Page 5 of Beautifully Broken Control

She tore her arm from Carnes’ grasp, but her eyes never strayed from mine. “You’re a disgrace. You get your things and get out of my house. I don’t want to see your face again.” Her jerky movements had a single lock of hair falling free of her perfect updo.

I swallowed hard, not giving in to the urge to rub at my cheek. I’d expected hatred from her. What killed me was Preston merely looking on, hurt filling his features. The one person I could always count on in this life was no longer my ally. Tears pricked at the backs of my eyes, but I forced them down.

I kept my head level, not allowing it to dip in shame the way I wanted, but not meeting the stunned gazes of everyone looking on either. I pulled the door open and stepped into the hall. I found a quiet corner and let my head fall against the wall. I tilted my face so my still-stinging cheek rested against the cool plaster.

I would get through this. I had to. I pushed up, twisted so my back rested against the wall, and dug in my purse for my phone. Dozens of missed calls and texts. But they’d all stopped about thirty minutes ago. Right around the time news of the suicide had hit.

I swallowed hard. My thumb hovered over my best friend Heather’s number. I tapped it. The phone rang and rang until her voicemail picked up. I hung up and tried again. No answer. I repeated the actions with two other friends with the same result. My phone dinged with a text.

Heather:I can’t talk, my parents said it’s not a good idea. Hope you’re okay.

A startled laugh escaped me, one that turned into a strangled sob. No one was going to stand by me in this. No one in my world would even give me a chance to share my side of the story. I was totally and completely alone.

A voice cleared behind me, and I turned to see Agent Carnes. “Why don’t I give you a lift home? Do you have somewhere you can stay for a while?”

I looked down at my phone and then back at him. “I’m thinking a hotel in another town might be the best bet for now.” I had a bit of cash in my own personal checking account. The small salary I’d been paid this summer for my internship. Birthday and Christmas money my grandmother gave me each year. I’d started the account when I was sixteen. A little something that was just mine. It would cover me for a while.

Carnes and I were silent as we rode the elevator down to the ground floor. As we stepped out, I could see a throng of reporters out front. My chest seized.

Carnes guided me in the opposite direction. “My SUV’s out back.” The tension in my torso released just a bit, and I nodded. “You might want to go farther than just one town over.” My phone buzzed in my hand. “Maybe change your phone number. Just make sure I have the new one.”

I nodded again. I felt like one of those bobblehead dolls, my head seeming to move of its own accord, unable to stop. Carnes pushed open a back door. I was assaulted by jeers and camera flashes. “Shit. I might need backup.”

The thought of waiting longer, with more time to think about what faced me, had my stomach roiling. There was no way to avoid it. I wanted out of here, and the quickest way out was through. “No. It’s fine.”

“All right.” Carnes did his best to push people aside. “Make a path, or I’ll have agents down here arresting you.” That helped a bit, but not much.

I ducked my head and waded through the bodies. People yelling, screaming horrible things that I would never forget. I felt something warm and liquid hit the side of my face. Spit. I wiped it off and kept moving, holding on to the back of Carnes’ sports jacket as he cut through the sea of people.

“You.” The voice was softer than the rest, full of pain.

I took in the woman just ahead of me, her face ravaged with grief and rage.

“Murderer.” With the single word, she lunged.

I thought she was going to strike me. Twice in one night. But this time, I yearned for it. The bloom of a blow across my other cheek. I wondered if the physical pain would distract from the emotional. Instead, a thick liquid hit me.

The crowd leapt back. All but the woman and me. I wiped at my eyes, my hand coming away red. Corn syrup and food coloring. I recognized the combination from my days in high school theatre.

“Now, the whole world can see the blood on your hands.” The woman hissed the words before disappearing into the crowd.

I flinched as a camera flash went off, the crowd quiet enough that I could hear the click of one shutter, then another, and another.

“Fuck! Come on. Let’s go.” Carnes ushered me towards an SUV, pulling out a blanket and placing it on the seat before I slid inside.

Tears streaked down my face, but I couldn’t even wipe them away, my hands were covered in the sticky red substance. The burning sensation between my breasts was back. It didn’t matter that it was my father who had acted, I was still guilty. And I didn’t blame them for thinking it.

I had to get away. Far, far away. But a little voice inside me told me that I’d never escape the guilt.

1

Kennedy

TWO YEARS LATER

The feelof the sun on my face, puppy snores, and Easy Mac.I scrawled the words on a tiny scrap of paper. My formal script had eased a bit. The stiff, tight lines easing into a loopy, irregular pattern. I folded the paper in half and placed it in the jar. Tightening the lid, I rose and put the container back on the bookshelf.

Soon, I’d need a new jar. My eyes scanned the seven others on the shelf, each one with the wordgratitudepainted on the front. It was a practice I’d taken up during my darkest days. Those when I felt like there was not even a glimmer of hope to be had.

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