Standing, I move to the center of the room where the good doctor is taking notes.
“I don’t want to be pitied because of what I represent to you and every other outraged parent in our community.”
Shocked by the fact I’ve just said more than I have in all the time I’ve been here, he takes a moment to gather his thoughts before asking, “And what do you think you represent, Addison?”
“The poor little girl who was seduced by the big bad wolf.”
I can tell I’m right. He has nothing to say, and once again, neither do I.
What he doesn't understand is that there isn't a poor little girl, just a wolf in sheep’s clothing, hiding in plain sight—standing right before his very eyes.
Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf?
Tick, tick, tock.
Chapter Eight
Past…
The weekend.
It represented freedom for most people. Two days to do whatever they wanted—but I’m not like most people.
To me, it was two days of forced communication with my parents, who walked around the same house and never once interacted. Virtual strangers.
It hadn’t always been like this, and every day in some way, I was reminded it was because of me.
“Addison!”
My mother’s shrill voice found its way up our spiral staircase and into my room.
“Addison! Get down here! Now!”
Shit. My initial thought was that Mr. McKendrick, no…Grayson, had reported me from the day before, but that didn’t make sense. If he’d done that, he would also be reporting himself.
I tried to imagine what I had done and felt my heartbeat accelerating at the thought. It was never good when she was upset, and it was even worse when my father was.
One, two, three. One, two, three.
I looked at the old antique clock sitting on my desk. As the second hand—tick, tick, tocked—and penetrated my thoughts, I felt myself begin to relax.
Perfection. It’s a goal no one should have to live up to, but after what had happened…how could they love me otherwise?
Pushing off my bed, I made my way over to the oval mirror hanging on my bedroom wall. I studied my reflection and practiced the smile I knew she expected—the one she needed to see. My lips curved and what looked like a smile appeared, but my eyes remained lost.
“Addison!”
Again, her voice found me.
“Coming, Mom!” I finally yelled back.
With a shaky breath, I pulled my hair into a sleek ponytail and headed for the door. Halfway down the stairs I realized several strands had been missed, so I ran back up to my mirror. Knowing she was waiting on me, I yanked the elastic band out with a grimace and once again tied it, this time making sure I caught all of my hair before securing it in place. There, perfect.
Jogging down the stairs, I made my way to the kitchen and found her sipping coffee from her favorite mug. It was one that Daniel had given her for his last mother’s day.
It had I, huge red heart, my mom—and he had.
He’d loved her the most, and she mourned him by pretending it had never happened.
“Addison?” she asked as her eyes ran over me.
It was almost like a spot check.
Hair perfect. Clothes perfect. Behavior perfect.
Check, check, check. Flawless.
“Yes, Mom?”
Lowering the mug onto the black granite counter, her face altered from a frown to a smile so swiftly she would have fooled most, but not me.
“It says here that your time yesterday qualified you to hurdle in the state competition.”
“Oh, yeah,” I acknowledged, having completely forgotten. That piece of information had been lost somewhere around the time I slipped my fingers into my shorts for Mr—Grayson.
“Oh, yeah?” my mother repeated back to me, slowly.
I knew she hated the word yeah.
“Sorry. I meant yes. I was told before we left the meet and after we went to dinner. I must have forgotten.”
In reality, I’d left the school with Brandon, gone to Cherry Hill and let him put his fingers inside me—where mine had been earlier that afternoon for our history teacher.
“Well, young lady, this isn’t something you should take lightly. Your father and I are very pleased with your success.”
Yes, I’m sure he was. So proud that he hadn’t shown up to see me, and so proud he had left early this morning to play golf. The only time my father ever acknowledged me was when I was in his way, so I tried my best to stay out of it.
“We’ll go out tonight. To celebrate.”
The minute the words left her mouth, I knew the idea was a bad one. Family dinners these days consisted of my mother overreacting, my father over-drinking, and me trying, but always failing, to be the ideal daughter.
“That’s okay, Mom.”
“We are going out, and that is that. My baby girl, state champion.”
This side of her always confused me. She seemed genuinely pleased, but at a moment’s notice, her mood could change.
“Mom, I haven’t even run it yet.”
“I know. But you will, and you’ll win.”
I didn’t look away from the eyes as blue as my own, knowing without a doubt that state champion was what she expected. I also knew in my heart, she’d settle for nothing less.
“Yes, Mom,” I agreed and waited, knowing she had not yet dismissed me.
Picking up her coffee mug, she took another sip, and I was reminded again of why I was expected to live up to her high standards—Daniel.
“Tonight. We’ll go to Franco’s. Be ready at seven.”
“But—”
“No buts, young lady. We will celebrate this.”
I nodded, seeing no way out. “Yes, Mom.”
“Good. Good girl.” She paused. “What were you doing just now?”
There it was, the question she always asked. The one she didn't really need answered but inserted into every conversation she had with me.
She saw it as good parenting. That question showed she cared, right?
“Nothing, just read—”
“Good, good,” she muttered, not really listening at all.
The obligatory words had been spoken. I was now dismissed.
It was Saturday afternoon, and I was standing by my father’s bedside. I tried to remember a time when he wasn’t suffering, a time when he’d been strong, healthy—complete.
I pulled the aqua vinyl recliner next to his bed and sat down facing him. Sometimes, if I was lucky, he’d open his eyes and see—
“Gray,” I heard, and I looked into the face of a tired old man.
“Hey, Dad.”
I took his hand in mine and squeezed it.
“Hey yourself. What’s going on, son?”
Even now, with his world slowly fading, he saw straight through the mask and right into me.
“Nothing’s going on. How are you?”
With his usual dry wit intact, a familiar furrow creased his forehead. “How am I? Really, Gray? I woke up this morning, so that’s a great start.”
“Come on, Dad.”
He chuckled softly, which gave way to a cough. “You asked.”
“So I did.”
“Now, what’s going on, son?”
I knew there was no way I could admit the truth. That was not the man I wanted to be and certainly not the man I wanted him to remember. Fuck.