Page 3 of Don't Look Back
3
AVERY
The drive home is as dull and dreary as one would expect a place like Lull Lane to be. The sky is an ominous shade of grey, and a light mist is beginning to fall from the sky. Naturally, every driver on the road seems to magically forget how to drive once the tiny droplets of rain – if you could even call them that – begin to dust across their windshield. The road is an absolute mess, and for most of the drive, traffic was at a standstill.
A strange gnawing feeling begins to chew at my insides, which is a curious thing considering my general lack of emotional range. This, however, seems more instinctive, moreprimalthan fickle everyday emotions. It feels like something is coming….no,someoneis coming…. And somehow, I know things would never be the same after whatever cataclysmic event is headed our way.
Good. It’s about damn time.
It’s about time something shook this pretentious town up a bit.
Flipped it on its ass.
I can’t wait to find out what’s behind this dark tension hanging in the air. I wonder if it has something to do with how some of the other students have been acting strangely. Can they feel the change in the air as well? Did the darkness call to them like it does to me?
Finally, after what feels like an eternity, I pull into the driveway, making a quick stop to grab the mail before pulling my car into the garage. Quickly rifling through them, my fingers tremble as I pull out one I’ve been waiting for with equal measures of dread and determination. This is it. Everything I have spent the last few years of my life working toward was in this little letter. It will tell me if I got into my dream school, far, far away from here, or whether I didn’t make the cut. In that case, my options for getting out of Warren, Connecticut, will be vastly more limited.
Still sitting in my car, I slip a small knife out from one of my boots and slice the letter open in one swift motion. My eyes roam down the page, disinterested in the formal semantics and pleasantries, before sliding down to the third paragraph where the words I’ve been waiting for reflect up at me. “We’re pleased to welcome you to our Biomedical Engineering program beginning this fall.
“ Holy.Fucking.Shit. I did it. This is really happening. I can get out of this uppity, misogynistic place once and for all. My lungs deflate before refilling with air, reminding me to breathe. I didn’t even realize I had stopped momentarily. Now, only one last hurdle remains.
Well, two if you count my plans to bring Allie with me…. But a simple kidnapping wasn’t much of a hurdle for me. I already set up security cameras in her house and mapped out her routines. Or at least enough of it to know there isn’t anything actually keeping her here. My little AllieCat doesn’t have the best home life. But I’ll wait for her to tell me about it when she feels ready. She never needs to know I’m already aware of so much.
No, the one truly big hurdle will be breaking the news to my steaming pile of shit father. Fuck, not having ever to see him or talk to him ever again will honestly be the highlight of leaving this place. The thought of seeing him in my little rearview mirror has been the single thing that motivated me over the last few years. I despise my father. Senator Christopher Brendan Porter. Had it not been for the mile-long streak of cruelty we both seem to share, I would never have believed we were actually related. The difference between us is that I try to hide my darkness and blend in seamlessly with society. He, however, chooses to feed his beast on a regular basis.
It’s the worst when he drinks. However, being a senator can get you a lot of leeway. Plenty of turned heads, eyes conveniently unseeing the bruises or marks. His sycophants, sorry, ‘supporters’, never see his flaws. His greed and violence. What’s done behind closed doors has no place in their prestigious campaigns. Political power. Connections and sway. Money. Those things can make just about any pesky little problem go away. Unfortunately, my father has an abundance of each.
I’ve always suspected that he had a hand in my mother’s death. I was too young to do anything at the time. Little me didn’t understand the concept of things likeevidenceormalice… Just that my mom was hurt a lot… and then she got sick one day and never got better. Things were different back then. I was differentback then. There was a time when I remember being happy, back before I became so hollow. It’s just a flicker, brief memories that seem to fade a little more each day, but it’s there. The moments baking with my mom in the kitchen. The way her brilliant smile and blue-green eyes would light up any time we took the boat out. Being around the water was always our happy place. We were two peas in a pod, she and I.
And he ruined it….he took her light away. Snuffed it right out. It was too much, too painful for little me to understand or handle. One moment it hurt so much… and then…. Nothing. I felt nothing, like someone had flipped the off switch inside my brain. Instead of emotions, there was only darkness. In a mere moment, I went from a child to something far more jaded.
Then my father had turned his attention toward me.
