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One Vibrant Hue by Nicole Tillman
“Haley Rose Marshall, get your butt down here!”
Since my battle-ax of a mother could neither see nor hear me, I rolled my eyes and let out an exaggerated sigh. Had I been in her presence, that tiny flip of my ocular muscles would have resulted in a smack to the side of my head. But luckily, I was safely tucked into the cushy comfort of my dormer window, staring at a pile of books in my lap while trying to decide which paperbacks would get to come with me on this new adventure and which would be left to collect dust in my mother's attic.
Anything by Austen, Poe, or Riordan was shoved into a tote bag without a second thought while I reluctantly returned the rest of my beloved novels to the shelf. How long they would last there, I didn't know. Something told me that by the time I came back home to visit, my room would no longer be my room. It would be an office, or an extra closet, or - God forbid - a home gym.
My mother was the kind of woman that flat out refused to notice what was going on around her. Or she just didn't care; I couldn't be sure. Either way, she was in a constant haze of her own superiority, her own needs, her own grand schemes. She was always changing, always looking for ways to make her own life better, even if it came at the expense of those around her. Including her own daughter.
She hadn't always been that way. For the majority of my cookie-cutter childhood, she was a sweet, soft-spoken, godly woman who was the light of my father's life; his one true love. But over the years, she slowly drifted- or 'discovered herself' as she liked to put it, until living with her was unbearable.
Gone were her demure linen slacks and button ups. Gone was her carefully styled blonde hair. Gone was the simple gold jewelry my father had surprised her with on their tenth wedding anniversary.
After all that was tossed in the trash, the woman standing before us was someone I didn't recognize and someone my father couldn't tolerate. Bit by bit she changed, until one day I looked up to find a woman in black leggings, an Aztec printed tunic, wavy brunette hair, and stacks of multicolored bangles crawling up her arms.
I didn't see a problem with my mother's new image. Actually, I thought it suited her. But with every superficial change, she grew colder and more distant. Dinner no longer appeared on the table at six sharp. Sometimes, dinner didn't appear at all. Her beloved rose garden withered. Her quilting group from church eventually stopped calling. Welcome home hugs were abandoned. And talk of future plans came to an abrupt halt.
In the span of just six months, she shut down. She stopped listening. Stopped caring.
She stopped loving.
So it didn't come as a shock to anyone -especially dear ole dad- when that cold shell of a woman left a folder containing divorce papers in his office. Actually, I think he was relieved. It was clear his high school sweetheart was long gone, replaced by a woman who'd pushed away the love of her family in search of her own selfish endeavors, and he'd accepted that. Eventually, he lifted the veil and exposed their relationship for what it was.
Miserable.
Failed.
Dead.
He put a stop to all the lies, misdirection, and forced smiles as he made his way through town. There was no use pretending, not when she'd made it abundantly clear that she was done.
I could practically see the relief in his eyes, in his stance- even hear it in his voice. But understandably so. He'd been carrying the strain from their marriage for far too long, so long in fact, that even I felt the burden.
But... he was finally free of her. If freedom meant that she got to keep the house, the car, and every penny in the savings account. That sure had her smiling. It seemed she had won. She was keeping everything she held dear to her.
Everything except me.
After shaking off that particularly depressing thought and looking around my childhood bedroom with nostalgia one last time, I grabbed my overstuffed tote bag, purse, and two rolling suitcases before carefully making my way downstairs where my parents were waiting for me.
It came as no surprise to me to find my mother on one side of the room and my father next to the door. They were as far away from each other as our broken home would allow, and it was clear that whatever had gone down while I was packing hadn't been civil. Not that that was surprising at all. My dad had thrown in the towel long before the divorce proceedings ever got underway, but for some unknown reason, my mother thought that divorces needed to be messy, dramatic affairs. So she'd gone out of her way to scream, rant, and hurl inanimate objects at my father every chance she got. Which is why the picture frame lying bent and broken next to the coffee table didn't give me a seconds pause.
