by Ember Leigh
“You made a commitment to the Lord when you were twelve,” Mr. Gingham said, folding up his napkin. Redness crept up his neck, threatening to overtake his face. “One that you will honor whether you like it or not.”
Cobra leaned back, studying Gen for the next move. The old man made it clear. He wanted them out. And Cobra couldn’t wait to oblige. His skin itched at the thought of booking it to his car, starting the engine, and peeling out of the driveway so fast he left indents in the gravel drive.
This whole trip was a nightmare. And whatever hesitation, depression, and anxieties he’d been beating back the whole time came flooding back to him. Under the microscope of the meal and Gen’s family, he could barely keep from leaving right the fuck now.
Cobra sniffed, balling up his napkin. Time to thank them for an excellent few bites of mac and cheese and get the fuck out of here.
“Furthermore, I won’t tolerate such behavior in my house,” Mr. Gingham said. “This unclean, sinful behavior.”
Thoughts crashed together, prompting the question before he could think better of it. “What did she do? I don’t get it. You have the most beautiful, most perfect daughter on the face of the fucking planet.”
Mr. Gingham paled. “Language. Ask for forgiveness right now.”
Cobra arched a brow. “Ask for what now?”
Gen’s father set aside his napkin, pushing out from the table. Cobra’s hackles rose, an automatic response.
“You want to know what Prudence has done. As a sinful creature myself, it is plain to see where she has failed. Her firstmost duty is to exalt the divine nature of Christ our Lord. Certain things can be understood or overlooked. But some—like bringing a nonbeliever with tattooed skin and a foul, disgusting mouth and a heinous blackened eye from what one can only assume are violent fights in the name of the devil himself? We are not open to this type of debauchery. This type of contamination. You have brought your black web of sin into my home. Think of your sisters.”
Cobra slapped his napkin down on the table, pushing his chair back. “Gen? I think that’s my cue.”
“Didn’t your parents teach you any God-fearing manners?” Mr. Gingham went on, sounding every inch a mournful pastor. “I don’t understand how some people can be so lost. So ill-advised.”
“I didn’t exactly have great parents,” Cobra said, the irritation boiling over. He stood, meeting Mr. Gingham’s beady stare. The truth bubbled up inside him, suddenly desperate to escape. To make itself known. This was the pyre to burn himself on. To make all of his shortcomings final. Inescapable. “My dad abandoned me when I was a baby, and my mom is in prison for life for murdering my stepdad.” The words whooshed out of him, leaving something gaping and aching behind. He swallowed. “So, I don’t know, maybe you can forgive me for swearing once?”
Silence thudded over the table. Sarcasm didn’t fit into this household. He should have known. Gen’s sisters’ gazes ping-ponged between their parents and Cobra. The beating of his heart sent two words thrumming through him: Get. Out. Get. Out.
Gen’s wild eyes found his, and her chair scraped as she pushed out from the table. He turned on his heels and stormed out of the dining room. Gen trailed close behind, her presence burning at his composure.
It was all on the table now. And each second that dragged by, claws into flesh, made him want to scream.
Gen didn’t say a word, wringing her hands while Cobra paced in front of the couch like a maniac.
“Are you gonna say anything?” Cobra finally spat, once the silence had utterly drowned him.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Those gemstone eyes wide…and scared. Yeah, time to pack up and go. “He can be so brutal.”
“Why did you tell them I’m your boyfriend?” he demanded, throwing his hands out to his side. “You’re poking the Jesus beast. Your old man wants me gone. So let’s go.”
“Cobra,” she pleaded, “listen to me. They will see you for your goodness. I promise. You’re so new to them, everything about you is—”
“Did you not hear what I said in there?” His heart pounded so loudly he swore she’d be able to hear it.
She faltered. “Yes. But I…” Words failed her, but not for long. Not his Gen. “I don’t care. I mean, I care. I can’t imagine what your childhood must have been like. But—”
“But nothing. I’m not good. Not even a little bit.”
“Your mom has nothing to do with you.” She stepped closer, touching his elbow.
“You’re wrong. She actually has everything to do with me. I could snap one day, Gen. You and I, we’re just fucking gambling here.”
Her face creased with confusion. “You would never hurt me.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Well, I don’t care then.” Gen straightened her back. “I haven’t gambled in my entire life. Why not start now?”
Her confidence grated on him. It was time to leave.
“And what they say in there doesn’t have anything to do with who you really are,” she went on.
Murmurs from the dining room reached him. Probably talking about how sinful and unclean he was. “Don’t you fucking see? I already get looked at like this enough in my life. It’s how the whole fucking world sees me.”
“But you’re not like they think,” she insisted.
“At some point you need to accept that it’s true,” Cobra said, gripping her arms. “I’m worthless. I’m not worth you, or your time, or any of this bullshit you keep trying to convince me of. We had fun. But you know what? Maybe time’s up now.”
Gen stiffened, her normally bright green eyes going dull. Suspicious. “What are you trying to say?”
“Accept what you’ve known about me all along. Leave me to fucking rot, okay? Maybe I really am the devil. The tattoos prove it.” He scoffed, turning to his things by the couch. He stuffed the shorts and shirt he’d slept in into his bag.
