong kick from the baby as he or she shifts, I feel the urge to go to the bathroom. Shuffling my way there, I make my way to the toilet and squat. Before I can be seated, water pours out between my legs. Furrowing my eyebrows, I stand back up. Nothing. Then as I sit back down again, water comes from between my legs again. I am not urinating. Holy hell, my water broke!
Pulling my pants back up, I make my way back to the bedroom as more water falls between my legs. Quickly going to the closet, I change my clothes and then grab my over night bag. Making my way back to the bed, I shake the snoring oblivious man lying in it.
“Jason? Jason!” He groans and turns over, so I shake harder. “Please wake up! My water broke. It’s time.”
He turns to
me, stretches, then opens an eye and squints, “What?”
“It’s time. My water broke.”
Both eyes open now and he looks me up and down. “What? Are you sure?”
Any other time, I might have laughed at such a stupid question. Key words? Might have. “Yes, I’m sure,” I spit out between gritted teeth.
He looks at me disbelievingly and I have an almost irresistible urge to smack him up side his head, “How are you sure?”
“Seriously, Jason? I have water pouring down my legs and it sure as hell isn’t pee. Now please get up so we can go to the hospital.”
“Don’t pregnant chicks have bladder control problems?” When I just glare at him, he sighs, “Alright, just a second.”
He takes longer than a second. He leisurely rubs his eyes, sits up and rolls his head around his neck like we have all the time in the world. Yes, it’s my first pregnancy and this will likely take hours, blah, blah, but I don’t care. I want to get a move on and I’m trying desperately to keep my mouth shut and not yell at him, because I know that won’t get me anywhere. So instead, I count silently in my head trying to be patient. I do that sometimes when I feel anxious. The counting sooths me in some way I don’t quite understand.
I’ve known from the beginning Jason’s less than thrilled about my pregnancy. It was crystal clear when upon hearing about the baby growing in my body, his first response was one of laughter, thinking I was joking. Next came disbelief, then when he was shown irrefutable proof, his words to me were, “Take care of it.”
I adamantly refused and expected him to leave me. Yes, I was scared, because no, it certainly wasn’t planned. In truth, I never pictured Jason as the father of my children. It wasn’t like this was the ideal situation for me either. But, never the less, it happened, and ‘taking care of it’ wasn’t an option for me.
Staring at him blatantly as he saunters into the bathroom, I begin tapping my foot in impatience. When I hear water running in the shower, I let out a sound of disbelief. Peering into the bathroom, I see him feeling the temperature of the bath water. “What the hell are you doing?”
Fighting Envy Page 1