Page 60 of The Lair

I was an adult when I left California—a very young one, sure, but over eighteen, nonetheless. And I made it abundantly clear that I left on my own and why in that video.

What I decide to do or not do with my life should be no one’s business but my own. But it never has been.

I don’t want to ask her this next question, but I won’t be able to relax today or sleep tonight if I don’t. It’s been three days since Travis stayed the night, and I don’t think I’ve managed to sleep more than four hours a day, which means I look and feel like a zombie.

So even if I don’t want to know the answer, not really, I still ask, “What did she say?”

When I cut ties with my parents after I left Los Angeles—and mentally long before then—I told myself I wouldn’t waste another second thinking of the two people who exploited me for their benefit.

But I soon learned that the past never leaves, and pretending it isn’t there causes more damage than healing.

So, I decided to let out my frustrations about my family in the privacy of my journal, just a couple of times a week before bed, and that would be it. Yet I broke my own promise over and over again the first year I left, unable to unglue myself from online spaces I shouldn’t have been in.

The second year, Jada saw right through my bullshit and promised she would be on the lookout as long as I stayed away. It was hard at first, but nowadays checking on my parents is at the very back of my mind—thanks to Jada and Paul and their unyielding resolve to keep me posted with the most relevant stuff.

My former teacher lets out a deep breath. “Do you really want to know?”

I think of the sleepless nights that await me if I keep wondering how bad it actually is instead of coming to terms with this shit show. “Yes.”

My phone buzzes with a text, and I put it on speaker as I open the image Jada attached to our chat. I scan my mother’s words, so fake and measured that I can’t comprehend how she still gets a paycheck from this.

“What do you think?” Jada asks the question of the century.

Now’s my time to sigh. “She’s full of it. That’s what I think.”

Nothing happened to Allison. She had a happy and healthy upbringing, and she loved us very much. When she turned eighteen, our daughter was free to make her own decisions, and she chose to not be a part of this life anymore. Her dad, siblings, and I have nothing to do with this decision, as we have always supported her and given her love. I amdistraught by the unfounded rumors that this family mistreated Allison in any way or was to blame for the terrible thing that happened to her when she was twelve. George Eden’s speculations are nothing but malicious. Legal action will be pursued against anyone who seeks to harm our family during this difficult time.

Bullshit. All of it.

How dareshe pretend nothing was wrong after putting me through hell for most of my childhood and every single day of my teen years?

After humiliating me in front of millions of people?

After her narcissism got me kidnapped and nearly sold to a trafficking ring?

“She knows they’re in the wrong,” Jada says, but I doubt it. My parents were the true definition of narcissistic and, by the looks of it, still are. “You don’t have to listen to all this media circus. Your parents won’t change, and the rest of the world is just nosey. You’re safe.”

“It’s not that I feel physically threatened.” Maybe I do, but that has everything to do with the car and the break-in and very little with my family. “It’s more… mental stuff.”

“You’re still on the fence about therapy?”

She’s been pushing me toward it for a long time, but how can I be honest with a therapist without giving myself away? My life isn’t exactly an easy one to explain.

“I’ll consider it.”

It’s what I always tell her, and she hasn’t been buying it for years.

“Allie…. Therapists are sworn to secrecy. They won’t go to the press unless they want their licenses and livelihoods taken away, and trust me, nobody wants that.”

It makes sense in my head, it truly does, but…

“I mean it, Jada—I’m thinking about it. I know I need therapy, and I promise I’ll get there.” Someday. “Just give me a bit more time to settle in Bannport, yeah?”

Because fifteen months aren’t enough?

“I trust that whatever you decide to do will be the best thing.” Even though she clearly disagrees with me on the therapy thing, I know she means her reassuring words. She always does. “I’m just looking out for you, honey.”

“I know, and I love you so much for it. You are the best. I hope you know that.”

---