“You’re being ridiculous,” she whispered.
“Actually, you are.” He stood, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. “These people treat you like you’re some murderer needing forgiveness. And you take it.”
“And you treat yourself like you’re a murderer, when it was really just your mom,” Gen said, so quietly that he almost didn’t hear her.
He gritted his teeth. Her words hit him like knives but didn’t lodge deep enough to bleed out, or even hurt. “Stop it. You coming with or not?”
“You wait,” she said, pointing at him. “We’re not done here yet.”
“That’s what you think.” He jerked his chin toward the other side of the house. “You got five minutes.”
Her lips thinned, hands finding her hips. A power pose. One that he hadn’t seen her use before. “Take back what you said. About us being done.”
“I won’t.”
Her throat bobbed, and the power pose wilted a little. Her bottom lip trembled. “I don’t understand.”
“Gen, we agreed. We fucking agreed. We said three months, and guess what? That’s in two weeks. So, in the interest of moving this along a little quicker, let’s just call it early. You and me. It’s over. I came here, met your folks like you wanted, and they reminded me of something even you managed to make me forget about. Are we done now? I gotta fucking go.”
Tears filled her eyes, and he hated the ping of regret that shuddered through him.
“But I don’t—” she began.
“Five minutes,” he said again, anxiety churning inside him. He brushed past her, heading for the front door.
“Wait for me,” she said again. He stormed down the hallway. Alarm be damned. He tried the door and it unlatched on the first try. No beeping or sirens. Thank God. Or Thank Beelzebub. Whoever he was supposed to acknowledge. The fresh fall air was a relief, and he took a deep breath as he headed toward the car.
Sycamore and cottonwood trees towered overhead as he scuffed out to his car. At least he’d gotten a few bites in before starting the long drive home. He unlocked the door and
slid into the front seat quickly, pressing his head against the back of the seat.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
Fuck this and fuck them and fuck him.
What the fuck was he supposed to do now?
His own words came back to him. Let’s call it early. He’d put a voice to the deep-seated reason that still existed inside of him. The last dregs of it that hadn’t been enchanted and consumed by Gen. They needed to end it. Time was almost up, the terms they agreed on, and it needed to end now or else Cobra would lose his shit and who knew what came after that?
He squeezed the steering wheel so hard he worried it might snap off. He twisted his head, peeking through the sliver of window that included the front door.
Waiting.
Waiting.
He waited for more than five minutes, like the lovesick dolt that he was. He waited seven minutes. Then he waited ten. Gen didn’t show.
He couldn’t have been clearer. But he couldn’t stay either.
Cobra started the car, taking deep, measured breaths.
It was time to leave.
He put the car in reverse and backed down the driveway.
Goodbye, Gen. You might hate me, but this is better for both of us.
Chapter 38
Gen took some time to weep into her hands before rejoining her family. Just to relieve a little bit of the pressure. So she could gather her strength to fix this train that had not only careened out of control, but had also flown off a cliff, crashed into a skyscraper, and consumed a city block in flames.
When she came back into the dining room, nobody would look at her.
“Thank you for alienating the one guest I’ve dared to bring into this household,” she said sharply, resuming her seat. “He now feels entirely unwelcome, and you all are to blame.”
“He should feel unwelcome,” Abigail retorted.
“You are such a bitch,” Gen spat, unable to keep it in any longer. Her mother gasped so loudly it was like she sucked in all the air of the room.
“He has tainted you,” Father murmured, like a funeral dirge. “You have lost your way, child. You had merely stumbled off course after you killed Bethany. You could have been redirected. Saved. But now? You are so far from the path that even we, your gracious and loving family, are standing in front of you, calling you home, and you still cannot hear us.”
“Gracious and loving,” she muttered, shaking her head. That stretched the truth a little. Cobra’s words came back to her. They talk to you like you’re a murderer needing forgiveness. Part of her had always believed that about herself. But dammit—she wasn’t. Confusion and grief and anxiety collided inside her. She’d come back for Mary. To maybe pretend like things were okay for a little bit longer.
But after this shit show, things were far from okay. They might never be okay again.
Gravel crunching caught her attention. She pushed up from the table and hurried out of the dining room, threading down the hallway. She pushed her forehead against the tall, skinny window lining the door.
Cobra’s car was gone.
Her heart raced as she turned away, then peeked out the window again. Still gone. Not a trick. Wringing her hands, she traced a small path back and forth in front of the door. Telling herself he’d come back. That it was a short drive to cool off. That he wouldn’t leave her here, stranded, like that.
Because he wouldn’t.
Would he?
She waited almost ten minutes, trapped in thought and growing more desperate by the second. Cobra didn’t come back. Then she remembered—her phone. Buried in her things upstairs, like contraband. She raced up the stairs, tripping on the second-to-last step, tumbling forward so that her chin bit the carpet runner of the upstairs hallway. She grunted, pushing to standing, then rushed to the austere room that she’d moved back into as of last night.
Gen fished the phone out of her purse and turned it on. Hands shaky, she waited for it to load. A missed text from Sophie came through: “Hope T-giving is going okay…” That ellipsis spoke on Sophie’s behalf. Said everything and more.
