Christina (Daughters #1)

by Leanne Davis

  “It is, but not in any way you might imagine. Oh, my God, Mom. I can’t tell you,” I choke on my sobs and her arms tighten around me before she kind of pushes me back and looks into my eyes.

  “You slept with him,” she states simply. Her face is totally neutral and her tone calm.

  I nod my head as fresh tears build up and fall over my eyelids. I shouldn’t talk about that with her. I mean, Lindsey is her sister, Dad will freak the fuck out, and everyone else will freak out too. Yet… I can’t help it. I need her. Now.

  “How did you know?”

  “I figured it out on Saturday at your goodbye party. He was so angry and cold, I haven’t seen him like that since the first year he came here. And you, you are so good at fooling everyone. But you can’t fool me. I saw the look in your eye when I asked you to take your sunglasses off for a picture with Max. I suspected, something. A fight perhaps. But seeing you here today. It wasn’t a stretch to figure out what really happened.”

  “A—re you mad at me?” I know it’s childish. I’m eighteen, nearly nineteen, and it should not matter what my mom thinks of my sex life. I mean, it’s totally ridiculous; yet here I am, kind of strangely, almost seeking her approval in a sick way.

  Her smile is like one a mother gives her naughty five-year-old after she’s just been caught drawing with permanent markers on the living room wall. I swear to God, that’s how young and naïve and stupid I feel about all this. “No, honey, I’m not mad at you for growing up.”

  “But… it’s Max. Cousin Max. And after everything you went through, I was supposed to make sure it was different. Special. I was supposed to make it matter.”

  She keeps stroking my hair. “Who told you that?”

  “Well, no one; I just think I should.”

  “First off, it is not your duty to avoid having sex because of what happened to me. Honey, all I could ever wish for you and your sisters is the gift of choice, for when you want to and with whom you decide. Please realize this: my only dream for you is that it’s all your choice. It was your choice, right?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then you had, and have, every right to do it. You’re old enough, even if right about now, you don’t feel that way.”

  I nod, understanding that her pain had nothing to do with her choosing. “But it was Max.”

  “He’s not your cousin. I never, for one second, considered him that. Everyone else lumped you two in and called you ‘cousins.’ Never me. Not for a second. I saw it, Tiny, I saw the connection between you two. I didn’t know for sure if you’d see it. But it really doesn’t shock me, not like you think.”

  “Why did you let him hang around me like that then?” I almost accuse her, like it was her fault for allowing us to spend so much time together, unsupervised.

  A little smile indents her cheeks. “Well, if I noticed it when you were sixteen, I would have. I just noticed the signs this spring, and you were eighteen, which is old enough.”

  “But it’s Max,” I repeat, still horrified to admit any of it.

  “What happened, Tiny?” Her voice is so gentle and kind and motherly, it makes me lean into her again.

  “Are you going to tell Dad?”

  “No. There are some things fathers don’t need to know. This I would classify as such.”

  “But you never keep secrets from him.”

  “I can keep your secrets, however, when it’s appropriate, which is now.”

  “Are you sure we can talk about this?”

  “I’m sure I don’t want you going around feeling like you do now.” She glances toward my tear-stained face and pushes my hair back. “I think we can talk about this. And the person I think you normally go to is the very one this is about, correct?”

  “Correct.”

  “So again, what happened?”

  “We were at the beach. We got into a discussion, or a fight, I don’t remember which. It was really intense. It was about how he’s been acting all summer. He grew so distant from me, I thought he didn’t care about me anymore.”

  “And you found out the opposite?”

  “He said he needed me more than anyone else.”

  “Powerful stuff,” Mom mutters as she nods.

  “Yeah. Very. We… well, you know… and then he decides it shouldn’t have happened, and doesn’t want to be friends with me anymore; so that leaves us where? I can’t even figure it out.”

  “Slow down. I have to ask how did ‘it’ go when Max can’t stand touching anyone?”

