Hate Me Like You Do, page 17
She was the first person I saw murdered. My brother, Nic, was the last.
I think of the maid more than I think of Nic for some reason.
“I did you a mercy and ended it quickly,” my father huffed as he undid the suppressor and pocketed his weapon.
At the time I believed him. Every small act of “kindness” was a mercy he didn’t need to extend to me. It could have been worse. It could always be worse.
Two long strides lead me back to the door where I slide out into the hallway without a sound. A tug at the brass handle and the door is clicking firmly back in place.
Happy, Father? The door to your precious office is closed.
Tomorrow is the first day of Violet’s mother’s trial. Then after that she’ll be back at school. My father told me her extended absence will be labeled as “the flu”, oh, and “severe dehydration.” Though to give credit where it is due, that would help explain to the teachers why she looks so sickly.
Getting over the world’s worst case of the flu might leave you looking like Violet Demure.
That or having your first run in with ol’ daddy dearest.
Twenty-Five
Dee
Paper. My eggs this morning taste like paper. Warm, very mushy paper. Without a doubt it is not the cook’s fault, it’s mine. I’m all nerves. Today I’ll see my mom again.
She’s better right now, I did notice that. I’d be willing to bet she is enrolled in some sort of rehab program. This version of my mother is the one I want to see, the one I like to be around. There are glimpses of her in my childhood. The brief moments where she pulled herself together for me.
Rare, precious flashbacks that capture a mother’s love for her daughter. Times where she crawled into bed with me to read a story before we played “sleepover” where we sang songs and counted the street lights and headlights that passed out my curtainless windows.
Other times, it was as simple as her remembering to cook a meal for a little girl who lived off of dry cereal and sliced cheese.
Or nothing at all.
I’d learned young that my hot meals were given to me at school.
My new home feeds me well, a private cook will do that. The spread across the table is a beautiful sight. Too bad it doesn’t have a taste today.
Pancakes topped with crimson strawberry sauce, yellow eggs with pops of green spinach, a fruit tray, and savory smelling bacon. Tall pitchers of orange juice, water, and coffee sit where dessert normally is. One small flick of my wrist and a maid would be at my side filling my cup.
It still astounds me that Knox, Landon, and Reed grew up in homes like this. Being waited on hand and foot, it makes one lazy. Not that I’m complaining… right this second.
It’s just hard to have the energy to eat when all I can think about is my mother’s trial.
My mother. The insufferable drug addict.
My father. The deadly mysterious shadow within my life now.
Knox. Stepbrother? Ew, anything but brother. My heart still skips a beat if he gets too close. It makes me frantic.
Landon and Reed both still lurking around the home. Trying to talk to me here and there but I’m just...over it. They make the thoughts in my head grow to screams. Everything becomes loud when they get close. Even now they both stare at me as I chew these flavorless eggs.
On occasion they stare somewhere else, likely Knox. He deserves it. He deserves all of their attention. If he thinks I don’t think about how he didn’t save me…
He didn’t save me.
He didn’t save me.
He’s wrong. I think about it. It’s one of those many thoughts I talk about.
Landon’s eyes look red and tired behind his sleek black frames. I only wonder for the briefest of seconds if he’s been spending his nights thinking of me or if he is only studying. A weird form of guilt and animosity rises up only to die back down as I focus on the bland breakfast once more.
I’m still aware of everything that Reed’s been doing even if we don’t share a room any more. No girls have stumbled into the house and I don’t know why that flares warm happiness through me.
It’s such a petty thought.
One I don’t dwell on long.
At this point I can’t fathom stuffing anymore of the world's dullest dish into my mouth. I drop my fork to the plate. The loud ringing of the metal clanging to the dish replays in my ears. My mind focusing on the sound until it’s a distorted thought that I don’t seem to recognize anymore.
Each time my mind begins to wander all I need to do is focus on something. Some sight, sound, or smell that can hold my attention long enough to keep my brain from imploding or something else of that nature.
When the ringing sound is no longer an interest I move on. Just a few feet away in the open foyer, Ronan’s short nails click-clack against the glass screen of the smartphone in his hands.
Emails, emails and more emails. The man is either plugging away at the tiny piece of technology or he is flattening it against his ear. Likely a string of commands or abrupt ‘okays’ are to follow.
Rough palms slide up my arms, pulling me toward the right to the deep gray eyes searching my face. Reed’s attention isn’t that teasing sexy persona he always had when we shared a room together. He’s all serious and all too focused on me.
Which makes me too focused on me.
I try to pull away from him but he turns me until our knees are brushing between our chairs. I flick my gaze over toward Ronan but he’s still sitting in the foyer, back to us as he clicks away on his phone.
And Reed, he just keeps pushing me.
Or should I say, pulling. His big hands slide around my thighs and with one hard pull he brings me right onto his lap. My thighs shift around his hips as I straddle him right here at the breakfast table.
In front of Landon. And Knox.
HOUSE RULE NUMBER ONE: DO NOT FUCK VIOLET DEMURE.
We’ve come a long long way from breaking that rule.
And apparently, Reed realizes that.
