“There’s no helping us now; we’re caught in her web and the downfall has begun.”
I hate when he knows what I mean without me even having to say it. More than that, I hate admitting the truth. I’m Elodie Blackwood’s pawn, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
FOUR
ELODIE
My heart lurches in my chest as I barrel through the front door of our trailer, but the relief of being home and safe doesn’t come. Clutching my torn jacket to my chest, my breaths come in short, sharp pants as I round to a stop, staring off with my mom.
Her eyebrows knit together in confusion as she tilts her head slightly to the side. Her hair is tucked behind her ears but it does little to hide the fact that it hasn’t seen a comb in a while. Her eyes are red and puffy and I’m sure there will be bruising somewhere on her body; there always is when I find her curled up on the worn armchair that’s as beaten as she is.
“Why are you home, Elodie?” she asks, her voice raspy and broken—just like the two of us—yet I find no sympathy to offer her.
Instead, I clear my throat, untangling my own hair withmy fingers as I keep my gaze fixed on hers. “Why are you crying?”
She shakes her head. “I asked you first,” she insists, waving her lit cigarette in my direction.
“And you birthed me, so I’m also a bitch. Answer the question.” I hate to prey on her weakness in moments like this, especially when I’ve watched my dad do it so many times, but he does it to break her. I do it to force a spark. Yet even that remains absent this time as she sighs, defeated like always.
“Elodie.”
“Mother,” I retort, cocking a brow at her, and she shakes her head.
“You’re supposed to be in class,” she states, and I scoff, folding my arms over my chest.
“I was supposed to be home last night. Did no one realize I wasn’t?” The mere mention of last night threatens to haunt me, but now isn’t the time. My skin crawls, the memory of the teacher’s hands on me before my refusal got me locked away in a closet. If it weren’t for Walker, I wouldn’t be standing here right now.
A shiver runs down my spine, but I force it to strengthen me instead of breaking me into the withering woman seated in her wounded chair. Her eyebrows pinch as she flicks her cigarette against the rim of an empty can of soda, her go-to makeshift ashtray.
“Your father was calling you for hours,” she says with a sniff, and I bite back the sad snicker that hums along my lips.
“At the front door?” I clarify, knowing neither of them would search far.
“Where else?” she asks, her eyebrows gathering further as I shake my head in dismissal.
The slight movement brings my torn jacket into view, and instead of strength, I feel anger this time.
“Do I look suitable to attend class?” I blurt, my fingers clenching the material tighter, and she grimaces.
“I wouldn’t say so, but lord knows what you get up to,” she retorts, and I scoff, not shocked by her response at all.
“Don’t use the lord on me when you choose to live with the devil himself,” I snap, my nostrils flaring as I try to contain the tremor that vibrates through me.
“Don’t say things like that about your father.” She takes a drag of her cigarette, but I don’t miss the tremble in her hands.
“Don’t make me stay here with him and I wouldn’t have to,” I push, knowing this same old shit never goes anywhere, but it’s all I have.
She sighs again. “You don’t understand, Elodie, I?—”
“No,youdon’t understand. Just because you let him hit you doesn’t mean I should let him hit me.” I release my jacket, throwing my hands out wide, and she shakes her head.
“He doesn’t hit us, he?—”
“Do you even hear yourself? You’re just as toxic as he isif you’re making excuses for him.” I can’t deal with her just as much as I can’t deal with him. He’s a tyrant, and she’s the woman at his side, fueling his ego, his ability to control, and everything in between.
“When you’re older, Elodie. You’ll understand,” she insists, lighting another cigarette from the fading ember of her current one before dropping the butt into the can.
My pulse thrums in my ears, desperation clawing at me as I try not to crumble. “I promise you, with all that I am, I will never understand why you do this, not even for a second.” The burn of unshed tears prickles the back of my eyelids.
