Page 249 of Mangled Memory
My anger spikes again. Why does he act put out when I’m the one who was victimized?
I slide past him out the bedroom door while finger combing my hair and twisting it up into a knot atop my head. I make my way into the hall bathroom without another word. I find an unused toothbrush in the drawer and set to work on my teeth.When I’m done, I brace my hands on the counter, lean toward the mirror, and study the split at my cheekbone and the bruising around my eyes socket it caused.
“Get the fuck out, Ayla. And don’t come back.”My dad’s voice, the anger and finality in his tone, come rushing back.
I’m glad I can’t count what’s gone wrong in the last several months. I don’t have enough fingers. And I sure as hell don’t have enough patience. Pretty much everything I’m associated with, except for my bestie that is, has turned from gold to liquid shit. Is reverse Midas touch a thing?
And, worse, I can’t see an escape from it, no way to undo or out run it. No means or opportunity to recoup what I’ve lost… or more accurately, what I am continuously losing.
Fuck it. This can’t get worse. It can’tbeany worse.
I pull open the door, slinking past the broody man leaning against the wall, only to find the house empty. No Cian. No Eleanor. Speaking of, I’d be surprised if she didn’t sleep with me last night. I want to ask but I truly don’t have the energy to deal with more.
Christian moves past me to the front door, pulling it open andstanding aside waiting for me. Without a word, he moves to the passenger side of his G Wagon to open the door. I climb in and settle, surprised when he hands me my purse. He rounds the hood and gets in, starting the car.
We’re on the road before I ask, “Where are we going? Home?”
Home. How can I even call it that?
He makes several turns in the morning sunshine, our course uncertain.
“Coffee first, that is, unless you’re abstaining.”
“I’m never abstaining. And you’re being weird.”
“How so?”
I don’t answer him. It’s obvious. I don’t know why I’m being so agreeable other than I have no other choice. And I haven’t had my coffee.
He pulls into my favorite little place. In fact, it’s the same place I came yesterday morning before the world blew up.
“Anything special you want today?” He must see the look on my face, because he reaches up and brushes a thumb just under my marked cheek. “Be right back, Princess.”
Staring out the side window, I don’t stop the tears rolling down my cheeks. Twenty-four hours. Twenty-four hours ago, and—well, I guess things were equally as shitty, but I didn’t know it. Blissful ignorance.
Would I rather things be horrible and live not knowing?
Or know with no way to do anything about it?
Swiping the tears from my eyes, I rearrange my features. He’ll see no sadness from me anymore. I may have no agency, but I can control what they see. Hell, I can control what everyone sees. New goal. Fuck them. Live my best life, at least in appearances, until I can figure something out.
Shoulders back. Chin up. Tears dried. I’m me again by the time Christian returns, two large cups and a brown paper bag in hand.
“Cinnamon roll latte,” he announces and passes the cup across the console. “And a couple of goodies.”
The bag contains my favorite sweet comfort foods. A hugecinnamon roll with thick frosting. A cranberry orange muffin with crunchy sugar topping. A white cupcake with white icing. And a Rice Krispies marshmallow bar. A quick glance to the man in the driver’s seat finds him watching me.
“What?” His eyes are intent on my face.
Shaking my head, I offer a quiet “Nothing,” knowing it’s anything but. I sip my coffee and manage to hold in my moan as he pulls out of the parking lot, heading north.
He drinks his coffee in silence as the inviting aroma of the drinks fills the car where conversation should normally be. The silence annoys me and I figure I might as well eat to keep my mouth busy. There are so many things I want to say, but so few I want to hear, so I grab the cupcake and dive in. Sweet almond flavor and sugar dance on my tongue, and I don’t even care if he witnesses me doing a little dance in my seat from the taste.
When a small smile plays on Christian’s lips, I realize my mistake. Oh well. I’m living my best life, remember? That includes cupcakes and coffee and being chauffeured wherever it is we’re going on a workday, bruised face and all.
I’m gob smacked when he turns into the bank parking lot. He throws the car in park and turns to me after unbuckling. “You’re pissed. More than. And rightfully so. But you don’t know the whole story. You didn’t ask either. That said, I would’ve told you. But since you’re hellbent on not believing me, I figured I’d show you instead.”
He gets out of the car and stands at the hood, stuffing his hands into his pockets.
