Page 33 of Before Now

Sage shadows me out of my bathroom, the look in her eyes saying everything she’s trying to bite back. She hates the escape plan. I think she worries she’s part of what I’m escaping. In reality, she’s one of the only reasons I’m still here. I love her too much to tell her all the reasons I desperately want to go.

The frumpy dress I wore earlier lies balled up on the floor, and I kick it under my bed on the way to my dresser. I’m done acting for the night. No need for reminders.

By the time I throw on sweats and a baggy tee, Miles is off the phone, and Sage traps me in a hug.

“I love you, bitch,” she says, the term of endearment sweet as always. “I’ll see you in a few days. I’m thinking we dress as slutty nuns or slutty sluts. I’m undecided.”

I wince, pulling away. “Right. Halloween. Can’t wait.”

Dismissing the sarcasm, she heads to my window. I glance at the door and realize the pillows are still shoved up against the bottom.

“Why’d you come up the trellis?”

Lifting the window, she glances over her shoulder. “No one answered. I figured your mom and the chief were out.”

My brow dips as she throws her leg through, but I school it. “Yeah, they must be.”

Sage blows me a kiss before descending the trellis. I close the window behind her, leaving the latch undone as always. I feel too trapped with it locked.

I finish cleaning up from my bath and hit off the overhead lights. The LED strip around my headboard sends a blue glow bouncing off the walls and words written on them. I added new ones the other day after Foster and the leavesand our mutual lies.

The world’s full of liars and the oblivious.

As I’m snatching my phone off the nightstand, ready to zone out in bed, a muted crash stops me. I stare at the pillows on the floor, unease washing over me while I wait. Another noise turns into a tightness in my chest. My shoulders. My jaw. My throat. Then the tear happens inside me. One part begs me to block the outside with more pillows. Or sit in the bathroom with the door closed again. The other demands I go out there. To fuckingtry. Even if it slowly destroys me every time.

Who am I kidding? Either choice chips away at my being.

When the screaming breaks through my barrier—muffled and so angry—Ikick the pillows out of the way. The darkened hallway outside my room has an open banister where the living room opens up below. I look over on my way to the stairs to see what the fuck I’m running into. Like it will somehow matter. A destroyed lamp for sure and strewn fireplace tools.

The shouting only heightens once I reach the bottom of the stairs and see the rest. The entire dining table is upended, and every single plate, glass, and piece of silverware from dinner are scattered or shattered. Only an hour ago people occupied the knocked-over chairs. Soft music played.

The illusion tonight was a charming family unit. The doting wife who showed enough skin to feed her husband’s need to be envied by everyone around him. An angsty—and “incredibly shy”—stepdaughter, so hard to love, but they do because who else would? And the solid oak providing the security and safety every family needs. A king on his throne at the head of the table, surrounded by sycophants and false walls of gold. No one is aware the real walls are filled with rot and the king’s not wearing any clothes.

Or maybe they do know. They just don’t care.

I only have a few seconds to survey the damage before my mother slams into my shoulder, passing me for the living room. While I bathed the night off of me, she’s gone from seeming calm and agreeable to agitated and erratic. Pinpoint pupils now blown out. Pills to different pills or whatever else she’s using. I used to keep track so I could…

Help.

“I tried, Daniel,” she screeches. She whips around by the cold fireplace, thrusts her hands into her yellow hair, and pulls from the root. “I picked the dress you like. I only drank two glasses of wine at dinner.”

She slurs it all, nothing about her stable at the moment.

I ease closer, ready to coax her upstairs—anywhere but here. “Mom, let’s go?—”

“I fuck you in that dress because you look like a whore, Rebecca.” Daniel barrels through, and I draw back, wrapping my arms around my middle. I’m not sure if he’s on something or just his usual raging, abusive fuck self.

“I told you to fucking be presentable and quiet tonight. Not pregame with a handful of painkillers and dress like you want Marlo to come on your tits at the dinner table.”

My nails dig into my upper arms when she rips her head up, eyes wild. I hate it here. I hate every second.

“God, I wish he would have.” She wobbles toward him, but I think she intends for a sexy sway of her hips. “I bet Marlo’ll fuck me good. Better than your tiny dick?—”

“Watch it, cunt.” He rips his loosened tie over his head and fists the silk, forefinger pointed in her face. “I’ll make sure you die in the fucking gutter where I found you if you pull this shit again.”

She shoves him in the chest, and I flinch even before he grabs her by the jaw. I need her to stop.

“Mom,” I say, stepping forward, but Daniel jerks toward me, face and eyes red. I stop. I look away. I can’t move while being ripped in two different directions inside. A scared little girl, begging me to save her mommy like she always tried to, and the shredded remains from her failing every time, demanding I save what’s left of us.

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