Page 1 of Darkened Truths
ONE
RILEY
Daddy dearestused to be the man I looked up to for everything. Now I can’t stand thebastard. Michael Whittier has been called several colorful names throughout his career, but I’ve never believed them more than I do now.
“You can’t be serious about this! Pointebreak’s for criminals! What about Dartmouth, huh? We agreed I was going. I worked hard to secure my spot there.” He snorts, and I ignore the jab he insinuates as my crossed leg bounces a mile a minute. Rubbing my forehead, I strive to wrap my head around the bomb he dropped on me an hour ago…while on a stage…in front of five thousand people. All the while, a strained smile masked the rage that simmered beneath the surface. As soon as he said it, the blood drained from my face and my heart pumped wildly in my chest, threatening to break free. The inevitable panic attack only kept at bay because of the crowd surrounding the stage. I’m sure some people watching caught my moment of shock as I forced myself to keep my expression as neutral as I could.
He can’t do this to me. Why is he doing this?The thoughts played on an endless loop as I went through the motions, not even cognizant of what I was doing. My silent rage erupted as soon as the limo doors were closed, continuing non-stop until wereached his massive, opulent home office. It’s everything you’d expect and more.
An organized, large mahogany desk sits proudly in the middle of the room, a beautiful blue and white Turkish rug underneath, complete with a dark leather chair. Dad has two chairs in front of it, wooden, not meant for comfortable long visits, which is his way of forcing people to leave sooner than they might have otherwise. A large picture window is behind him, showing off the beautiful backyard and pool. Built-in shelves cover the wall to the left, which includes a few priceless first editions. On the right wall, he has a large framed Claude Monet that he will tell anyone who listens that it is real and costs a fortune, along with awards and diplomas. This room screams “look at me” and I hate it.
“It’s not for criminals. It’s a prestigious academy and I’m not joking, Riley. I submitted the transfer papers this morning. You’re going to Pointebreak. End. Of. Discussion. It’s for your own good.”
My stomach sours at his words and my shoulders tighten as the stress of his decree settles deep, locking my muscles. I keep rolling my neck and pushing them away from my ears as I wrap my arms tight around my midsection, willing my body to not shake and the traitorous tears to stay put.
How could he do this to me?
“For my own good? My own good would be Dartmouth. Get an Ivy League education and find a respectful job. Not go to an institution that turns people into killers!” I scream, a tear sliding down my cheek. I wipe it on my shoulder, pretending it didn’t happen.
Crimson floods his face; his neck muscles tighten, threatening to unleash a torrent of angry words and saliva. I’ve heard about my dad’s anger issues, but this is the first time in my life I can remember it being directed at me. Sure, we’ve haddisagreements and arguments, what family hasn’t, but nothing compares to this. I want for the sting of words to slap me but they never come.
“This discussion is over. Start packing your bags. You need to be on campus in two days. Only bring essentials. I’ll have everything else shipped to you. The school has your uniforms, and your class schedule is here.” He jabs his index finger on a glossy folder covered in promotional photos of Pointebreak and slides it across the pristine desktop, stopping it in front of me.
I open the folder, unable to help myself. I need to know what my future is going to look like. Flipping through a few pages, I land on a rules section and scan the text in front of me. I only register every few words, but it’s enough to know they have made Pointebreak as close to a prison as possible.
I stand on shaky legs, trying hard to meet his height. Even in my three-inch heels, he towers over my petite frame. It can’t end like this. I soften my voice. “Dad, please reconsider. This ismewe’re talking about. I’m your only daughter. I’m the only one you have?—”
“Don’t youdaresay another word,” he hisses, knowing what I was going to say. The sound is so alien that I step back. He murmurs so softly, barely above a breath, that I have to lean in close to understand him. “You’ll go and that’s final.” Then he steps around me toward the door. Without giving me a backwards glance, he adds, “Sign the contract, or so help me, I’ll forge your signature myself.” Then storms out, leaving me standing there stunned.