But this doesn’t feel sexual. Not when he’s brushing my blonde hair back and looking up at me with those big steely eyes. Total concern is etched in the depths of those eyes.
“I’m going to make everything okay, Dee,” he promises, his warm palm skimming along my jaw as his other hand holds me firmly in place.
A sick bubbling laughter parts my lips on a weak breath. I push out of his strong arms and he reluctantly lets me go. I slump into my chair at an awkward angle but it doesn’t matter.
Reed can’t make this okay. He might be an expert at football plays but this...this shit’s over his head.
It’s over my head.
And I’m drowning in it.
Over the never ceasing movement of his thumbs across the phone Ronan barks an order, “Boys, go ahead and head to Mournmount. No need for me to explain to your parents why you weren’t at school or were late when there isn’t a need to. Knox and Violet will be home after court today.” His eyes immediately darted back down.
Reed’s gaze burns up my features but I never once look back at him. Even as he slowly stands, and then walks away.
Landon leaves too, following behind his friend with just a tad bit more hesitancy. As if he might say something. Knox notices his slowing movements too. He eyes him with a stare that says he better keep moving. So he does. Landon walks right out that door.
They left me alone with my father and my brother. Oh, that word sits so foul on my tongue. I let my eyes drift to him.
He didn’t save me. My mind sings again. I close my eyes harshly, squeezing them together so tight my nose crinkles too.
He didn’t save me.
But he tried to save me before his father came home. Does that means Knox is just as scared of his father as everyone else is?
The realization comes to me in an odd hazy feeling. Torn. I’m always torn between loving and hating the boys that live in this house. It’s annoying to be physically attracted to total shit men.
As I open my eyes, the deepest darkest gaze, the color of caramel and lustful sins, stares right back at me. We blink. Neither of us move or break eye contact. It’s like he read my thoughts, can sense in a way that I’m thinking about him.
Why is he here anyway? Shouldn’t he be running off back to Mournmount too? He doesn’t seem like he wants to be here. Not in the way he watches me like I’m going to shatter any minute and he’ll be the one to bitterly pick up the pieces and toss me out.
I want to think concern shines in his gaze. Yet, if I look too hard at those caramel brown eyes they start to turn into black pools. Dark, unyielding, holes that suck up joy with little sympathy to give in return.
That’s not the Knox I knew this summer. Perhaps a bit closer to the Knox who persecuted me through the beginning of the school year. It still feels as if Ronan’s presence changes him for the worst.
The very fucking worst.
Finally, he drops his gaze as Ronan looks up from his phone. I don’t give him my attention, not when I’m already so close to losing the small piece of sanity I’ve found today.
“Well, let’s get going.” Ronan stands, pulling the napkin from his lap and folding it over his breakfast plate on the small foyer’s coffee table in front of him.
Knox stands first. On quiet footsteps he strolls behind Ronan, fingers fisted tightly into his palms, the hint of a frown turning his lips down.
A bubble of warmth floats up inside me. Excitement? I’m not even sure at this point. Every emotion has been on strike since those days in the basement. Nothing has felt the same, it’s as if every feeling comes with its own questions. Mostly the question of if it’s real or not.
I trail behind them, keeping a safe distance. I already found out what it’s like to be within reaching distance of a Reyes. One will yank your hair out and slam your face into the concrete ground and the other… well the other will take your virginity and never speak of it again.
Car doors slam shut with a bang as the crisp scent of new leather seats greets me, and the driver pulls out of the garage. I grip the edge of the seat under me with both hands.
Ronan turns back from the passenger seat, a quick glance and a short wave. “Knox, your sister, please.”
Knox gives him a short nod, the acknowledgment of his command. Then he leans over me, the sweet smell of his cologne strong on his skin. He’s warm as his chest brushes along mine slowly. He’s all around me then. The buckle clicks into place as he clasps my seat belt.
“Wouldn’t want you to get hurt,” Knox whispers harshly.
He slumps back into his seat but he stays close, his flexed arm stays resting against me searing warmth through my jacket and into my skin. Honestly, I hadn’t noticed that I had put on a jacket.
The crunch of gravel under the tires eventually turns into the smooth sound of pavement until it becomes bumpy and I know we’ve reached the courthouse. Ronan is already out the door, quickly walking up the few steps to my mother’s trial.
Knox clicks the buckle pulling the strap from me. He hovers, his voice low and gravelly. “He wants you to play his game. Don’t let him break you like he broke me.” The heat of his breath fans along my neck and I hate the feelings that spiral through me from his closeness.
Why does he always do this to me?
“What if I was already broken in the first place?” My voice startles him as if he didn’t expect me to speak.
Closer he leans, his temple resting against mine, his lips so close I can almost taste them. His eyes look over my face, searching for something I doubt he’ll be able to find. Then he breathes, “You weren’t fragile enough to be broken before, Violet.”
My mouth opens, my eyes catching on his lips as his tongue slides between them and disappears. But then he’s gone. Moving effortlessly in that silent magical way only Knox knows how to move, here one minute and gone the next.
