Page 52 of Breaking Rules

BELLA

August

The house isdark and silent when I arrive. Jake must still be with his dad.

On my way up the stairs, a calm sensation engulfs me. It’s strange, considering how disturbed I felt after Cindy walked out of Thierry’s, how exposed I was when Xander read me like an open book. His ability to break through my defenses, to make me talk to him, is astonishing. No one has ever had that effect on me.

I learned how to hide my emotions long ago. Some days it’s a blessing, but most days it’s a curse. I’ve forgotten how to be open, how to trust. I’ve worn a fake smile for so long, it has become welded to my lips.

My life is nothing but a big pretense, and I’m the biggest hypocrite of all because I’m never honest. My desperate need to be loved turned me into someone I don’t recognize.

A fraud.

That’s who I am, and I don’t know how to stop.

Truthfully, I’ve always preferred to be alone, where I could hide in my own thoughts. But the night my stepfather walked into my room, my aloofness became my armor, and when my mother refused to believe me, I turned in on myself completely.

“You’ve always been desperate for attention, but this is next level. If you ever say something like that again, or if I find out you’re talking to others about this nonsense, you best believe I’ll turn your life into your worst nightmare,” Mother says just before she walks out of my room.

I sit on my bed, staring at the wall for hours, numb to everything. My life is already my worst nightmare. I’m not sure I have it in me to deal with anything worse.

So, I won’t talk about it.

I’ll remain quiet.

It’s the only way to survive.

In the shower, I go through the motions, staring blankly at the wall all the while. Afterward, I slip into a nightie and comb my hair until it’s smooth, like silk under the light of the moon. For a long time, I sit in front of the mirror, staring at my reflection while thoughts swirl in my head, bringing memories to the surface.

The ones I keep locked away.

Tonight, though, they’ve escaped, and they are invading my mind.

In the beginning, Kevin was great. My mother was the one who caused problems. She wanted him all to herself.

When I was thirteen, Kevin took my mother and me to New York. The trip had all the makings of a cherished memory—right up until my mother’s outburst. Kevin had taken us to a Broadway show, and, in her opinion, he’d paid too much attention to me. She was awful to me all night, and before we left, I stepped into the bathroom. When I came out again, they were gone.

I ran out of the theater and scanned the sidewalks. I spent the next five hours searching, wandering. It was a miracle I found my way back to the hotel. Close to hysteria and shaking with fear, I knocked on the door of our hotel room.

Only when my mother calmly answered the door did I realize they hadn’t been looking for me.

She told Kevin I had thrown a tantrum and insisted on walking back to our hotel alone. She lied to him, made me out to be a brat so she could have her husband’s undivided attention. I can’t imagine why he wasn’t concerned when they returned to our room and I wasn’t there.

That night, I sobbed silently in bed; if Kevin or my mother heard me, they’d yell, but I was unable to stop the tears. I felt like the loneliest person ever.

After that day, my whole life changed. Kevin clearly got the message my mom was sending and stopped treating me like his daughter. My mother was even more awful. She made it clear I was a burden to her.

That was when I lost hope of ever finding a person who would love me for who I was. Because if my mother couldn’t do it, how could anyone else?

So, I became a different person. I became malleable, perfected the ability to meet the needs of those around me. Anything to be convenient. I adjusted myself for others to ensure I wouldn’t cause trouble. I was deathly afraid of being left alone again, so I would put up with anything, do whatever was asked of me in hopes I wouldn’t be tossed aside.

I lost my sense of self, decimated any self-esteem I still had. I let the real me disappear.

For most of my adolescence, I was invisible to Mom and Kevin. They didn’t talk to me unless they absolutely needed to. They didn’t care what I was doing, what I was wearing, about my grades or whether I had eaten. I was just there, always lonely but never alone.

The irony isn’t lost on me. Life with Jake isn’t all that different.

The ringing of my phone brings me back to reality. I pick it up, and Jake’s picture stares back.

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