But no more texts. And when she tried to call Cobra’s phone, it went straight to voicemail.
Over. And over. Again.
After the tenth call she gave up, throwing her phone as hard as she could into her overnight bag. Then the tears came. Followed by the questions. Followed by the sad facts.
Cobra had left her here. Her only ride. Abandoned her and broken up with her.
He wanted to end their agreement, which shocked her the most. It had stopped being an agreement long ago. And though she logically knew it had always been an agreement, that didn’t mean that her heart had continued to believe that.
To the softest, most intuitive parts of herself, she and Cobra were far beyond agreement. They were in love. Couldn’t he see that?
She buried her face in her hands, the stillness of the room sinking into her. She sat in the frothy sadness, drowned in it even, for so long that she lost track of time. An hour could have passed—or maybe two. The quiet prompted a delirious sort of clarity. The kind that thundered through her, dragging crazy thoughts in its wake.
So this was heartbreak. She understood now. The ridiculous songs, the endless poetry, the sad part of every romance novel she’d ever read. Everyone wrote about it because it consumed. Tore apart. Completely obliterated whatever semblance of peace and stability that might have existed prior.
Cobra’s abandoning her served as the end of something. But also the beginning of something else.
Because staying another night wasn’t an option. Cobra’s leaving didn’t have to mean she was trapped.
All the wild fantasies she’d ever harbored about traveling abroad—hitchhiking, glorious sunsets, the open road full of possibility and adventure—could become manifest now.
She would hitchhike her way out of here.
Cobra be damned.
Gen made the decision and flew into action so she couldn’t think twice. If she already headed toward leaving, then it would be harder to stop. One of those physics laws, or something. The whole science world was blurry to her still, but she knew there had to be a theory out there backing her up.
She tore off her conservative clothes, sliding back into the jean shorts and blouse she’d come in. She shrugged on a light sweater as well, packed up the rest of her sparse things, and stomped down the stairs.
Her entire body buzzed with clarity. With resolution. Leaving this house the first time had been tense, laced with sadness, choked by an expectation that this was a phase and their small, obedient Prudence would be returning soon. This time, it offered a liberation she hadn’t known could be accessed.
Prudence wasn’t coming back.
Cobra was right. They still treated her like her spiritual shortcomings had been the cause of Bethany’s death. But the cause of Bethany’s death was simple—a drunk driver had hit them, and the impact against the telephone pole killed Bethany. And even if she came back and prayed for the next century, that stain would still hang over her head.
She was tired of bearing the brunt of that senseless tragedy. Tired of being a punching bag for righteousness. Tired of being trapped in a spiritual tug-of-war that would only result in her being torn in two.
She wanted out.
This time for good.
She stomped down the hallway, past the primly arranged family portraits showing all of them at different points in their same, boring trajectory. When Gen was five, they wore white shirts. At age ten, they wore sky blue. Age fifteen, navy. There wouldn’t be another one. Not with her in it, at least.
Her mind roiled hot and choppy. She burst into the dining room, chest heaving. Almost everyone’s plates were empty, except for her and Cobra’s abandoned dishes. That sent another hot wash of anger through her. She wanted to enjoy her family, despite their differences. But they had made it impossible.
“I’m leaving,” she declared. “I love you all, but I am so, so angry at all of you. Except for you,
Mary; I really hope that you can continue to not believe the lies they share about me.”
“Prudence, don’t leave!” Mary leapt up from her seat and ran over to Gen, wrapping her arms around her. “Tell Father you’re sorry and you love Jesus, and everything will be better.”
“I do love Jesus, Mare-Bear,” Gen said softly into her ear. “And I love you. But I’m not sorry for standing up for myself. And I want you to remember that being who you are is never a sin.”
“But Prudence…”
“I’m sorry this turned into such a shit show,” she said to her family, the words leaping from her tongue like a divine declaration. “I missed you all and just wanted to see your faces again. But if all you’re going to do is shame me and make me hate myself, I really don’t have time for that.”
She squeezed Mary one last time, pressing a kiss to her forehead. “Bye, Mare-Bear.”
And then she turned. Each step leading her away from the dining room thundered through her, time moving in surreal clarity around her. Backpack hooked over her shoulder, she dragged her fingertips along the wall of the hallway, tilting her head to peek up the staircase one last time.
Maybe the last time of all time.
Outside, the sun was still bright and high. She had at least four more hours of daylight, which would be plenty of time to walk into town and find a bus or a sympathetic traveler.
She’d find something. She had to.
Because right now, with the past tucked messily behind her, with these uncomfortable but liberating holes in her heart, she could more clearly see the path ahead.
She was a sinner, but she was fucking free.
Free.
She tilted back her head, and laughed as the sun warmed her cheek.
Chapter 39
Gen’s journey back—walked three miles into town, hitchhiked to Fresno, bussed it back to Los Angeles, then hailed a very questionable cab back to her apartment—became the chisel to her lump of unformed clay.
She’d thought of enough metaphors to describe her life in that three mile journey in the autumnal afternoon. And more than that, she knew her next step.