Page 4 of Secrets That Bind Us
“Mama,please, just today. I won’t ask to stay home from school again unless I’m so sick you think I’m dyin’.”
Mama scrunches her nose at me, the same brown eyes as mine peruse me with a squint. “Alright, fine. But just today. Go on. Get back in bed. I’ll make you some chamomile tea and bring you an ibuprofen. If your father asks-“
“I know Mama, I know.”
And so I miss the first day of Freshman year.
Which means I missed the day Dean Carson was caught having sex with Tiffany Myers under the gym’s rollaway bleachers– by the principal himself. Dean Carson was sent to an alternative Christian school for a whole semester.
How do I know all of this is true? Micah told mehewas the one that told Principal Black he’d seen them go in there.
I don’t see Dean Carson until we come back from winter break.
Not that I wanted to anyway. Except– in his absence, which I felt in my bones– the bullying amplified. I don’t really know why I was such a target, other than Tiffany seemed to hate the mere sight of me. So I stayed in my laneas much as I could. But every now and then… maybe I snuck glances at Dean Carson, just to see if my heart would do that weird thing.
It did.
Italwaysdid.
Chapter Three
Verity
Age: Sixteen
“Mama?” I shake her a little harder this time.
She stirs, but it’s slow and… late - like she just couldn’t fathom waking up to her life again. “Hey, sweet girl. I was just takin’ a little nap.”
Except it’snotjust a little nap. Her eye is purple, shut at the corner, and her lip is busted. Dried blood is on her cheek, and her lip is already scabbing, which means she’s been on the ground for hours. I help her up and walk her to the couch so she can rest. I set my backpack down beside her, go to the fridge, open up the freezer, and take out the already prepared ice bag. I take it back to her, then to grab the new first-aid kit I bought with my tutoring money from the bathroom down the hallway and come back to her.
In the last year alone, she’s aged significantly. Mama and Daddy had me old. They’re more like grandparents than parents, but Mama’s head is almost fully gray now compared to last year. She’s only in her fifties.
She hisses when she puts the ice on her eye. Her lip starts bleeding. I want to look away but I can’t. “You’re home late.”
“I was tutoring Evelyn at the library. Mrs. Sinclair dropped me off.” I reply, cleaning her wound. Dabbing at it before reaching for the ointment.
“Keep addin’ those g’s to the end of your words, and people may think you ain’t from ‘round these parts.” She jokes with a chuckle and her lip bleeds again.
That’sexactlywhat I want, if I’m honest. I have plans to get out of Adelaide – I won’t be coming back. But I’m seething at hownormalthis is for us. It shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t be picking my mother up off the floor. I shouldn’t be having to clean up wounds my father caused. I do my best tostifle my anger. It’s not her I’m mad at– it’s the circumstances. “What was it this time?” I ask.
Her smile fades, and the light in her eyes dims just a little more. Mama used to shine. Her eyes used to glitter. It wasn’t always like this. But something changed one day when I was about seven. Her bottom lip trembles– the same one I’m cleaning– but no tears spill. Mama hasn’t cried in a long time. She shakes her head softly and glances away from me. “I burnt the bacon in his sandwich, he said.”
I hum my disapproval. That means she’s been on the ground since lunchtime.It’s close to five now.
We’ve tried to run before, but he found us– burned through the money Mama had spent months saving on more whiskey. We’ve got no family other than each other now. My Aunt in San Antonio died last month, and she donated her house to the historical society, and set me up with a small trust fund. I’m grateful for it, but the money in the bank she set up for me– I can’t touch until I’m twenty-six. That’sten yearsaway too long.
Just as I finish cleaning her up, there’s a clinking of a belt and a clambering of boots coming from above against the floor – noises I’m all too receptive of.Guess beating someone takes it out of you enough to warrant a fucking nap.
“Go. Pretend you’ve been here for hours.” She whispers, a cool hand tapping my cheek.
Mama used to be warm.
I run to the study room Daddy made for me out of the old guest room, with an old desktop he got from the pawn shop. I set up my books and schoolwork, my head down, anxiety high as I hear his boots hit the first step on the stairs.Each one creaks under his weight, and a chill rushes down my spine. Daddy takes the warmth out of any room he enters.
I take a deep breath and hold it.
“Is that my little girl?”
