Page 2 of Without You, Scotch and Sammy 2

Why?

Because I could, and I knew I’d never use them, and besides leaving and never going home again, it was the only revenge I could get on them, petty as it may have been.

I’ve never laid eyes on my parents again after we packed up our house and moved clear across the country.

I got them out of town, I got them away from him, then when they moved their shit into their new home, I loaded up my most important possessions and moved again. They thought they won something from Sam, and in a way, they did. They stole from him. But they still lost, because they never got to keep me.

After almost nine years in school and several hundred thousand dollars paid from my parents’ check book for tuition, what degree didn’t I get? Law.

I was never going to conform to Frederick Ricardo’s expectations, and there was nothing they could do or say or threaten me with to force my hand. They’d already taken away the most important things in my life, and they did it callously and without remorse.

I packed my bags as soon as I was well enough to, and I left, a broken husk of a woman, empty and void, and for the most part, emotionless.

I was careless.

I didn’t have a deep-seated instinct to stay safe. Why should I? There was no one to go home to. There wasn’t a single person on this planet that I had to check in with to assure I was safe. But I also wasn’t going out of my way to put myself in danger. Why? Because I didn’t feel like doing it. I didn’t feel like doing anything.

I spent years studying and sleeping and watching crappy movies in the dark. That’s it. I went to class and wrote notes, millions of notes, not missing a single inconsequential thing my lecturers taught me, because if it was important enough for them to mention it, then it was important enough for me to write it down and commit it to memory. When I got home again, I read and reread those notes. I wrote my papers weeks early. I took extra classes every semester and fast tracked my education. I had no parties to go to, therefore no hangovers, no walks of shame, no regrets. And I had plenty of time to study, so I never got anything less than perfect grades.

It’s not that I was the smartest student at my school. I was simply the one with the most spare time and the innate drive to study and get my degree.

If I couldn’t have my life with Sam and our ill-fated baby, then I’d take no other pleasure except in studies, with the intention to help other children.

For several years straight, I ate takeout in front of the TV almost every single night, and on the nights I ‘cooked,’ I ate grilled cheese and avocado sandwiches. I was probably lacking a lot of vitamins in my diet, and the depression and lethargy that followed me around didn’t let up until my third-year post grad, when I realized sunshine and vegetables were important elements in life.

So was socialization.

I was once an excited teenager with grand plans in life and an overabundant well of energy to expel, and most of that energy was spent on Sam Turner.

With Sam Turner.

Under Sam Turner.

Smiling at Sam Turner.

Swimming with Sam Turner.

Pretending to be coy around Sam Turner.

Then I became Mrs. Turner, and I lost it all. In a matter of one single perfectly imperfect week, my life imploded in spectacularly horrifying fashion.

It’s really pathetically poetic how it all worked out.

Though I never conformed and never went to law school, nor did I even consider for a single second that I’d be joining my father’s law firm, I recognized soon after I left them that perhaps I should have at least taken a few law subjects. It took until my second year of college to realize my parents’ threats of statutory rape and assault would never have held up in court.

They lied.

No laws were broken, and they knew that. Well, Sam did hit my dad, but apart from that, my metaphorical falling onto my sword was a complete waste. Everything was a complete waste.

I thought I was doing the right thing. I thought I was saving him from a lifetime of prison for assault and rape and the billion other things my dad so convincingly laid out for me. He was a lawyer, he was respected in his field, and he put forward a really convincing argument during a time I was hurt and overwhelmed and couldn’t make better decisions. My parents were masters of manipulation, and they knew they were bullying teenagers who were emotional, hurt, and didn’t know any better. I’ll never forgive them for what they did to me and Sam.

But alas, by the time I realized my parents’ threats were just hot air, everything had already been ruined anyway. I’d already left Sam. I’d already broken his heart and severed all ties. But worst of all, I’d already lost his baby. And I never got to tell him myself. I never got the chance. No, that had to come from my father in the most hurtful way possible.

My father wielded the sword that would hurt Sam forever, but I was the accessory to his crimes. I hurt him in a way that would invariably change his life.

I just hope he’s happy now.

“Samantha, Shari Lytto’s back in emergency.”

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