Page 3 of Unspoken Truths

I’ll try again tomorrow, armor set in place, knowing the day will suck no matter what I do. It’s easier to set my expectations as low as possible so that I’m not let down.

My hopes were set too high today, and I won’t make that mistake again.

“Also, I have a heavy mat in the trunk for the front seat and a blanket,” Ignatio says in disgust. “Be sure to use them before you get inside of the car. Let’s head out, guys.”

Each one spits at my feet as if to mirror Ignatio’s feelings, leaving me alone with my shattered thoughts and broken dreams.

It was supposed to be different here, but it’s not.

* * *

I’m staringat the wall in my pretty room when my mom comes to find me. I keep a lot from her, hold it away from her finding out, because I don’t think she can handle it.

The fairy tale is what interests her, and I need to make certain that I fit into that space.

I’ve been home for hours, spending a large part of that time scrubbing at my skin, washing my hair, brushing my teeth several times, and gazing at the blooming bruise on my shoulder from when Jared shoved his boot there and pushed. It’s not the first nor will it be the last time that I’ve had a boot sized bruise, though I wish that wasn’t true.

“How was the first day of school?” she asks, smiling as she waits for me to tell her.

I’m wearing a pair of fuzzy pajamas, including socks, because Portland in the spring is cool and dreary. My hair is now dry and loose around my shoulders, the idea of wearing it in a braid ever again chilling and a sad reminder of what happened today. I need a little comfort, and it’s clearly not going to come in the form of a hug or a mother willing to leave her delusional, happy world. The chef quietly had a maid bring me a cup of hot chocolate about twenty minutes ago, since he caught a glimpse of me walking inside, and I have to say this is the best part of my day.

There are eyes everywhere in this house, which means nothing is private. I can’t get away with anything here, but I also don’t believe they’re telling my mother anything either. I’ll have to accept that this is where I’m living for now, until something bad happens.

It always does.

I take another sip of my hot beverage as I try to formulate both a lie and a distraction.

“It was fine, I just don’t think I fit in,” I begin, slowly licking chocolate off my lips. “Wouldn’t it be easier for me to attend a public school, not to mention less expensive?”

“Was it that bad?” Emil asks from the doorway, leaning in. It’s as if he’s attempting to not disrupt my privacy without permission, while still inserting himself into the conversation.

I mean, I guess this is better than what I’ve had to deal with in the past. Beggars can't be choosers, after all. Especially not trailer trash, as his son so sweetly pointed out.

“It was eye opening,” I say instead of what I really want to say. “The workload is intense, but I’m used to working hard.”

“Are you possibly trying to tell me that the students are awful?” Emil asks, smirking. I can see a lot of his son inside of him. I can’t say if he’s less of an asshole, simply that I haven’t seen evidence of it.

My new stepfather is tall, imposing, with short, dark brown hair that’s beginning to go a bit gray. It feels as if his eyes see more than what I’m saying, pulling away the layers of lies and shadows that I tightly wrap around myself so people will never see how shy and insecure I actually am.

I’m willing to fight for my survival, I simply wish it wasn’t necessary.

I can see why my mom is drawn to him, though. He screams safety, but I can’t bring myself to believe it. I’m tired of being wrong.

“I’m saying nothing of the sort,” I murmur, my fingers picking at a loose thread in my pants. These pajamas are old, but I don’t like to ask for anything I can’t repay.

The full rack of school clothes was a compromise, one I’m already regretting.

“Rachelle,” Emil rumbles. “I know it’s a big change, but they feel like you’re an outsider, and this world doesn’t take well to those.”

My mom blinks for a moment, turning to face her new husband.

“Should she go to a public school then?” she asks. “Rachelle shouldn’t have to worry about bullying while already bending so much.”

Wow. Did she just take my side?Heat prickles behind my eyes, and I blink hard, attempting to hold back the tears that are threatening to overwhelm me. I can’t let this be the thing that breaks me.

“I don’t know if it was that bad—” Emil begins when he catches sight of the first tear to track down my face. “Fuck.”

The word makes me flinch. This is where it starts isn’t it?

---