  ‘“It’ was very strange, but I think it worked.” I blush and drop my gaze to stare at my fingers, which I keep intertwining in my lap.

  “He can’t touch you, can he?”

  “Not really. No.”

  “And that was okay for you?”

  I can’t imagine what Mom’s picturing. I know she’s trying to figure out how we managed to do it without actually touching. “Not okay. But I think I could handle it and I would accept it.”

  Mom’s eyes sit heavily on me for a moment. Then she nods. “Yes, I believe you could.”

  I want so badly to ask her something, but I don’t. She notices my silence and nudges me, “What? What do you want to ask?”

  I glare hard at my fingernails. “Aft—After what happened, was it hard for you?”

  “Yes. Excruciating. You have to understand, Tiny, it was never normal for me again.”

  “Even now?” I’m burning up. I swear to God, I must have a fever. She touches my head and gently ruffles my hair.

  “Even now.”

  “How—” I slink down on the couch we’re sharing. I can’t ask that. How does my dad deal with it? The mental picture is sickening. But the mature me is only sickened when picturing how excruciating it must be for my mom. I glance up at her. She appears so normal. She is nice and kind, a responsible mom, and a freaking doctor! I mean, she has a license to practice veterinary medicine, for God’s sake! Yet, there is all this background stuff I never had a clue about.

  She nods. “How does your dad deal with it? We just deal with it. It’s not always hard for me, but for others… it can be terrible. It’s something we’ve dealt with by being pretty honest. Are you asking me if you could learn to handle Max?”

  “Yes. I mean, as of now, he won’t even look at me, but…”

  She nods. “I can’t speak for him; but he’s obviously not mature enough for that.”

  “Beg to differ with you, but he started having it long before me.”

  She smirks. “I don’t mean sex; I mean a relationship.” There’s that word. Sex. So out there. I cringe like an eleven-year-old girl, getting her first period. “He’s in love with you, Christina. He has been since the first time little, screwed-up, stuttering Max ever laid eyes on you. He just has no idea what to do about it. He didn’t grow up learning how to solve problems. By the time he found a decent example of a relationship, he was almost too old. A lot of the damage was already done.”

  “Why did he do this to me then?” I nearly wail like the child I am.

  “Because he wants you. He loves you. He also needs you. He has no idea what to do with that. So he acts the way he did at the party. You know, that push and pull. His abject rudeness is designed to cover his total unease and guilt, since he knows he hurt you. I doubt he even understands why he did. I think, honestly, honey, he loves you too much. I think he’s unprepared for the scope and depth of feelings he harbors towards you.”

  “So he hurts me instead? Why not just stay away from me?”

  “Do you remember Tommy Stone when you were in second grade? He used to chase you around the playground, during all three recesses, and you hated it. You made me report him to your teacher; and the recess aids kept warning him, but still, he chased you. After three detentions, he still refused to stop chasing you. That was all because he liked you and wanted your attention. That level of thinking is about Max’s emotional maturity right now.”

  I smile a little because it kind of makes sense. Even though my
heart squeezes tightly.

  “I think you’re also asking me, can it work when one person is damaged? And I’m telling you, it can, if you are willing to accept he might never comfortably touch you, or be able to show you affection. It’s a real phobia he’s got, honey. It’s more painful for him than it is even for you. I can’t guarantee you that anything will ever change either. You must be willing to accept it, and him having it, as it is.”

  “Like Dad does with what… with what you go through?”

  “Yes. Exactly. It’s not easy. We’ve had our difficult times… I wasn’t easy to love, Christina. I was not the mom that you know now.”

  “Did Dad ever not want to deal with it?”

  “All the time. We still prefer not to.”

  “I never understood what makes you so strong. But now, I think it’s what you went through.”

  “You’re not supposed to. I’m your mother, not the other way around.”

  “Do you think Max will ever figure it all out?”

  “I hope. I can’t promise you. I know he still fights Lindsey and Noah, and has a lot of work yet to get through.”

  “What do I do?”