I try to keep calm, but my heart rate kicks up and my breathing shallows. My blood rushes through my ears, making it impossible to hear anything else. It feels like I can’t get enough air in my lungs and I sink to the floor, my legs unable to hold my weight any longer. My dress pools around me as I rest my head on my knees, gasping. I run my clammy hands over the softmaterial and then wipe my damp forehead with the back of my hand.
This will pass. I need to breathe. Focus on the feel of my lungs expanding and contracting. Deep breath in, hold and release. Over and over. I look around the office and see a curtain billowing under the air conditioner vent. Then close my eyes and rock gently as I listen, forcing my attack back. There’s noise of people in the hallway, the birds are chirping happily outside, and my breathing is slowing. Next, I wiggle my toes and shake out my legs. Then I shake my fingers and arms to get the blood flowing freely again. Once I feel semi-normal, I drop my head back against the wall.
God, it’s been years since I’ve had a panic attack this bad. The room still spins, so I keep myself on the floor and continue my deep breathing until I feel the rest of my panic attack fade.
Blinking back tears, I stare at the spot my dad vacated. He’s never spoken to me like that.
Ever.
I don’t know what caused his reaction. I look down at the god forsaken folder that contains the contract for me to sign. I’m eighteen, a legal adult. Running away sounds like a good option, and I could make it on my own. Take my car, flee the state, and get a job. Start my life now. But deep down, I know Michael Whittier would never let that happen. He’s a master at gettingexactlywhat he wants. He would find me and drag me back kicking and screaming, and then still send me to Pointebreak. I’m his to control, to use and contort to whatever he needs. That man who walked out the door isn’t my father. That man isn’t the one who kissed my scrapes as a little girl, or dressed as Santa to keep the magic of Christmas alive.
No. I haven’t seen hide nor hair of that man in years. No matter how many excuses I’ve made over the years, the man I knew growing up died years ago.
I don’t know why this is so important to him. Everything I have worked hard for—all the studying and extra-curricular activities were for nothing.My future is gone.With a snap of daddy’s fingers, it all disappears.
I open the glossy folder and stare at the information. The words jumble around the page as I try to focus on them. Maybe if I stare at it long enough, it will burst into flames and put a stop to this madness. Dad had to have gotten himself mixed up in something bad. There is no other reasonable explanation for him shredding my life into pieces.
My phone buzzes and I put it up to my ear without even looking at the ID.
“Riley, what the hell is going on? Why didn’t you tell me you weren’t going to Dartmouth? I thought we were besties! And why would you choose Pointebreak of all places? Does Troy know?” Leah practically screams through the receiver.
“I, um.” I clear my throat, trying to dislodge the ball stuck there. It still burns from holding the tears back, regardless. “I didn’t know. It was a surprise to me too. And I haven’t had the chance to call him yet.”
Troy is my boyfriend. He’s handsome, and I like him, but his dad works with mine and it was almost like they played matchmaker. His family has a lot of money and is one of my dad’s top campaign contributors.
There’s silence as my best friend breathes, no doubt trying to come up with some infinite wisdom or advice to make this situation feel better. In. Out. In. Out. I sync mine with hers, but it does little to calm my frayed nerves. I hold the phone with my shoulder and shake my hands before wiping the dampness on my dress so the phone doesn’t slip through my fingers. Even though I can’t see her, I know her well enough to know exactly the face she is making. “Daddy sprung this on me today at the rally. I’m as surprised as you are.” I finally get my feet to moveand walk to my bedroom, leaving the unsigned contract on his desk. Closing my door, I quietly flip the lock, the metallic click of the latch echoing in the room's stillness. “I was trying to make him see reason, but he won’t.” A heavy stuttering sigh escapes. “I’m expected to be packed and on campus in two days.”
“What the hell, Riles. How could he do this to you?”
