Page 3 of Scorpion

I move to step forward, but my boyfriend stops me with a hand around my arm.

“Leave, Mathijs.” He doesn’t let me yank my arm back, so I try again, shooting frantic looks back at my parents. “You’re making it worse.”

He ignores my pleas, looking at me with the same desperation that I feel. “Zal—”

“Get out of here.”

“I’m not letting you deal with this alone. We’ll tell her together.” He attempts to interlock our fingers, but I scramble out of reach. If I can make him leave, maybe Mom’s fury won’t be as bad. I’ll be able to salvage the situation.

“This is my problem to fix.”

But as my gaze slams with Mom’s, I realize there’s no fixing this. She raised me better than to hope she could change. The only truth she’ll ever believe is the one she told herself.

Mathijs curses at his phone. “Fuck, it’s my dad.” He ends the call and turns back to me, trying to close the distance between us when all I can do is inch back. “I’m not going anywhere. I promised you that you’ll never have to do anything alone. This falls under that promise.”

“Zalak,” my father warns, making me flinch.

Mathijs narrows his eyes at my reaction. “Zal—”

“No, Mathijs.” Panic bubbles up my throat. What if Mom doesn’t let me have access to my savings account? I’ve relied on my parents for everything and they might take it away. What if she locks me in my room or takes it out on Gaya? What if she manages to get into my laptop and withdraws my college acceptance?

I have to do something. Anything.

I’ll keep seeing Mathijs in secret. Tell Mom whatever she wants to hear. I have to make this right.

I can feel my parents’ presence behind me, waiting by the door, more impatient by the second.

“Just leave!” I growl. Tears sting my eyes and my lungs scream louder than my racing pulse. The more he says, the worse it will be for me. “Please.”

His phone lights up again with another call from his father that he ignores, then he grabs my arm. “Only if you promise to call me after.”

“We’ll see.”

My stomach sinks from the hurt that flashes across his eyes. “Zal—”

“Leave.”

I can barely make out his face through my blurring vision. I blink my tears away as quickly as I can because my mother will prey on any kind of weakness, using it as a weapon to tell me all the ways I’m a disappointment to my family.

“Please,” I whisper.

Mathijs lets me go. For some reason, it’s like a part of my shattered heart breaks off and crumbles into dust. An open wound for my mother to prod at. He doesn’t walk away. Instead, he watches me leave. Back turned on him. Steps heavy and soul aching. This feels like a goodbye.

The walk to the front door seems to stretch for miles. The crescent moons I’ve dug into my palms do nothing to ground me to Earth. It’s like I’m walking to my slaughter.

Neither of my parents says anything as I walk inside, boots echoing on the tile. Trembling, I struggle to remove my shoes under the weight of their burning stare. The silence is always the worst. It means she’s stewing. It means she’s concocting a way to make me suffer for the crime of attempting to live outside of her control.

“Stand straight,” Mom whispers in Hindi, poking my back. “Greet them, then say you’ll return shortly.”

“Who?” My voice comes out hoarse. The pristine white walls are closing in.

She doesn’t respond, letting Papa lead the way through the foyer and toward the living area. I trail behind numbly, Mom hot on my heels with her long nails scraping my ribs through the thin fabric of my shirt.

Papa plasters on a forced smile as he turns toward the living room, holding his hand out to me. “My apologies. This is our daughter Zalak.”

I hesitate before accepting it, and Mom takes it as a sign to shove me forward. I almost stumble as I approach Papa’s side, only to find three people have risen to their feet alongside my brother.

It physically pains me to pull my lips into a smile, but I do it because Mom’s punishment will only get worse if I don’t pretend that everything is all sunshine and roses. The man who looks about my father’s age steps forward first, offering me his hand in greeting.

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