Page 117 of The Lair

On Monday, every company my parents have recently worked with announces they were “parting ways” due to “recent events they deem unacceptable.” Those who have included me or my siblings in any publicity campaigns apologize for “the harm we’ve unknowingly caused” and promise “to do better moving forward.”

On Tuesday, I hop on a video call with George, where he explains that, “Your interview is getting far more traction than we had anticipated, and we’re working on a law change proposalfor Congress. We’d love to have your input, Allison, since you’re a direct victim of the very thing we’re up against.”

I accept. No second-guessing.

On Wednesday, I book my first appointment with a therapist. I owe it to little Allie, who wasn’t given a chance to heal. And I owe it to this Allie, who defied her past for a chance at a realfuture.

On Thursday, my parents speak out.

“Allison was always a difficult child,” my dad starts, his voice as robotic as usual. He doesn’t talk much throughout the fifty-two-second video they post across all their platforms. I find it funny how he’s wearing an old, nonbrand T-shirt he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing in public. “We did the best we could with her upbringing. Other parents will understand.”

“We are heartbroken by this situation,” my mother adds. I don’t even bother rolling my eyes at her makeup-free face and old hoodie combination—a clear attempt at looking disheveled to gain sympathy, much like my father. “The clips shown in that video were filmed during a verydifficult time in my life when my mental health was at an all-time low.”

Mental health professionals didn’t take long to react to my mother’s words—even if it was true that she was struggling during that time, poor mental health doesn’t excuse the fact that she verbally and physically abused her child. That her and my father’s carelessness caused a kidnapping.

On Friday, I meet with George and his team to go over my ideas for the law proposal. I haven’t left the house all week, and venturing into downtown Los Angeles is the last thing I want, but George, always understanding, agrees to meet over a video call.

The sun is setting by the time I shut my laptop. Rubbing the exhaustion off my face with the heels of my palms, I let my head fall against the back of the couch and close my eyes.

This is my life now. I’m a twenty-five-year-old woman who has just exposed her family on national television and is now helping a production company draft a law proposal in hopes of Congress protecting children from what she endured growing up.

And honestly?

It feels right. Still scary, sure. But for the first time in a very long time, I look at myself in the mirror and don’t see an impostor. I don’t see a liar or a woman who’s living an inauthentic life.

For the first time, I seemyself. A person who is finally fulfilling her promise.

I place my laptop on the coffee table and head to the kitchen. Jada and Paul won’t be joining me for dinner—they asked me if it’d be okay if they met with some friends tonight, if I’d be fine on my own, and I begged them to go. Not because I want to be left alone, but because they deserve to live their life. They’ve done more than enough for me already.

Since I’m not expecting anyone until well into the night, it takes me far too long to register the sound of a car pulling into the driveway. Thinking Jada and Paul had a change of plans, I peek through the kitchen window and?—

That’s not their car.

I can’t see who’s behind the wheel from here, but I don’t go near another window in case they see me inside the house.

What if my parents have found me again?

I stop myself.

So what?

I have nothing to hide. I am who I am, and I did what I had to do to end this nightmare and protect other children from a similar hell. I don’t regret what I’ve done, nor do I owe any explanations to people who don’t deserve them.

I have no solid plan as I storm out of the kitchen and throw the front door open other than to confront whoever is set on disturbing my newfound peace.

But my steps come to a halt and so does my heart when my eyes land on the person getting out of the car in Jada and Paul’s driveway.

I’m still not convinced this isn’t a dream as Travis shuts the car door and sets those green eyes on me.

I can’t breathe.

Travis is twenty feet away, here, in Los Angeles, and I can’t breathe.

Unable to move, I watch as he rounds the car—it’s not his truck, so it must be a rental—his tall body coming into full view. He doesn’t get close, but he doesn’t need to. His eyes don’t stray from mine, not once, and that’s enough to make everything come back.

The Lair. His confession. The kiss.

My lies. All the reasons he deserves the best, and all the reasons I’m not it.

---