Page 3 of Bleeding Hearts

“Demi,” she said, poised, as she crossed one leg over the other, clutching her purse in her lap. “Thank you for meeting me.”

“You’re welc—”

“Quite an interesting choice of venue. A little small and stuffy if you ask me,” she cut me off. She looked around the café, making a look of disgust as she did, but there was something else behind it. Nerves. “I suppose this won’t take long anyway. Let’s get right to it. It’s your father’s sixtieth birthday today,” she added.

As soon as the wordfatherleft her mouth, I knew I’d fucked up by coming here. I knew I’d fucked up by picking up the phone. And mostly, I knew I’d fucked up by believing she’d changed even a little.

So, that’s what’s happening right now. I’m sitting across from my mother after she reminded me it’s the birthday of the only person in this world that I truly hate. I just stare at her, thinking about how much I fucked up.

Neither of us says anything as her words sink in. She waits politely for a response while I give her none. My eyes burn into hers, pleading for just a sliver of her humanity to show itself.

I know it’s in there deep down, but I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen it from her. She taps her finger on the table, her patience wearing thin, before finally speaking again.

“There will be a celebration at our home tonight. All of your father’s and my colleagues and their families will be there. We expect you to be there as well,” she says casually. As if it would be totally normal for me to go home to a house I haven’t been to in six years to celebrate my father, who I haven’t seen since I left.

I don’t mean to laugh. I really don’t. But you see, I have this terrible habit of laughing in uncomfortable situations and for that reason, I can’t help the uncontrollable giggles that pour out of me.

My mother stares at me in horror as my laughter filters throughout the small café, garnering attention from other customers.

“Demi,” she scolds, and it only makes it worse.

I keep laughing until tears are prickling at the corners of my eyes and I’m struggling to catch my breath. It’s another few minutes before I’m able to calm myself down and meet her angry stare.

“Please tell me that you didn’t go out of your way to come out here and meet me just to demand I show up at Alexander’s birthday party.” I already know what her response will be, but I say it anyway.

“Do not call your father Alexander. It’s extremely disrespectful, and he would hate it.” She sighs, her face full of bewilderment even though I haven’t called my father anything but Alexander in years. “This is a big birthday for your father, and he expects his only child to be there. Your temper tantrum has gone on long enough.”

Temper tantrum. Because that’s what my escaping a lifetime of abuse is to him and, in turn, to her.

It’s been a long time since my mother has been able to think for herself, and I know the words truly come from him, but her saying them doesn’t hurt any less. A fucking temper tantrum.

I have half a mind to throw a stupid temper tantrum right now for how inconsequential and belittling she makes it sound.

“First of all, Mother, I’m not his only child. Or did you forget about the family he already had when you started seeing him? Second of all, you’ll find me dead before I ever step foot in that house or near that man again.” I seethe, anger rolling off me in waves.

Even when she deserves it, I still feel a sliver of guilt rising in my chest for being angry at her. My mother contributed to my abuse growing up in an emotional way, standing by and watching as he hurt me, blaming me when it was over.

Yet, a part of me still feels for her because I know that she lives in the same cycle of abuse I did, and she’s still stuck in it.

“Always with the dramatics, Demi. I sure hope you’re not involved with that other child of his. Your father would be extremely disappointed in you if you were.”

“That other child of his is my brother, and he’s a fuck of a lot better person than Alexander will ever be. I think we’re done here.” The chair screeches against the tile floor as I abruptly stand from the table.

“This conversation isn’t over, Demi. You will come home and accept your responsibility as part of this family eventually,” she says, keeping her voice calm. “Whether you like it or not.” The words come out as almost a whisper. As if I wasn’t meant to hear them.

Something flashes in her eyes too quick for me to decipher and then she’s back to looking at me with nothing but a dead stare.

“Don’t bother calling again, Mother. I won’t pick up.” I sigh, giving her a final glance before walking out the doors.

I turn the corner, making the walk back to the apartment that I share with my best friend, Logan. Lo found me at a time when I had nobody. After I left my house at eighteen, I moved in with my boyfriend, Jake.

We’d only been dating for a little over four months, but he had always been a nice enough guy. He was a sophomore at Seattle University and lived in an off-campus apartment with two roommates. It wasn’t ideal, but it was the best option I had at the time.

I was a virgin when I moved in with Jake. I know, the eighteen-year-old high school prom queen was a virgin… the scandal. Except nobody knew I hadn’t punched my V-card because I made sure to only date college boys and only for short periods of time.

It wasn’t that I didn’t want to have sex. I’d read enough romance books in my life to be interested. I just couldn’t. Not when I was constantly hiding bruises underneath each of my carefully curated outfits.

But then, a few weeks after I moved in with Jake, all the bruises faded, and I gave it up. I wasn’t in love with Jake. In fact, half the time, I wasn’t sure I even really liked him in a romantic way, but he was there, and he cared enough to provide me with a place to live.

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