My dad grabbed whatever bags he could reach and maneuvered them onto his broad shoulders, freeing my own hands. I wasn't an invalid; I was more than capable of carrying my own luggage, but my father was as chivalrous as they came. He had a concrete belief that if a man was in a woman's presence, it was his job to make sure they were treated like royalty. Which is why my mother's desertion was still so confusing to me. She wasn't going to find a better man than my father.
“Ready to go, Munchkin?”
“Ready as I'll ever be,” I whispered.
“My God, Daniel, she's a teenager,” my mother snarled as she followed us through the door. “Don't you think it's about time you drop the silly nickname before everyone at her new school overhears you and makes fun of her?”
My father turned and opened his mouth to reply, but I beat him to the punch.
“If they want to make fun of me for something, I doubt it will be a childhood nickname, mother.” I tucked a lock of white hair behind my ear before drawing an invisible circle around my face. “They'll have plenty of other ammo, don't you think?”
“Haley Rose!” My mother appeared appalled as she exhaled and clutched at her chest with freshly manicured nails. “Don't for one second think that-”
I cut her off with a lift of my hand. I didn't care what she had to say. Throughout my life, I'd heard every pep talk imaginable about being different. Nothing anyone ever said made living with my condition any easier. And after the emotional devastation she'd put me through over the past few months, I couldn't stomach hearing something even remotely compassionate pass through her vicious lips.
“See you in a few months, mom.”
The door of my father's tan Impala creaked open and he loaded the last of my belongings into the car that would take me away from the only place I'd ever know.
“Call me when you get settled in!”
I resisted rolling my eyes as my hand lifted in a silent 'gotcha'. There was no point in turning around. Her words were empty and I didn't need to look her in the eyes to have her drive that point home. Over the last week, she'd made it abundantly clear that she couldn't care less if I called, wrote, texted, or sent a freaking carrier pigeon. She was a free woman. The life she'd always secretly wanted was about to start and that life didn't include her mellow and patient ex-husband, nor her introverted, sarcastic disgrace of an albino daughter.
As if any of those aforementioned qualities were fatal character flaws that justified abandonment.
When my heartbroken father was finished arranging my luggage in the back seat, he folded himself in behind the steering wheel and turned the key after shooting me one sad, deflated smile. We both held our breath as the car eased out onto the street and the wheels angled toward our new home. Fighting the urge to look back on the home that housed so many memories for me, I closed my eyes. That was the only way I could fight the temptation.
“Ahem.”
My eyes opened and I turned to find my father holding a small bottle of sunscreen in his hand.
“Right.”
Thankfully, he didn't cut his eyes over to make sure I put it on like h
e did when I was a child. As a teenager, I knew the rules. I knew the routines. It was going to be a long car ride, and although his windows were as heavily tinted as state law would allow, I couldn't take any chances.
Sun and zero pigmentation don't go well together.
“So, level with me,” my father started in a somber tone. “Are you excited to start a new school? Or do you hate my guts right now?”
My head jerked to the side. I openly stared at the one parent I had left that loved me unconditionally. Usually, my dad was the easygoing one. He held his tongue and tried to refrain from being forward if he could help it. But right then, his lips were pulled down in a strained grimace, his pleading, bloodshot eyes trained on the road instead of me.
“Does it matter?”
Even though I wanted to give him a break, I couldn't. It was my job as the surly teenage pain-in-the-ass to keep him on his toes, and I didn't take that job lightly.
But everyone has their limits.
“I don't hate you. If you would have moved away without me and left me back there... then I would hate you. But maybe this is a good thing.” I smiled, just to lighten my next words. “Will it suck starting over my senior year? Yes. Do I miss my friends already? Hell yes. But is this the end of the world? No. Far from it.”
He nodded -just once- and that was the end of it.
No more discussion.
At all.
But when we finally rolled into the city limits of Jaded Falls, Missouri, the home of my father's new job as a CPA, and the town whose name would be emblazoned on my graduation announcements, I couldn't help but glare at the lack of scenery with disdain.
I turned narrowed eyes to my father.
“I changed my mind. This very well could be the end of the freaking world.”
Table of Contents
THE BLOOD PAWN
Nicole Tillman
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
Now that training is over,
Book Two
About the Author
The Blood Pawn Page 22