It’s empty now. My eyes chasing him. Did I want to kiss him? Again, a weird bubbly feeling rises up inside me. But it bursts quickly, dissolving into the familiar nothingness.
My body floats along, carrying me from the car and into the courthouse. Only mildly do I notice the people that walk through the halls or the security guards that stand stationed every so often.
Knox stops at a pair of wooden doors, pointing his finger toward them with indifference. The sound of my boots clicking against the old worn tile quickens in pace, as it seems my body moves faster without my conscious recognizing that it is doing so.
I just want to see her. To know she’s okay still.
I push open the doors, ushering myself in, my attention seeking my mother’s familiar features. A tired blonde ponytail with frizzing hair framing her face comes into view. Large eyes land on me in a panic, her face twisting over her shoulder to see as much of me as she can in a scattered rush.
Yes, I find her but she isn’t where I expect her to be. She isn’t waiting with a lawyer before the judge. She isn’t seated or even being brought to her chair.
No, my mother is already being escorted out.
My heartbeat pounds at the short glimpse of her that I get.
“Mom?” The question dies on my lips as she fades from view through the doors at the front of the room. Two swinging doors sway in her absence.
Voices stir around the room as a new case starts up.
Realization dawns on me.
That cruel, mean, terrible man whose genetics I sadly share brought me here only to see her being carted off. A sharp clip of the judges gavel echoing through the room draws many people’s attention. He announces her next court date and the next case that is beginning.
I don’t hear it. All I hear is the swoosh of the swinging doors. The whoosh of the blood pounding in my ears. And the anger that makes my heartbeat throb inside my head.
Why would he do this?
I obsessed over this moment all night. I made myself fucking sick thinking about seeing her and what the judge might say and what her future might hold.
I cling to the feeling of anger. The briefest touch of an emotion is like the air that I need before the ocean of oblivion drags me back into its turbulent sea.
Gray blurs before me. So I tilt my head back in an attempt to harbor the tears that want to crawl down my face before anyone can see. A breath later and I watch Ronan walk confidently to my mother’s lawyer striding toward us.
In Ronan’s hands is a plain manilla folder. He leans forward all smiles and charisma, laughing and whispering quietly into the lawyer’s ear. One hand comes up to clap the man on the back and the other passes Ronan the folder in such a casual move that I can’t look away from the quick exchange.
They give each other a quick goodbye and Ronan, to the untrained eye, looks like a nice man. A kind, even concerned, loving father and friend. His steps do not falter even as he walks back down the small aisle between the benches. Touching his fingers to the tip of his forehead he salutes the judge with a boyish grin. Charming, too charming. It’s all fake. Somehow the judge still beams back and gives him a cheerful wave.
They all know each other.
It’s like a punch to the gut that takes the last of my air away with it. The wave finally coming to sweep me away to the darkest parts of the ocean that no one can save me from.
Instantly, I’m searching. Till my eyes land on the small inky lines of the black rose, one of the tattoos on the back of Knox’s hand. He looks aloof. Though under this tattoo the skin is stretched tight and white along his knuckles. I let myself focus solely on that, let it tether me like a liferaft to him.
There is no hope for this trial. There is no hope for my mother.
I’m so foolish. A young girl swept up in a world that is so much bigger than me. A world I don’t know a thing about.
Naive.
And I’m just now realizing, there’s no hope for me either.
Twenty-Six
Dee
The last thing I want to see is the brick estate of Mournmount Academy. I don’t want to see its perfectly clean lockers, or the hideous uniform, or hear the incessant ringing of the bell. Specifically though, I don’t want to see the students.
Their warm welcoming sneers, the jut of a foot meant to trip me, and the vile nickname Venereal Violet. Even if the boys are no longer trying to provoke me, at least not in the way they had, the students here have yet to get the memo.
I choose to ignore them. Step around them. Focus on anything else.
Nothing in this school feels the same upon my return. Before it felt like a cruel joke, a daily regimen of pain and taunting. Now it feels as if the school is too small for me, like I have outgrown it in a way. As if those three days in the dark, the days that followed with Ronan, and the game he’s playing with my mother has given me experiences no other student here could face.
So the halls feel short, the walls too close. Even this wretched uniform seems to cling to my curves a little too tightly.
After all that I’ve seen, all the practical jokes played on me, and the threat that makes me feel like my life is suddenly hanging in the balance, I somehow still end up in the stuffy office of our school’s counselor.
The walls are a crisp white. Once I would have loved that color, the farthest thing from the dark. Now it is too bright. I try not to squint. Hanging every few feet are posters with quotes that I suppose should be motivating.
It’s I CAN, not I CAN’T.
Mistakes are proof that I am always growing.
Reach for success.
Pardon me while I gag. Some people should be saying ‘they can’t’ more often, this school is made of people who can, could, and would. Again, and again, and again.
Give success a fucking break from time to time. It’s good for the soul, I promise.
Not everyone grows from their mistakes. My thoughts wander to my mother. Drugs are a constant battle for her. It was a mistake she made on repeat my entire life. Then there’s Reed’s mother. Her drinking problem that makes Reed think he’s doomed to live her same life.
