Page 67 of Bound By Threads
This is easier. It’s not a lie. I just won’t tell them the other half of it.
My eyes are firmly fixated on the space above their heads, and the lines on the wallpaper are suddenly the most interesting thing in the world as I count each line while I muster the courage to talk to them.
“Strangers. People who I didn’t recognize. I knew my dad. The beach and the seashells. The love he had for me,” I pause, flicking my eyes to theirs quickly.
All of them are watching me with rapt attention, locked onto my every word. I flick my eyes away again, unable to see their expressions. “I knew my mom. Cold and distant, but sometimes she would remember my favorite food and make it for dinner, or she would buy me a dress to wear to the beach with my dad, which was somehow my favorite color. That mom always gave me hope.”
“Then there were the strangers. Tracey’s addiction ruled her, pulling her in until Mom didn’t exist anymore. Colder and more distant, but worse, so much worse.” I twist my fingers together, ignoring the pain of my bones grinding together.
“Dad,” I choke, a lump forming around the word, still unable to lose the hurt of watching his addiction turn him into someone I no longer knew. “Peter was the one that hurt the most. He was full of life, the perfect dad, and then he wasn’t. He became a shell of the man I knew and numbed the guilt he felt with the drugs and alcohol.”
“Do you want to know the worst part?” I let out a bitter laugh. “I watched them turn into strangers right in front of me, and the naïve, childish part of me still wanted the old them to come back even after everything.”
“But they don’t come back just like you three should never have. They turned into strangers, but worse than that was when the air was being driven from my lungs or cut off as their hands were wrapped around my neck… All I could see was a demon looking back at me. No love in their eyes, just completely different people. I was no longer a human being in their eyes, and you three were no better.”
I finally look at them, hating the way I flinch at whatever I see. I keep my voice steady. “I need you to leave me alone. You nearly won. I got the notes back then; the message was loud and clear, but I have a life now. A chance to be happy, and if you leave me alone, I’ll extend the same courtesy…” Another deep breath, but I know I need to finish this. “But I need to be clear. I’m not the same girl as before, and I will not allow you ever to break me again.”
I stand,refusing to give them another chance to come up with an excuse. Excuses I don’t have the strength to listen to. I walk out of the room, leaving them there even as Crew shouts after me.
“Notes? What notes, Scarlett!” he shouts, and I quicken my pace. “Lottie! What fucking notes?”
I walk faster, unable to hold in my sigh of relief when Archer’s car is there, idling in the parking lot.
I jump into the passenger seat just as Crew rushes out of the doors, searching for me.
Archer doesn’t need me to say anything. He just drives, not stopping even when we drive past the house.
Chapter32
Archer
The engine’s quiet hum is the only sound in the truck besides her breathing.
I don’t look at her.
I can’t. Not yet.
Lottie’s in the passenger seat, hugging herself like she’s trying to hold the pieces in place, and I intend to get answers. I’m assuming because that fuck Crew came running out after her, that they cornered her, and I was too late to protect her… again.
My knuckles tighten around the gearshift, skin stretching white. I try to ease my grip, but I can see the slight tremor in Lottie’s frame, and I have to resist the urge to turn the truck around and go back to them and demand answers.
I don’t say a word; I don’t think I could if I wanted to, and she doesn’t push me—not after the fight we had. I don’t know why I said the things I did… maybe I do—but I just don’t want to admit to myself why or how much she really affects me. I promised myself that I’d tell her how I felt, even if it means leaving my heart at her feet to stamp on.
Instead of turning toward the house, I veer off, heading down the long stretch of highway, toward the beach.
I pullup and cut the engine. “Shall we?” I ask, barely recognizing my voice. Rough, raw, like the words aren’t my own.
She nods, kicks off her shoes, and slips out of the truck without a word. I catch the flicker of something like relief in her eyes, and when I finally make my way to her, she walks ahead of me.
I follow. Of course I do. Lottie has pulled me in since the moment I met her, the tether between us snapping tighter with every moment I was around her, until it felt like I was walking a strained tightrope.
I feel something twist in my chest as I follow behind her, the same twist I feel whenever I think of the night I saved her.
I can feel the heat from the sand underneath my shoes, and the waves lap at the shore like a memory I haven’t been able to shake.
We don’t speak as we walk, just move until we reach the halfway point. I lower myself onto the sand, elbows resting on my knees. Lottie joins me a second later, not too close but close enough that I can feel her near me.
I exhale slowly through my nose. “I remember the night I found you,” I say, unable to look at her. We’ve never spoken about this night fully, and I’ve never wanted to. The memories are always too much.
