Page 21 of Free to Run
I pull my knees to my chest and rest my chin against them, blindly staring out into the cityscape. Sighing, I reach for my glass of wine and take a gulp. Maybe I can drown my thoughts tonight and have a better perspective tomorrow.
It’s always been easy to let men come and go, compartmentalizing my feelings for them. I never let anyone other than my adopted family get too close to me. After all, men, with a few exceptions, have always been after the same exact thing—my body. Just like dear old Dad.
Fortunately, mine didn’t want to rape me, and he didn’t allow his drug buddies freebies. He sold me off like I was a piece of mismatched furniture to pay back his drug dealer and maintain his habit.
Setting the glass down, I run my hands through my hair, when a thought I rarely allow pushes to the forefront of all the others.
God, Mama. I miss you.
Giving up, I put my face in my hands and let my tears fall. It’s all I can do whenever memories of my delicate blonde mother come to mind. Her death was senseless, caused by a four-time drunk driver running a red light. Fate took her away from us before it was time.
My father raced to the MUSC emergency room with me trailing behind him, with only a sweatshirt thrown over my nightgown. His face had been frantic before sliding into hysteria. He had collapsed to his knees on the ground and grabbed on to me, burying his face into my hair as he sobbed.
I remember that exact moment because it was the last time my father held me or showed me any love or compassion. While he lost my mother that day, I actually lost both of them to that damned car wreck.
Scrubbing my eyes, I let out a long sigh. I know I come off as a sharp-edged cynic. My armor has been carefully honed to deflect the pain from having my world shattered over losing something so precious and beautiful. Instead, I was left with a broken father who forgot I was alive until I was worth something. I was stripped of the things I needed to survive, such as people who loved and took care of me.
I’ve learned to stop blaming myself, mostly. I can’t help but look back and wonder was he addicted before Mama died? I could find out if I wanted to, merely by asking to see the details of my file at Hudson Investigations, but does it matter? I know he’s alive and still in prison, but I’ve had no contact with him, and I haven’t seen his face since watching his sentencing on TV. I recall watching the news broadcast while I was at law school and feeling…nothing. I’d never felt so alone, even with the happiness of my new family cloaking me. I was on the edge of two lives, fitting into neither one with ease.
I still don’t fit in—that’s evident by my behavior over the last few months. At least, according to my older sisters.
God, when will I learn?
When Cassidy first got involved with Caleb, I opened my mouth to defend her and didn’t choose my words carefully. Then there’s the issue with the prenup. The result has been catastrophic to our relationship. With rare moments of normalcy interspersed, I’ve been treated like a pariah by her ever since.
And here we are again, with me opening my damned mouth to defend Cassidy, only this time to Keene. And, once again, I’m the troublemaker, the misguided one, exercising poor judgment because I couldn’t hold back what I thought a little longer.
Why isn’t loving me enough? Why does it have to come with so many conditions? Am I so terrible?
A memory of my father screaming at me as he was being carted off by HTU and ICE plays in my head like it happened yesterday. I pull the blanket I have wrapped around my shoulders tighter.
“Louise! You tell these damn officers you asked to be up there, you hear me? You’re my damn daughter!”
When he got no reaction from me, his face contorted as he gathered the spit in his mouth and hocked it at me. It landed about ten feet from where I was still chained to the stage.
“You’re nothing but a whore like the rest in that damn container! No better than any of ’em. You hear me, Louise Rae?” he screamed as he was dragged out the door.
Because of that hellacious experience, I never let any man get too close, managing to never let them past the surface. It’s why I never expected that first night with Keene to latch on to the part of my soul that I thought was buried and gone. A part I thought didn’t exist anymore.
There’s no way Keene understands what he made me feel before he pushed me toward the shower that night. For a few hours, he made me feel like I was whole. For the first time in years, a man made me feel intelligent, beautiful, cherished, and worthy. And that’s why it hurt so much when he tried to sneak out without saying anything. Making everything I felt that night seem like a lie.
I’m never enough.
My phone lights up with a text. With a small sigh, I hope it’s not Corinna getting drunk and deciding to text everyone on her phone list. She’s done that before, resulting in disaster.
Picking up my phone, I unlock it and almost drop it when I see the text from Keene.
Keene: Why are you sad, Alison?
I quickly type out a response.
Alison: Do you guys have this place wired or something?
Keene: No. I live close by.
Stiffly, I stand. I allowed my shields to drop because in a city of eight and a half million people, I thought I could lose myself and be alone. I scan the darkness of the rooftop deck where I felt so cocooned just a few moments ago. Suddenly, I’m bitter because he can see me.
My thumbs fly across the keyboard.
