Page 45 of Brand
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Cami
“Camille.”
I hadn’t even taken two steps into the house before my mother called out my name. I looked down and took in the state of dress I was currently sporting. I had a good idea that my hair was a matted mess and I almost didn’t care. Almost. My mother could be scary at times. It was no hidden fact that I tried to avoid her as much as possible and not to mention all the things that I kept from her.
The big thing, that I was working at a tattoo shop and hanging around with people in a motorcycle club. Both things my parents would never approve of or understand.
My mother’s voice did not sound happy. And I could tell you that once she laid eyes on me, her words would come out with a lingering tone of disgust.
“Camille, come in here, please,” she said from the depths of my father’s office. Just in case you were wondering, the ‘please’ was said with much strain. It was the politeness that had been embedded into her as a child, but the tone of it that clued me into the fact that I was about to be faced with a conversation that would most likely end up leaving me feeling drained and frustrated.
My feet carried me in the direction of my father’s office, my steps much heavier than they should have been. I felt like I was stuck in tar. I wasn’t looking forward to what was ahead. And I was deeply worried as to how much they knew. Because that tone—that gritted teeth tone—was one that I’d dealt with a time or two in my life. Those times were always when I’d done something that was displeasing to the name of the family.
“Yes, ma’am?” I stepped just over the threshold, ready to run at a moments notice.
My father sat behind his massive heavy wooden desk, his eyes almost looked to the point of being glazed over. My mother stood beside the desk, her outfit perfectly pressed and not a hair out of place. Her perfectly manicured nail tapped on the top of the desk where her hand rested.
“Sit,” she said and for some reason, I scurried to the chair on the opposite side of the desk from my father, and perched my butt on the edge.
“I got a very interesting call from a Detective Mullins not too long ago. A tattoo parlor? Really, Camille? I don’t know what is going on with you. I secured a perfectly good job for you at the museum and this is what you’d rather spend your time doing? Hanging out with bikers and criminals?”
It was clear that I didn’t need to fill her in on anything I’d been keeping from her. I was sure the good detective had done that for me.
“A drive-by?” She let out a heavy, frustrated breath. I didn’t bother to correct her that it wasn’t really adrive-by. No, they came to a full stop and got out of the cars and all to fire their weapons. “Did you even think of what would happen if it had gotten out that you’d been involved in something that? It’s a good thing Detective Mullins called to let us know that he is keeping your name out of the reports.”
Yeah, good thing. In case you couldn’t tell, that was completely sarcastic. I was sure he had his reasons behind not only the call but keeping my name out of everything. Informing my parents wasn’t merely out of concern for me.
I sat there, unmoving and silent. I’d learned that this was the best way to make it through one of her angry fits. Though she may not have been yelling, the condescending, bitter tone that carried throughout every word was enough to let me know she wasn’t happy. It was nothing new. It seemed I’d been a disappointment from day one.
There was no hiding that I was the black sheep. I stuck out like a sore thumb amongst my siblings. My head was always in the clouds. I’d done my best to keep my feet planted on the ground in front of my family and in public, but I had to be completely honest, being two people was exhausting. I was tired of hiding. Of tramping down my soul in order to please everyone else.
“I don’t know what to do anymore,” she said with little concern in her voice, then pressed her lips into a thin line. My eyes bounced from my mother to my father and back again. “We have decided it would be best if you went to spend some time with your aunt Hillary.”
My jaw wanted to hit the floor. Crazy Aunt Hillary? The one that lived on a farm halfway across the state? And I should really say it likeThe Farmbecause it was like that.
See, Aunt Hillary hadn’t wandered off to spend her life feeding chickens, no, she had pretty much been banished from the family for not conforming. I personally didn’t know her, but I’d heard the stories and the whispered words of mockery. Those stories were told as a way to keep everyone in line. It hit me right then, that maybe the stories were elaborated just a little. But I still didn’t want to go toThe Farmand who could blame me. Crazy or not, I didn’t know Hillary and more importantly, I didn’t want to leave.
As I looked into my mother’s eyes, it was crystal clear that I didn’t have a choice in the matter. It was written all over her face that she didn’t care a single bit about me and what I wanted. I should have wanted to cry, or at least felt some sort of ping in my heart.
“No,” I said and my voice cracked betraying the confidence I was trying to pull off.
“No?” Her head cocked the slightest bit as if I was telling her something she didn’t understand and she was saying ‘how dare you’ all at the same time.
Sure, Brand may have played a huge part in this. The fact that my heart had started to pound at the thought of leaving him behind. The fact that I might never see him again. There was something…real with him and I wasn’t ready to walk away. Nor, did I flipping want to. So the answer to the question that she hadn’t even asked was most certainly no.
I stood tall, steeled my spine, and squared my shoulders, ready to face off with this woman that I’d let rule and intimidate me my entire life.
“I won’t,” I said shaking my head. “I’m not leaving.”
There, I’d put my foot down. I had finally done it and before I could internally give myself a high five and jump up and down, she opened her mouth and spoke with a tone that was completely devoid of any sort of emotion…like at that moment, I was the one that was dead to her.
“Then you are giving us no choice here, Camille. You’re old enough to make it on your own. It is clear that is what you’d rather do. So, we are giving you the opportunity to do just that.”
Wait. Before you go thinking that this is a good thing, I would tell you that she was merely presenting it as such. She was making it out like she was setting me free, giving me the freedom to finally be me, but no. And it was clear she had been prepared for me to push back. Her mind had been made up long before I walked through that door. She was done with me, I was too much of an embarrassment and threat to the perfect image of this family. Lucky for her, I was the youngest and also the easiest to be forgotten.
“Hand over your phone and keys.” She held out her hand with no hesitation. She was cold as she stared me down, chin tipped up in anI dare you to defy meway. Since in her mind, I had threatened to taint the name of this family, there wasn’t a thing I could say to change her mind.
