Page 68 of Fall onto me

“Listen.” She’s shaking now, her hands gesturing to the couch. “We need to talk.”

“To talk?” I shout, a rolling wave of anger seeps into my bloodstream. “Who are you?”

“I’m …” She looks at her feet, to the broken porcelain and red sauce staining her rug. “Your aunt.”

“Bullshit,” I spit, even though the picture doesn’t lie. “How did you know my mom?”

Her lip is quivering now. “She’s my sister.”

“No, no.” I shake my head. “She doesn’t have any family.” A long stretch of silence lingers between us until finally, I allow a portion of the lies to seep in. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Curling my fingers around the lip of the table, I use it as a support as tears stream down my face. “Why didn’t you save me?”

Grace falls to her knees; her shoulders bounce up and down to match the brutal sobs that escape her.

I want to wrap her in my arms to hug her.

My … my aunt.

But I can’t, there’s something about the what-could-have-beens that are making my lie of a life flash before my eyes.

I have to get out of here.

22

Oh, what could have been.

I was never supposed to live like I did; it wasn’t a part of my story. Grace could have saved me, could have taken me away from the terror I experienced.

I run out of the house, taking one long look back to see everything I missed out on. A childhood here, with her, would have been a thousand times better than the trauma I’d endured.

The lush grass would have been underneath my bare feet when I was a child instead of marble and fear.

I left my flip flops inside, and I’ll be damned if I return to get them. The only thing I need is right here, proof that mom had family. A way for this to stop.

I always assumed she had no other choice. And my therapist encourages me to forgive, to find a reason to forgive.

Where mom’s parents had passed, that this was it for her. Maybe she would escape if she could, that she had no other way to protect me but to stay with my monster of a father.

This undoubtedly makes it worse, that at any point when she saw a bruise on my skin that she could have simply driven to the other side of town and dropped me at her sisters to keep me safe.

She didn’t have to stay; she could have returned to her fucking mansion and pearls the moment she set me on the doorstep.

Forgiveness is out of the question. The only thing that remains coursing through my bones is a boiling hot rage.

* * *

Anger has takenover every rational emotion inside of me. It isn’t even a strong enough word; I feel utter betrayal. My skin is hot, and I swear I’m going to have a fucking heart attack as I skirt to a stop in front of my parents’ house.

I would check the garage, to see if my adoring father Kent is home. But I could care less. I would punch him in the fucking throat if he tried to stop me from this confrontation.

The door is locked, so I walk around to the side and pull the hidden key from underneath the rock. The lightweight plastic is fake like my life, and once I secure the key, I chunk it into the tree line

My shaking hands can’t stand the tedious, calm task of inserting the key into the lock, so there’s a few screams and punches that happen on the way in.

Mom is here, standing in the living room with a stunned expression on her face and a glass of rose in her right hand.

“Explain.” I sneer, chucking the photograph in her direction.

She sucks in a gasp of air as she picks it up. “Skyler.” Her voice is low, timid.

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