  “Go to college and try to start your own life there. Make new friends, which you’re brilliant at.”

  “And forget Max?”

  “No. Never. You love him, honey. You can’t just forget him. You can learn to accept he might not ever be able to give you what you need. He might not even tolerate being with you. Hell, maybe he can’t even tell himself how he really feels. You can also accept he has the right feelings, but isn’t lucky enough to know what to do with them.”

  “There’s more.”

  Moms sighs deeply. “I figured. By his smashed-up face.”

  “He’s so angry, Mom. Like something is wrong with him. How can he fight like that? What is so bad about his life that he feels the need to act like that? He seeks out those fights. He likes to inflict pain on others. He even seems to like having it directed back at him. It’s so sick.”

  She smiles a sad, but understanding smile. “Pain comes out differently for everyone.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, my rage was pretty bad. It still is, sometimes. I just learned better ways of expressing it. I doubt Max has any coping skills. Shit, he can’t even talk about it. He can’t even articulate how he feels. He’s… so lost. We know how lost he is. Lindsey and I talk about it all the time. Believe it or not, we have a strategy to our madness and frustration of trying to deal with him. And it’s nothing like what we use on you, or your sisters.”

  “He likes pain.”

  “No. He likes to feel. He likes the clarity that physical pain gives him. It’s simple. It hurts or it doesn’t. He’s not confused. Every emotion he has hurts him, good or bad, and the confusion between the two is almost worse than the pain itself.”

  I sense something heavier being suggested by her words. She speaks with too much authority. “You did this? You used pain to avoid feeling your emotions?”

  “Yes. Razor blades across my skin. On my legs. You remember the scars.”

  I saw the scars. When I was younger, I asked her what they were, and she said a “bad accident” caused them. It wasn’t any accident. That knowledge weighs heavily on me, but it’s not all that surprising. “You have been through so much.”

  “Yes, I have. That means, I hope you never have to go through it.”

  “What? You think with Max I might?”

  “Yes.”

  “He fights more often than he’s says he does.”

  “Do you want to tell me?”

  “No. But I think something needs to be done.”

  “What about Derek? He has some sway over Max.”

  Derek? I didn’t think about him. I nod. “Yes, I think I’ll call Derek. Thank you, Mom, I was so afraid and didn’t know what to do. And I’m so confused that I hurt. It all makes me just want to leave, but I also want to stay. But thank you for talking to me. I know it isn’t easy.”

  Mom hugs me tightly. “I love you, Christina. I can always talk to you, whether it’s hard or not. No one talked to me like that when I was young, not even Lindsey. So I try to make sure you and I at least have that.”

  I hug her. “I have everything. Thanks to you. I don’t think I ever really got that until now.”

  She smiles. “Just go and be happy. That’s all the thanks I need.”

  ~Max~

  She called my brother. I groan when the light hits my eyes. The blind is ripped open to let in the morning sun. Shit. I feel like I look, I’m sure. I hurt. My face hurts more than ever. My ribs are bruised and I could lie here for a few days longer and not care. And now, as I try to open my crusted-over eye, I see Derek standing in my bedroom. Mercilessly, he opens the windows wide, inviting the glaring daylight.

  Staring at me, his gaze seems cool and unsympathetic. He doesn’t care if the sun is making my eyeballs ache and only adding to my misery. “What have you done?”

  Derek’s tone is strained and low, as if he’s trying to contain his dismay. His jaw is clenched tightly. He stands with his arms crossed over his middle, directly in the bright light of the windows. I’m not sure about his question. I shake my head, attempting to get it working. I’m groggy, almost confusedly so.

  Sitting up, I grab my temples. The stabbing light and pain intermingle as one. “She called you?”

  “Of course, she called me. What else could she have done? Leave you to this? So at some point in the near future, it isn’t a locker room where she finds you unconscious, but in a ditch, dead?” His tone is clipped and he bristles visibly at my question.

