Page 8 of Spiteful Lies

“Are you okay?” she says, “You don’t look well.”

I hold my suitcase behind my back, the one that I packed the things in that I want to keep safe. The letters from Mom, the sentimental jewelry she gave me, the doll I slept with every night in my bed.My bed?I swallow hard, but the path swirls again. I place my hand to my nose and fake a big sneeze, wiping the tears quickly off my face.

“Come to gloat?” I tilt my nose in the air. “Do you think I miss him? Well, I gave him back to you.”

Roni’s eyes narrow behind those ridiculous frames. “Gave him back? He ran back to me. He was sick of you and your snotty ass.”

“He loved my ass,” I smirk, “If I bent over now, he’d lick it again. And I don’t need toys.”

Her face freezes and then turns a raging shade of red. I went too far, but she’ll have plenty of hurtful things to say to me later when she finds out what I’ve become. I’ll get my digs in now because Roni will have it better than me when my secret is revealed. Everyone will have it better than me.

“He likes teasing,” I add guiltily, “You know, edging. He likes it when you drag it out. Be in charge. You go too fast. It’s sex, not a race for the gold. Take your fucking time.”

Speechless, Roni stands rooted to the spot, staring at me like I’m crazy. Maybe I am. My mind feels like a jolt of electricity, sending out sparks. I feel like I can say whatever the hell I please. Is this how Astrid feels every day? I brush against Roni’s arm, causing her to stumble, zooming past her up the path toward the dorms. It only occurs to me later that Roni wasn’t in class.

In the distance, Dr. Rawlins is dressed in red, a classic power color, from head to toe. Her coat swirls behind her, caught on a breeze as she marches across campus with an entourage of men trailing behind her. Dr. Rawlins looks totally fabulous as she patrols the grounds of Stonehaven. If she knew that gross man had stuck a phone in my face, she’d have his arm torn off his squat little body.

For a moment, she eyes me, but I hurry away toward the dorms. I don’t want her to ask me any questions like why I’m not in class. I’m about to miss Prof. Getz’s midterm. It’s so sad that I don’t care. Who will care about the bastard girl?

I laugh at my silliness as I swing open the front door to the dorm and run up the stairs. “Fuck. Shit. Dildo. Penis!” I shout every bad word that springs into my mind and listen to it echo off the concrete stairwell. “I fucking hate you all, and now, I don’t care if you know it!”

I push my key into the lock and turn it. “I don’t care, so fuck y’all.” I kick my room door open, and it bounces off the far wall, then swings shut. “Fuck you all!” I shout as my legs give out underneath me, and I tumble hard to the floor. “Fuck you all.” I can’t stop sobbing as my body shakes and curls into a tight ball as I clutch my suitcase against my stomach. “Fuck you, Daddy, for hating me.”

***

I don’t know how long I lie on the floor. Slowly, I wake up, and my eyes are crusty from crying. My cheek feels wet, and I must’ve drooled while I slept. Embarrassed, I wipe my mouth on my coat sleeve and look around the room as if an audience is watching me. Of course, I’m all alone. Slowly, I sit up and lean my forehead on my purple couch, closing my eyes and softly panting. I remember how badly I wanted this couch. I asked Daddy a hundred times for it. He finally relented and had it shipped to my dorm as a surprise. I jumped up and down when I saw it. I was so pleased that I finally had it in my dorm room. If I beg and plead again, will he change his mind and take me back?

I start when there’s a knock on my door, and when I don’t move quickly enough, they knock again.

“Charlotte, are you in there?”

Astrid. I have to tell Astrid. She’ll understand. I’m on my feet and moving, but the door opens before I can reach it. Astrid holds up my keys with a look of concern on her face. I swallow hard and quickly change my mind. I can’t tell her right now.

“You left these in the lock.” She places the keys carefully in my hand and then studies my face hard. She reads every emotion I’m trying too hard to hide.

I turn my back to her and grab hold of my suitcase, moving it out of the center of the floor. Purposefully, I place it inside my closet, but Astrid’s eyes are burning a hole into the side of my head. She won’t let up until I tell her. I know it.

“Are you okay?” she says, sitting down on the couch. “You weren’t in class today, not that it mattered. But you never miss class. Did you see the chaos out there? Is Dad okay?”

I sit down heavily at the desk as my knees shake. A fit of momentary anger focused on my sister builds. Astrid is Elliot Howland’s only daughter, and jealousy and resentment flare up inside me. But I quickly tamp down my feelings. Astrid may be the only person I can trust, and now being a bitch is a luxury I can’t afford.

Astrid gets up and walks toward me. She stands close, and I can feel the tension rolling off her. She moves awkwardly, raising her hands toward me and then lowering them again. It makes me smile, and the bad feelings don’t last. She can be kind, but showing it is a struggle for her. I reach out and hold her outstretched hand.

“It’s not Dad,” I tell her, “Or not what you think. Remember when we donated blood for his treatment?” She nods, and I continue. “Well, he took a sample of our blood and ordered two paternity tests. The results came back, and you’re his biological daughter, but I’m not.”

“What do you mean you’re not his daughter?” Astrid says slowly. “Of course you’re his daughter. I don’t understand.”

“Astrid, my mother had an affair. They both had affairs. We’re not related. We have different mothers and fathers.”

She blinks as my words slowly sink in, and her hand grips mine tighter. I know what must be going through her head. I was the lifeline and buffer between her and Howland. Now, we’ve both been set adrift. She’ll have to deal with him alone while I deal with being alone.

“Do you know who your father is?” she asks softly.

I shake my head. “I doubt I ever will. Dad…I mean, Howland threw out or donated all my mother’s things. I only have the photos and the letters I saved. Mom never talked about another man. I didn’t know their marriage was a mess until this year.”

Astrid leans against the desk. “I’m sorry, Charlotte. I wish this wasn’t happening to you.”

I smile weakly. “Thanks, but I’m the one who’s sorry. I’m sorry for not being nicer to you. I’m being taught a karmic lesson in humility, aren’t I? I’m learning firsthand how you felt all your life. Not knowing who your father was and having to deal with the humiliation. I’m learning why I should’ve been nicer.”

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