Page 13 of The Catalyst

He releases me as my legs shake and I want to scream. How can I stay away from him if he won’t let me? And the things he said.

He may not have said it, but I felt the threat in his words. He’s not against hurting anyone who touches me. If I were to hook up with some rando, he would have something to say about it.

I really should’ve just gone with the psychopath.

I snap around to give him a piece of my mind, but he’s gone.

September 6, 1814

It’s colder here than I expected. I thought the summer would stretch all year round, but America has four seasons, the same as Ireland. We all expected better. There isn’t more food, better work or guaranteed safety in the cities of this country. We’re all starving and we can’t walk outside without the threat of violence from the people who hate us simply because we came here for freedom. We weren’t born on this soil and that is all it took for these people to judge us. I like them even less than the criminals and crooked policemen back in our country. Maybe it was a mistake coming here, hoping for a better life, but we can’t give up now. Accepting defeat equals death and I won’t accept the downfall of all those I hold dear. Aileen is barely holding on and she needs the most of our rations. She is expecting our first child. I’m taking in less and less food because I know she needs it more.

We won’t last much longer, which means there’s only one option left for us. To survive, we’ll have to make one more run for it. It shouldn’t be too difficult since we’ve done it before.

Until next time,

Séamus O’Reilly

CHAPTER 6

BETH

When I got home, I raced to my room to cover up the bite mark on my neck. It turned red and got purple as time went on. Now, if my mom sees it, she will flip out. This mark can’t be explained away. That asshole bit me!

I use makeup to cover the mark. Luckily, I have some full-coverage foundation or I’d have to wear a scarf to dinner and even then, I bet she’d notice something was off.

I grab my hoodie from the chair by my desk and tug it over my head before walking out of my room. I swear, the next time I see Nigel, I’ll kick him in the balls instead. Is he this fucking reckless? He can’t leave marks on me. That’s the fastest way for my mom to file charges against him for assault.

“Dinner is ready,” my mom says as she sets the pot roast on the table before looking at me. “Why are you wearing that?” she presses, eyeing me suspiciously.

“It’s comfy,” I quip as I sit down at the kitchen table, but she continues to glare at me, snatching her wine.

“Take it off, Bethany.”

“No. I’m cold,” I lie, and my mother glares at me.

“When I tell you to do something, do it. What are you hiding?”

I scowl back at her. “I’m not hiding anything.”

“Take off the goddamn jacket,” she demands, but I ignore her.

“Should a great servant of the Lord be saying his name in vain?” I grumble as I reach for the serving fork, but I don’t reach it before a sharp sting lands across my cheek, whipping my face around.

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that. I’m your mother!”

My hair falls in my face, and my jaw slacks with shock and agony radiating through my cheek. I can’t believe she actually hit me. I shouldn’t be surprised, though. She’s been on a downward spiral since my dad died and kept up the pretenses of being put together for everyone outside of this house. I get to see the great Darcy Mercer in the wild, unfiltered, and she’s only getting progressively worse. I hoped this move would be good for her to escape all the memories, but it’s blatantly clear that is not the case. It was wishful thinking because this isn’t grief anymore. She’s a functioning addict at best.

My hand rubs the sore flesh as tears assault my eyes. “If only Dad could see you now,” I whisper to myself more than to her as my lip trembles.

“Baby…” My mom’s voice trails off, but I don’t look at her. This is my burden to bear. She is the burden, her pain. “I’m sorry I…” she can’t even finish the thought. We both know no matter what she says, it won’t fix this or make it better. She crossed a line she hasn’t before, and there is no going back.

“I lost my appetite. Why don’t you go find a bar to drink yourself into a stupor, Preacher?” I jump from my seat, fish an ice pack out of the freezer and hurry to my room.

She’ll leave soon and I’ll get something to eat then. Right now, I need to nurse my injury and keep my distance from her.

I cannot wait to get out of Grove Hill and make my way to Port Angeles. Good riddance to my mother and this town.

I lay in my bed for a while, using my oversized ice pack as a pillow until my window is suddenly thrown open. I shriek in shock and sit up, racing my gaze to the bay window, looking over the backyard and watch as a familiar face pokes in.

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