  I roll my eyes and lean forward to rest my elbows on my knees. I try to sit up straighter. “This isn’t that kind of place. They don’t have the balls Quentrell did. They can’t do more than just spray cold water on me.”

  He doesn’t answer. I almost feel the pinpricks of his unrelenting glare on my skin. “That is bullshit. You don’t know anything.”

  “I know I didn’t ask your opinion. I didn’t call you. Go home, Derek. Get back to your life, it’s what you’ve always done anyway.”

  Silence grows thick and heavy between us. I withhold my sigh. I didn’t mean to say that out loud. I might have thought it, in some inner core of my brain, but I never intended to articulate it. I shake my head. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean that.”

  Derek comes forward and sits down next to me. “You did too mean it. I did that to you. I left you. As a kid, I never protected you. I swear to God, you like doing this as a way to punish me for not protecting you. I believe you think that since I didn’t take care of you then, why should you bother to protect yourself now?”

  Wow. If that’s really the reason behind what I do, it sounds really fucked up when Derek explains it out loud. I shrug. “It’s not. I like to fight. End of story. Look, no one likes hearing it, but it’s what I want to do.”

  “You want to look and feel like that? Christina says you threw the fight. You let this happen to you.”

  “I didn’t let it. It was more like paying my dues. I have to lose once in a while, so I’m allowed to win on others.”

  “It’s sick,” Derek says, shaking his head.

  “I’m sick then?”

  “No. I think you fight to keep yourself from hurting the one person you really want to hurt.”

  “Our mom? Of course, I want to. Don’t you?”

  “No, Max. It isn’t our mom. It’s me. I didn’t save you. I didn’t help you. I was right there, I knew what you were being exposed to, and I still left. You can’t forgive me. You expected it of our parents. They never did anything differently. But I protected you, at least, temporarily… until I didn’t. Until I left you.”

  Derek stands up and starts pacing.

  The memories of those things start swirling in my stomach. I wish Derek would shut up. It’s too early in the day. I’m tired. I’m hungry. I’m groggy on pain pills the doctors gave me. I don’t want to talk about
this. Ever. But especially, not today. I stand up. My head swims and my vision goes blurry. I don’t have a concussion luckily, but I still don’t feel right. Derek stands near my door. I try to shoulder past him. He doesn’t budge, but shoves my shoulder. “I know what I didn’t do for you. I left you there. I later left you here. I know what a shitty brother I’ve been.”

  I shrug and keep my gaze pinned on the floor. “It doesn’t matter. It wasn’t your fault. We had shit for an upbringing, only emphasized all the more by being here around normal people. Don’t flatter yourself that I’m doing this because of you.”

  “Then why else would you be doing it?”

  “Because I like to fight. I like the rush and power and simplicity I get from it.”

  “You like feeling like that?” Derek waves at my sorry ass.

  “No. But I accept it as part of what I do like,” I start to again shoulder past Derek. This time, I make it to the door and grab the handle. I don’t want to talk about it anymore. I don’t want to remember the feeling of coming home and finding Derek gone. Or the sneaking suspicion there was no more Derek to hide me, protect me, or give me the illusion that at least, someone cared about me. After he left, there was no one for me. No one protected me, hid me, or even attempted to communicate with me. I suffered from neglect. That’s a nice way of describing how alone I was after he left me. But I get it; he was just a kid too. It wasn’t his job to protect me. He had to get out for his own sake. I get that.

  “I left because I wanted to protect you from what I was doing. I thought it was better,” Derek’s voice stops me dead. I don’t move, but squeeze the doorknob too hard in my hand.

  “You knew what she was like. How could you ever think that was better?” I reply to the bedroom door. My head is bent down. My voice isn’t even a full whisper.

  “I wish I had a noble reason or an answer. I don’t. I fucked up, Max. I screwed you up because I was so messed up, I didn’t know any better. I just… I’m so sorry.”

  “Sorry? What good did that ever do me, or anyone else?” My voice rises.

  “It doesn’t. But that’s all I can give you.”