Dad’s not behind his desk but perched in the front of it, and he merely raises his eyebrows at my entrance. “I’m not discussing this with you until you’ve had time to calm down. The past twenty-four hours have been emotional for all of us, and we all need to take a few minutes, regain our composure and discuss these events when we’re all thinking rationally.”
“Are you admitting then you made an emotional decision? That you were wrong about asking Drix to give up his entire future because you’re scared what might happen to yours?”
Dad gets up then, walks straight to me, and my heart stutters when he grabs my arm, shoves me out into the hallway and closes the door behind him. He towers over me, still gripping my arm, his fingers biting just enough into my flesh that it makes me go mute.
“You’re my daughter, you’re hurting, and I’m sorry for that, but you will never disrespect me like that in front of people again, do you understand?”
My father has never done this and I’m sick.
He shakes me. “I said, do you understand?”
I nod, because I can’t find my voice.
He releases me then, places his hand on my shoulders and squeezes. Not in a painful way, but in the way he’s done a million times, his reminder that he loves me. This switch-up between anger and love is so confusing I’m dizzy.
“What’s happening is terrible, but you have to accept Hendrix’s decision. He sees what’s best, and I need you to see what’s best, too.”
“You’re letting Drix down. You’re supposed to protect him.”
“Why can’t you see I’m protecting all the people who wind up in the school-to-prison pipeline? If this goes public, I guarantee this program will go up in flames. Sometimes, you have to make a sacrifice in order to win. Hendrix is willing to make the sacrifice. He understands one loss, when so many others will be saved, is a steep price, but one worth paying.”
I shrug off his arms and step back. “That’s easy to say when you aren’t the one paying the price.”
“I have paid the price. Multiple times in my life I’ve made sacrifices to get where I am now. Hendrix is smart, resourceful. He will do well with his life. If I didn’t believe that, I wouldn’t ask that of him. In a few months, a few years, when I can, I’ll help him.”
I stare at my father with new eyes. Eyes that are born out of hard emotional labor. Will he help Drix? The man I thought he was would have, but I’m starting to believe that I created a make-believe image. “You were my hero.”
Without waiting for his response, I turn and walk away.
One time, as a child, I remember being separated from my parents at a craft festival. I saw a stuffed animal I wanted, so I went one way, and without realizing it, they went another. For a span of a minute, I had complete joy, but when I glanced up to ask my dad if I could have him, I had this instant of intense fear. I was lost.
The same soul-crushing, mind hysteria sensation I’m experiencing now is the same feeling as then, but this is much worse. I’m within the walls of my home, yet I’m lost.
I round the corner to head to the stairs, and my stomach twists in such a way that my head begins to throb. Henry. I need Henry, but he’s gone. Out of contact until he contacts me, and if I could call him, he’d be in some country, overseas feeling useless as I cried. I need my cousin, my sole ally, but he’s gone.
I’m lost and alone.
“Elle.”
With my hand on the stair railing, I glance over my shoulder. Cynthia slinks out of the dining room, a thumb drive in her hands. She extends it to me, but what keeps me locked in place is how her eyes shift left and right, as if she’s about to give me a bomb. “Take it.”
“What is it?”
“Copies of Hendrix’s file.”
I blink, then survey the room to see if I’m somehow being tested. “So?”
Cynthia’s hand shakes as she strokes her bangs away from her forehead. “No one knows I’ve done this. Your dad will be angry, but I spent a lot of time with Hendrix, and he’s a good kid. He deserves better.”
I agree, but my father doesn’t. “What do you expect me to do with this?”
She pushes it closer to me. “I don’t know. Give it to Hendrix, maybe. Convince him to change his mind.”
There’s no changing his mind, but I take the thumb drive anyway because I can tell how much this gift is costing her. “Thank you.”
“I’m not done,” she says, and that catches me off guard.
“There’s more?”
“About you.” She swallows and flips her cell around in her hands. “The leaked pictures and information about you and Andrew, I know who’s been doing it.”
I suck in a deep breath. A win. A win that feels too late, but I need a win. “Who?”
She bites her bottom lip, then looks me straight in the eye. “Me. I’ve been the one leaking the pictures and the stories, and I did it because your father and mother told me to. They knew you and Andrew would be popular with the media and that it would lead to positive press and win voters. They’ve staged everything, and Andrew’s known the entire time. Hendrix isn’t the only good person getting a bad deal. You also deserve better. Much, much better.”
Hendrix
I had the rented car and driver drop me off at the front of my neighborhood, at the convenience store I was convicted of robbing. Seemed poetic. Like an Eminem lyric. Raw, bloody, straight to the gut.
Heat comes up off the pavement, making the already sweltering night suffocating. The neighborhood’s dark. Decrepit row after row of broken houses and hopelessness. Enter all those who are destined to fail and be doomed.
Like a lighthouse shining from the Dead Sea, my house glows. Lights from the living room and the garage a beacon. My family’s in the garage—Axle, Dominic, Kellen and our newest addition, Marcus. Loud laughter rolls down the driveway and echoes into the night. It’s my family, almost all of my family, but almost isn’t good enough. Not anymore. Not after what I lost today.
