Page 71 of Dead Love
“You know that’s not true.”
We stayed in silence like that, the trickles of laughter from store-front trick-or-treaters filling the air. Even if Sheriff Mike was technically around, it had been the two of us for so long, and we knew it might always be like that. My mother needed someone to look after her, and that was never going to be my father. But still, I had hoped for something else. A life where she could find her way, and I could find mine.
A child cackled, imitating a witch, and a twinge of anger fluttered through me. I had never been trick-or-treating before. My mother thought it was dangerous. But there were children a few yards from us, most of which weremorethan a decade younger than me, free to go about as they pleased.
Sheriff Mike came to the back patio and mouthed:Go inside.
So I did. I bit my fingers and waited while my father talked to my mother. I hoped—no, Ibeggedthe universe that he would be able to convince her. To show her why college was good for me. After all,hehad been the one who had gotten me the applications in the first place. If anyone could help her find the reason, it would be her husband.
The back door opened. I lifted my shoulders, holding my breath. My father closed the door, sealing my mother off. He grimaced, his posture stiffer than ever.
But I couldn’t give up yet.
“How did it go?” I asked. He walked past me. “Did she say anything?”
“What do you think?”
His tone was cold. I froze in place. “Are you mad at me?” He glared, and I shifted my weight. “But you helped me apply?”
“I want you out of the house.” His chin hung low. “You know she uses you to control me? Reminds me of the family man I’m supposed to be.” He beat his fists into the countertop. “I never wanted this. But you, going to college? Then I wouldn’t have to deal with it anymore.” He waved a hand in front of him. “But that’s not going to happen now, is it?”
I shook my head, my heart sinking.
“Stop the fucking whining. You’re lucky to be alive, you know that?” he muttered. “I told Shea to get rid of you. But she said I needed you for the election, or she’d tell the press I refused to marry her.” Tears welled up inside of me. I was going to break. Sheriff Mike was never good at family, but this? Was he being serious? That he didn’t want me to exist? His jaw pressed into a hard line. “You act like you’ve got the worst life, but you have a home. A sheriff for a father. A mother who is obsessed with you. And you’d rather push her into another episode, make everyone else deal with the fallout. Why can’t you be grateful?”
My throat ached and the tears streamed down in angry bursts. I clutched my stomach, my guts twisting, threatening to erupt.
Was it my fault?
“You’re just saying that,” I sniffled, trying to keep my words steady, trying to convince myself that it was the truth. That he was only angry. That it was hard to know what to do with our family.
I rested a hand on the counter, balancing myself. I needed fresh air; I was going to be sick.
“Help me,” he mumbled to himself, running a hand over his face in exasperation. “Don’t vomit all over the place again. Take those sniveling emotions, bottle them up, and act like a fucking grown-up for once.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, the sobbing finally unleashing. In his eyes, tears were fine. As long as I didn’t get sick.
“You wonder why she babies you? Why she’s afraid to let you out of her sight? Because of this.” He threw a hand up and I shrank down. “You’re eighteen years old. You’re a fucking embarrassment.”
I trembled, my jaw shaking. He tossed his head to the side, then picked up a daffodil with browned edges, one we had unpacked that morning.
“Our precious little flower,” he said, mimicking my mother’s words. “Worse than this.” He crushed the petals in his hand. My heart pulsed. It was true that we couldn’t sell it, but it didn’t need to be discarded like that.
“I need air,” I managed to say. “I’m going to be sick. I need—”
“Then go,” Sheriff Mike shouted. He threw a hand at the door. “Leave! Get out!”
He bared his teeth. The tension inside of me built into a heaviness that settled on my shoulders, sinking down to my stomach. He wasn’t going to stop me. He actually wanted me to leave.
So I ran.
The door closed behind me, the jingling bell mixing with the laughter of children. The night air hit my face, cooling the tears on my cheeks. I barrelled across the street to the viewpoint looking over the stream, banging my hands into the railing. A full moon hovered over the water, judging me.
But no one followed me. I was alone.
A shadow shifted to the side. A man, taller than me, rubbed a hand across his chin, smearing the dirt on his face. He had broad shoulders, thick arms, and bulbous white scars twisting over his arms and neck, tinted purple in the night. Mud was caked in his fingernails, as if he had been crawling in the woods for days, barely surviving. I had never been this close to a strange man before. I had seen men from the cracked door of the storeroom, but I had only been this close to my father and my childhood friend, Andrew. This stranger fascinated me. He was raw and masculine. He stepped forward, locked eyes with mine, holding me still. My stomach strained, electric nerves circulating inside of me.
I swallowed, unsure of what to say. But he was waiting. Maybe I was supposed to speak first.
