Page 81 of The Promises We Break

Iwake up feeling the same hungover sensation I did when I woke up next to Hudson in Vegas. Except this one is not alcohol induced, it’s my father induced, or at least who I thought was my father. I’ve decided, right here and now, that a hangover from pure emotional destruction is definitely far worse than a hangover induced by any liquid poison.

I don’t recall how we got to wherever we currently are. My mind was muddied and dazed last night, and I completely shut down. That’s never happened to me before. I’ve always been able to control my emotions, my reactions to exciting things as well as negative. I’m not quite the master of the poker face, but I know how to wear a mask to camouflage my true sentiments.

Last night was an exception.

The mask was ripped off and torn to shreds by the people who are supposed to love me the most.

I’m not sure why I’m surprised; they have always treated me like the red-headed stepchild.

Shit.

I am, in literal terms, the red-headed stepchild. To my father, at least.

I think I always knew. Deep down. I just refused to accept it. My brothers, none of them have any inkling of my same coloring, in either hair color or skin tone. They always treated me differently than my brothers. And the way my mother would look at me, the scowl behind her eyes, the hate behind her voice. It was dripping with resentment, and no matter what I did, nothing made it better.

My heart feels as if it’s been drained, leaving a faint pulse, just enough to keep me alive to suffer.

What will my brothers think or feel about me? Will they want to have anything to do with me? It’s clear my parents don’t. Definitely not mystepfather,and my mother… well, she’ll do whatever he tells her. It’s sickening, and the bile that sits at the back of my throat threatens to make an appearance.

I swallow down the bitterness and attempt to push the nausea aside.

The lost little girl in me wants her family, regardless of how they treated me.

The warrior in me wants to fight back, get revenge, show them who I can be, all while giving them the middle finger.

Instead, protecting myself and constructing a wall, like the professional bricklayer I’ve become, feels most natural. Easiest.

All I know is, I never want to feel this way again. Ever.

My briny eyes blink fully open, and I squint at the throbbing from behind my eyeballs.

Jesus. That hurts.

A large poster covers the wall. It’s light blue, with drawings of people and cartoon dogs all around a nuclear eruption exploding in the middle, with the words “Green Day” coming out of the clouds. I instantly recognize it as one of the band’s album covers.

The poster next to it is of the Goo Goo Dolls, and some other classic car pictures surround that.

Where the hell am I?

My eyes widen and my pulse picks up. Please note, for the record, an emotional hangover will cause memory loss, just like a regular one.

My pulse calms as my arm brushes against Hudson, lying shirtless in bed next to me. The steady rise and fall of his chest is a dead giveaway he’s in a deep slumber.

I rise slowly, due to the full body ache, centering heaviest in the middle of my chest, and circle the room. A shelf in the corner, above a desk, catches my attention. There’s only a small amount of light coming through the window, forcing me to squint to see the photos.

Hudson with his brothers, a similar picture like the one he showed me on the plane. Hudson with his parents, wearing a green graduation cap and gown. His mother is a timeless beauty, and he’s a spitting image of his father, both beaming with proud smiles ear to ear.

I have a selfie on my phone from my graduation. I thought it was the only one I was going to get until Cody and Benson surprised me by coming. I almost cried when I saw them show up for me. Two was better than none.

More photos of his family and a larger one on the end of five guys. Picking it up for closer inspection, I recognize all of them. They are lined up, arms draping over each other, bonded together and all smiles.

Jake is on the far left, and a blush heats my cheeks as I recall how I saw him at the club the other day. He’s older now than in this picture, but the same strong essence of power he broadcasts naturally is there, clear as day. The tallest of them all, Kobi, I think is his name, next to him with Dane. They are the only ones not looking at the camera, instead looking at each other, laughing like something happened right before the picture snapped. On the right side, Seamus and Hudson, in all his handsome glory, smiling in a way that I’ve only seen when he’s with his friends.

The corner of my lip lifts and my eyes soften, something that I’ve been unable to prevent whenever Hudson is involved, but the heaviness in my chest wipes that away, and the hard ridges that I wear like armor returns.

Placing the frame down, I glance back at Hudson. There’s a nightstand next to his side of the bed with a small frameless photo leaning against the lamp. I pad a few light steps in that direction and pick it up, then stand in front of the window to see it better.

It’s me. From the opening night gala.

---