A shadow of a person moving behind the blinds in the living room and instead of heading around back to where life might be easy, I go for the front door. Inside, Thor greets me in that way only a dog can. With complete unconditional love. A quick scratch behind the ears, but then I ignore the ball he drops at my feet.
Holiday grins at me from the recliner. “Hey, Drix. Where’ve you been? Kellen says she saw one of those fancy town cars pick you up. Does that mean you had a campaign function today? If so, how’s Elle?”
In the middle of the living room, I stare down at Holiday. I’m not even two years older than her, but she’s still my little sister. I’m the one who poured milk in her cereal for her when she couldn’t carry a gallon jug. I’d sit for hours and play with her, whatever game she wanted, when she was sure her mom was going to show and she never did.
I’m the one who messed up by focusing more on myself than on anyone else. I’ve broken a few hearts tonight. It’s time to break one more. Maybe someday, she’ll forgive me. “You need to break up with Jeremy.”
Her smile falls, and her chin juts out as she goes into fight mode. “You need to butt out.”
“He treats you like crap.”
“He loves me.”
“He doesn’t love you. He does his best to own you. Those are two different things.”
She pushes out of the chair and to her feet. “I’m not talking to you about Jeremy.”
Sounds good to me. “Then let’s talk about you.”
Holiday leans into me, all pissed-off rage. “What about me?”
“You aren’t alone.”
Her eyes narrow like she didn’t understand me. “What?”
“You aren’t alone anymore. Me, Axle, you—we never had roots. We were weeds trying to survive growing up in the cracks of the concrete. All of our parents? Worthless. But sometimes we had each other. I get
that, as a kid, that wasn’t enough. I understand wanting something solid. I understand wishing that there was someone out there who wanted and loved me. I also understood being pissed off that person after person had that stability and I never did. I understand feeling alone. I understand making stupid choice after stupid choice, searching for something to fill the hole that sucked the life out of me.”
“What does that have to do with Jeremy?”
“Everything! You’re trying to fill that hole, and you’re filling it with some asshole who makes you feel loved for thirty seconds, then makes you feel like dirt for ten so he can control you with a snap of his fingers. That’s not love. Love is Axle working ten hour days to put food on the table, but still paints your room when he gets home at night. It’s me moving the furniture in your room every other day until you’re happy. It’s us. It’s this family.”
“But what if you leave again?” she yells so loudly I go completely still. Holiday shakes from head to toe. One convulsion after the other. “What if you leave? You left and Axle was never home and Dad’s gone and my mom’s gone and Grandma hasn’t remembered who I am in years. Everyone I love goes. It’s what happens and he’s been here. He only leaves if I tell him to leave, and I don’t want to be alone.” Holiday slams her hand against her chest. “I don’t want to be alone.”
Her hurt rattles through my body and ends up slicing open a portion of my already battle-weary soul. “I’m not going anywhere. I’m home. I’m staying home. I’ll stay here for as long you need, and if I’m not around, I’ll be there the moment you need me. I love you, and I love you enough to tell you you’re ruining your life. I love you enough to beg you to break up with that asshole, and if my love isn’t enough, that’s fine, but love yourself. Love yourself to not let some bastard continue to treat you like crap.”
I yank the still frame image from the convenience store shooting out of my back pocket, unfold it and shove the picture into her hands. “That’s the person who robbed the convenience store. That’s the bastard who framed me and sent me to jail. Take a good look at the tattoo. That’s Jeremy. I told Axle I’d keep my mouth shut about him, but I won’t anymore, and I’m pushing hard. It’s him or me, Holiday. I can’t stand by and watch this guy slowly kill you anymore. And so you know, I hope to God you choose me.”
Because that’s my only proof I have of my innocence, I grab the paper from her, and as I circle the room for a place to go, the walls close in.
My room no longer belongs to me, but to Elle. If I go up there, the memory of holding her in my bed will crush me. The rest of this house belongs to Holiday. She’s the one who needs to feel like this is her home, she’s the one who needs the stability.
Me? I belong on the streets. A buzz of my cell, a quick look, and it’s Cynthia asking me to give her a call. Screw that. I’m done being anyone’s dancing monkey. At least for tonight. I drop the phone on the futon, and I walk out the door. Thor follows.
Ellison
On my bed, I close the window that contained Drix’s information. I had been scrolling the pages, reading the police reports, the district attorney recommendations, but then stopped because also included were Drix’s therapist’s notes from Drix’s stay in juvenile detention. Won’t lie, I’m curious, but with the changes he went through in a year, Drix had to have poured out his heart and soul into the program and into therapy. Reading anything, even if was meant for my father’s eyes, would be invading Drix’s privacy.
I twirl a lock of my hair around my finger and pull. There’s pain along my scalp, but it’s nothing like the shredding of my insides. They used me. My parents used me.
Drix is right, I’m trapped. I’m a puppet, and I not only had no idea I was being moved along the stage against my will, but I’ve discovered the constricting feeling in my lungs is me being strangled by the strings.
