Page 29 of The Love You Hate
“You’re a real pain in my ass today, you know that? What do you want for dinner?”
Smiling, I wait until he unlocks the door so I can enter first. I go straight to the bathroom and flick on the light, then scream. It’s way worse than I thought. “I look like a zombie! Why didn’t you tell me?”
Nate laughs, but eventually pops his head in. “I told you it wasn’t just a scratch. You’ll be fine. I doubt it will even leave a big scar.”
“Wait, so it might leave a small scar? I can’t have any scars on my face, Nate. Make it go away.” For a second, he looks completely perplexed, like he’s trying to come up with an unknown scar remedy. “I’m joking. It doesn’t matter if I look like Shrek. At least not anymore.” I grab some toilet paper and dab my lip where blood is forming. “No one cares.”
“Are you done feeling sorry for yourself?” Nate asks.
“I don’t know are you feeling sorry for me?”
“No. Plus, scars give you character.” He leaves for a few seconds and comes back with an ice pack. “Here. This is the only thing that might help it not scar…badly.”
Hissing, I put the pack on the injured side of my face. “Dinner,” I say, when my stomach reminds me of its presence.
“Want to grill out? I have steaks.”
“That is the best idea you’ve had all day,” I reply.
He rolls his eyes like a toddler. “Someone needs to have good ideas between the two of us.”
“Why do you do that? You look at me with goo-goo eyes one second and then rail me with insults the next. What gives?”
Nate does something unexpected. He winks. “You wish I was railing you.” He stalks off to the kitchen, leaving me openmouthed staring after him.
I giddily scream at his back, loud and shrill. “Oh my god, did you just make a joke? A sexual one at that? Who the hell are you Nate Sullivan?”
His chuckle echoes back to me as I hear a cabinet close. “You left it wide open and I’m trying to figure that out myself.”
The change in tone and demeanor is night and day. The more time we spend together, the more I realize I might be able to crack him, after all. In my former life, I would be headed to a plastic surgeon to make sure my face would heal perfectly. I stare at my reflection and can’t find it in me to care. My mother would have a heart attack if she saw me. She’s probably already dead if she’s in a place like Gold Hawke. There’s a large chance I’ll never see her, or my other friends and family again. It’s part of the deal, and I accepted it. The woman who works on my case did mention maybe, way far off in the future, after the dust has settled and a new generation doesn’t know what my father did, and how I’m attached to him, there could be a chance of a small get together. As it stands, I might as well be an orphan dropped off at an alien planet.
I let out a hiss as I run my finger across my face. Always present yourself like you might run into the queen.That’s what my mother always said.Perfection is bought, not inherited.The last day I saw her before they sent me to Gold Hawke was the first day I’ve ever seen my mother without a full face of makeup. Her face was mottled and blotchy from sobbing, and even though I was standing right in front of her she didn’t see me. Looking through me, she was only quantifying her loss. Not just my father, who had been locked up for life, but all of his money.
*****
“Mom, can you hear me? They said I have fifteen minutes before I leave for my flight,” I say, studying her face. “This is the last time I’ll see you until…well, I don’t really know.” My heart races, like I’m in the throes of cardio, but really my body was running on uncut anxiety. “Can you hear me?” Helen Cohen has checked out.
She murmurs, continues staring at me, and I’m waiting for her to start rocking back and forth in the corner. “That’s what you’re wearing?” Mom’s gaze dips down to my tracksuit and sneakers.
“This is what they left me! It’s not like I’m going to see the queen today. If I did, her guard would be trying to kill me. Remember, the royals also lost a lot of money because of Dad.”
She shakes her head. “Presley,this isn’t how it was supposed to be. We were almost to the golden years where your father could slow down and enjoy what he worked so hard for. Everything, our whole life of work, has been destroyed.” She eyes me again. “I can’t believe they took clothing. Did you see what they left in my closet?”
An ugly pit forms in my stomach and threatens to rise up. Why wouldn’t they take the clothing worth hundreds of thousands of dollars? They confiscated everything. “How are you worried about fucking clothes right now? They’re sending me away, Mom. I might never see you again.”
The use of the wordfuckinggets her attention, and she cringes away from me. “This is what they’ve said is safest for us and there are no guarantees we won’t see each other again. Keep your head, Presley. That language is unbecoming. Your father would be so disappointed.”
Her words cause nausea. “Dad is in prison for the rest of his life. I’m not worried about disappointing a man who lied and cheated his way through life. In case you forgot,he is the one who ruined our lives. He is the reason I’m losing all my friends. Dad is afuckinghypocrite. Everyone glorified him. His business dealings glamorized him and it was all a lie. He was one giant lie.”
Helen rears her hand back and smacks me across the face. Tears sneak out of the corner of both eyes, and I commit this moment to memory. The first, and probably only time I’ve seen my mother cry. Her anger is palpable, it has alife formall its own. She couldn’t do anything to save him and I know she thinks she should have. That she alone could cause a miracle and Dad would be found innocent. It’s her God complex. When you’re accustomed to buying anything and everything you want, the idea that she couldn’t buy his freedom is jarring. I cradle my cheek and step away from her. “This is how you want to end things with me? We are in this together. He ruined both our lives. He’s gone, Mom, but I’m still here.”
“Get out of my sight. You don’t deserve to be in this family. You’re a traitor. It’s your father who arranged for your protection. He should have left you to live on the streets. You’re unappreciative.”
“Unappreciative?” I stutter. “Mom, he is the reason we’re in this situation.”
A man in a black suit pops his head into the drawing room. “Five minutes,” he says, gazing directly in my eyes. When I nod, he leaves.
“Don’t make this harder than it has to be. Just go, Presley. Just go.”