Suddenly, I knew why Mom was hurt all the time. Why we stopped going out. The older I got, the more things came into focus.
Slipping the letter into my bag, I grab the rest of the mail and head inside. Thankfully, no one’s around – or so I thought – as I toss the mail on our entryway table. It’s a bit exuberant in my opinion, like much of the other furnishings here. Everything oozes money and elegance from the marble floors to the framed art that looks as though it should be in a museum somewhere, to the ornate custom-made furniture pieces. It looks like something straight out of a magazine. Always a display ready at a moment's notice. Anything less is unacceptable. Personally, I’ve always preferred something more rustic and cozy… You know, actually lived in.
As I make my way to one of the two main staircases, yes, you read that right, a large hand wraps around my wrist from behind. Fuck. I was so close to getting upstairs in peace.
“Well, hello to you, too, Avery. What? Were you not even going to sayhelloorgoodafternoonto me after you got home from school? Heaven’s child, I thought I taught you better manners than that.” His voice is like nails on a chalkboard, and his touch makes my skin crawl.
Nevertheless, I wait for something –anything– to stir within me. Anger. Fear. Disgust. But just like every other time, there is only a dark, empty void inside of me. Despite my body's physical reaction, which I quickly control. Before I have a chance to respond, not that I would, he continues right on ahead.
“Never mind that. We can work on improvement later. Right now, you have to get cleaned up and put on something more appropriate for a young lady of your stature. We have dinner plans set up for you to meet a potential suitor.”
“I’m gay,” I remind him slowly. “I like girls.”
He knows this. It’s not the first time he’s tried to set me up with a ‘potential suitor,’ as he likes to call them. In reality, it will be an extravagant dinner with the offspring of one of his friends, whom I have no interest in meeting, to work out some marriage deal where I can basically be sold off like cattle. Which I also have no interest in. Not when I know my AllieCat is out there. Men and their shriveled little acorns will never even hold a candle to her.
The blow to my temple is no surprise. I know what happens when I talk back. Heaven forbid I say anything other than the expected ‘yes, sir’ and do as I’m told. Still, the impact from theblow is enough to send me scrambling to the brilliantly shiny marble floors. Soooo shiny… Black spots dance along the edges of my vision, but I refuse to let the darkness sweep me away. I will not give this prick the satisfaction of a one-hit TKO. His foot slams into my abdomen with a punishing force that knocks the air right out of my lungs. Kneeling, he grabs my face to inspect it, squeezing my cheeks and turning my head one way then the next.
“Tsk tsk, Avery.” My father shakes his head in disappointment. “I had really hoped you would wear your hair up tonight, but now look at you. Can't have an ugly bruise affecting your appearance now, can we? No one likes damaged goods. Now, go cover that up and get ready for tonight.” His tone was so cold and casual, it was like he was talking about the weather - not telling me to go hide the marks of abuse so I fetch a higher price.
I stare blankly at him while mentally planning out ten ways to murder him. It’s my version of counting down from ten, so I don’t blurt out the first thing that pops into my head. I may not have emotions, but I excel in areas of intelligence. Gritting my teeth, I do my best to nod in agreement.
My father releases my face and stands before continuing. “Oh, and Avery, I don’t give a single flying fuck what you like or want. You’re the daughter of a senator and the sole heir of the Porter fortune. As such, you have a responsibility to marry a young man of pedigree and bear his children. You’ll marry whomever I choose – without complaint – be a good, obedient little housewife, and make that cunt of yours useful.” Without waiting for a response, he turns and walks away.
Well, that sucked. Fortunately, I won’t be doing any of those things. Stupid bastard has no idea just how wrong he is…. but he will… soon. Good and obedient are not words I would useto describe myself. That will never change. Getting to my feet, I grab my bag and make my way up the long staircase as quickly as possible, given the pain I’m in. Once I make it to my room, the sight before me makes me stop dead in my tracks. My bag crashes to the floor, and for a moment, I think I may too. Before me sits a doll I recognize from my childhood, and a letter. A letter…. with my mom's handwriting on it. My hand trembles as I pick up the envelope. ‘Avery’ is written on the front in my mom's beautiful, sprawling script, and for a moment, I’m transported back to the day I found her still and lifeless body.
