Page 98 of Ashes of Saints

I wait for her answer because this is important.

“I don’t know. I don’t fucking know.”

Then she turns and runs out of the room.

AURORA

Parker finally left an hour ago, but I stay sitting on the floor of the bathroom with my back against the door.

He knew.

Whatever it was that I saw on the screen, Parker knew about it. Without examining them, it’s clearly some sordid past of my mother’s, from years ago, that I can’t make sense of.

I knew immediately it was our home.

The sounds.

The moans.

“Aurora come out so we can talk about this,” he’d demanded.

“Go away Parker. Go the fuck away. You are just as big a liar as her.” I’d yelled.

Silence.

“I’m going to pretend you didn’t say that.” His deep, sure voice replied.

“Well, I did. Fuck you. Fuck her. Fuck whatever that was. Just leave!” I didn’t want to face him or what was in that room.

Over and over, he demanded I come out.

I don’t want to see him. Ever. Again.

Dropping my head to my knees, I fight the images from the screen I don’t want to acknowledge. The family room that Mom held parties in when I was a child. The parties I wanted to join. The colors on the walls, the bar stools I used to sit on.

The sofa.

The ugly, early two-thousands décor.

They are happy memories that are now damaged forever.

Are they happy? my mind asks, and I press my eyes closed tighter. But they don’t erase the small buttocks or the sounds.

No.

No!

Why were kids at the parties that I wasn’t allowed to go to? I know. Why would a buck naked boy be in our home? We didn’t have a swimming pool.

A flash of real memory comes back and I cry out in anguish.

Oh god. I saw them. Not more than once or twice.

What were they doing to... I know.

I know.

I hate that I know and yet still don’t want to believe it.

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