One year left of high school. Four years of college. My head pounds, and I lower it into my hands. How many decisions in my life were truly mine? Or have I been so easily manipulated my entire life?
Good try at archery, Elle, but wouldn’t you much rather try ballet? The Beta Club is an honor, but wouldn’t you feel that your time would be better served if you tried your hand at drawing? You’re such a pretty girl, why wouldn’t you want to help on the campaign trail?
Good girl listening to us. Good girl. We love you, Elle. So proud and we love you.
Did they? Have they ever? Am I only loved if I succeed? Because that’s how it’s always felt. I want their love. I have needed their love, but what has their love cost?
Me. It’s cost me myself.
I flinch with the ache that rolls through my body and rock to try to ease the pain, but it doesn’t ease. It only grows.
Even though I know that my plea will be swallowed into the text black hole, I send it regardless because I need to be heard, even if it’s just to myself: They used me.
Used me. Their daughter. A pawn in their bloody chess game.
My cell rings, my heart stutters, and I immediately accept the call. “Henry?”
“What happened?” his question swift, the demanded answer implied.
“Where are you?”
“Still on base. We’re grounded due to equipment malfunctioning on our transports. Don’t know for how long, though, but that doesn’t matter. Talk to me.”
Talk to him. He and I, we’ve talked for years. Him trying to ease me past my sheltered world. Me trying to convince him to return home. “What did you do? When you fought with Dad and you left, what did you do?”
Silence on the other end and I’m so tired of people thinking I can’t handle the real world. So far, my fake world has been brutal. The real world honestly can’t be worse. “Tell me or I’m hanging up.”
“I did what your parents told me to do,” he finally says. “Until I didn’t.”
“What does that mean?”
Crackling on the line and I look at my cell to see if we’re still connected.
“Henry?”
“I don’t want to disappoint you.” That quiet voice doesn’t belong to a soldier, but to a tired boy.
“You won’t.”
“I screwed up, Elle.”
I release a long breath. “So have I. Maybe I need to know I’m not alone in messing up.” Silence again and I internally will him to talk to me. “Please.”
“After Mom and Dad died, I trusted your parents. Bought into everything they said. I did what I was told, when I was told. To me, your dad was a god. He made it out of my small town. He made it out of poverty. He made it out when my dad didn’t, and moving in with you and them was bittersweet. I missed my parents, but I knew if I listened to your dad, I’d become successful like him.
“So I did it all. I went to college, I took classes to prepare for law school and worked the internships your dad arranged—even when I had no interest in any of it. I had become a zombie in my own life, letting your mom and dad make every decision along the way. One day I woke up, and I didn’t like what I saw in the mirror, but I didn’t know how to change. I didn’t know what to do.”
I understand that feeling more than he could comprehend.
“I was miserable. I felt empty. There was this gaping hole in my soul, and all I wanted was to fill it. That hole was cold and it was bleak, but I didn’t understand this hole because beyond the loss of my parents, I had it all. So I tried to fill the hole.”
I almost don’t want to know, yet I ask, “With what?”
He sucks in a breath. “Drugs.”
My eyes close and my heart hurts. “I’m sorry.”
“So am I. I got lost. Bad.”
“Mom and Dad were mad at you for the drugs?”
“Yes, and no. They were disappointed, but they were supportive. They were the ones who approached me about my problem. Turns out they’d been monitoring me at school somehow. Your dad flew up
toward the end of the semester, told me that I was coming home for summer break and that he was going to pay for rehab. The first few weeks of withdrawal were at a private hospital, and then I had private therapy while I was at home.”
I nibble on my bottom lip as I replay my memories of that summer. Mom and Dad told me Henry had a short summer internship. When Henry was home, he was moody and emotional. Godzilla stomping through Tokyo. “It sounds like Mom and Dad were good to you.”
“They were,” he admits. “I can’t argue that your parents never cared for or loved me, but there are some loves that are smothering. Some loves are selfless on the outside, but completely self-serving on the inside.”
“I don’t understand,” I whisper.
“Taking the drugs was my choice. I know that. No one else is to blame. But when I realized that there was a hole I was trying to fill and that hole was because I was living a life that didn’t belong to me, I went to your dad and told him in order to survive, I had to change. I told him I needed to drop out of college. I tried to explain that I was more like my father and preferred to work with my hands. I told him I wanted to attend a trade school, and he didn’t agree.”
There’s a lump in my throat, and I squeeze my eyes shut because I don’t want to cry anymore. I’m so sick and tired of crying. “They kicked you out of the house because you quit school?”
“He told me I had no idea how to run my life or what I wanted, and he told me to look at my recent choices as proof. Don’t get me wrong, he had a point, but that therapy worked. I knew I couldn’t make the right choices while living a life I hated. Your dad was angry, I was angry, and I’ll admit the fight got out of control. We both said things we regret. The fight spiraled, and your dad gave me an ultimatum—I return to college, a different college, but a college of his choice—or I leave...so I left.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
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