I handled things when she needed it and backed off when she didn’t. I kept choosing her even when she waited for me to slip. Now she was trying to make sense of this version of me. The one who actually cared, who paid attention, who wanted to protect her without taking anything from her. I felt her exhale against my chest as if she were learning to believe in that. And I held her tighter, letting her know she could.
37
Lana
After eating dinner with Callan in the living room, I went back upstairs to take a quick shower. I still carried that faint smell of the bar from last night on my skin and hair, and the moment it hit me again, all the memories from that place pushed up in my chest. It made me want to scrub twice as hard. I washed my hair, stayed under the hot water for a long time, and tried to breathe past the heaviness that still lingered from everything that had happened.
While I stood there drying off, I heard Callan moving around downstairs. He was cleaning up the empty dishes and putting things away. Even if he was giving me space, he had the ability to make me feel less alone. I took my time with my hair, working the towel through it before using my hairdryer. It had gotten longer than I realized. The ends almost brushed against my hips. I kept telling myself I needed a cut, but I never followed through. Life felt too busy. School, emotions, the stress of everything that kept piling up, and then Callan, who took up more space in my mind than I ever admitted out loud. There was always something else to handle, something else I had to get through before worrying about something as simple as a haircut.
I looked at myself in the mirror once my hair was almost dry. The first thing I noticed was the bags under my eyes. I hadn’t had a good night’s sleep in a while. Every night seemed to come with a new worry or another round of thoughts that refused to calm down. But I had some hope now. Callan promised he had everything handled. He promised he wouldn’t let anything get worse. And even if I wasn’t ready to trust every part of that, I could feel myself wanting to.
When I turned off the hairdryer, noise from downstairs came through like a punch. Loud voices echoed through the house, but I couldn’t make out who it was. All I could tell was that the second voice was a female’s. My heartbeat jumped fast, and the heaviness in my stomach told me this was once again trouble. I stood still for a moment, trying to understand what I was hearing, and every second made the pressure in my chest rise higher.
I closed my eyes and forced a long breath out, telling myself to stay calm. I tried to tell myself I was safe here, but it seemed nothing would ever go back to normal. The sound of a woman’s voice made my stomach twist. My thoughts scattered, and I questioned if Karlee had returned. If she were standing downstairs right now, ready to start something new. Would she even be brave enough to do that now that the police were investigating her? If she were here, would she have brought someone with her? None of those scenarios made sense, but logic was a far idea in this moment.
All I knew was that whoever she was, she had not come here with good intentions. Her tone told me everything. She wasn’t here for a normal conversation. She wasn’t here to work anything out. She wanted conflict.
Even with fear running through me, the idea of staying in my room while Callan faced this alone felt worse. He had carried so much for me. He had taken hit after hit for my sake.I couldn’t stay upstairs and let him deal with something that probably involved both of us. He deserved my support, even if I was shaking on the inside.
I pulled on my loungewear fast with unsteady hands. I took one more breath, trying to steady myself enough to move, though nothing about me felt steady at all. I stepped out of the bathroom and crossed my bedroom, and when I reached the top of the stairs, I stopped, gripping the railing as I listened again, trying to understand what waited for me below.
Mom.
Her voice hit me hard, and it took me a second to understand that it actually belonged to her. She wasn’t just talking to Callan. She was screaming at him. Full volume, no restraint, no filter. I heard something shatter next, a glass hitting the floor or the wall, and that noise made me freeze on the step.
Everything in me stalled as one thought pushed every other one out.
I had feelings for my mother’s ex-husband.
I had slept with him.
I felt closer to him than I had ever felt to anyone, and I didn’t even know if he felt the same about me or if I had just projected everything I wanted onto someone who simply treated me like I mattered.
I stood there with my hand on the railing while my mind replayed every moment with him. Every kiss, every touch, every conversation. And all I could see now was that invisible line I had crossed without ever thinking about what it meant. I had stepped straight over it, and somehow I was only now realizing how severe it looked from the outside, how wrong it sounded when tied to the word mother.
My hearing went muffled in seconds, and my vision blurred. I couldn’t think straight anymore, and I couldn’t decide if I wanted to go down the stairs or run in the opposite direction.
My chest tightened with every breath I tried to take. I tried to force my body to relax, but nothing helped. I needed space. I needed air. I needed to get out of here.
I stepped backward into my room, keeping my eyes on the hallway as if my mom might appear at the top of the stairs any second. My hands shook while I pulled open my closet. I grabbed the first jacket I could reach, not even checking which one it was, and shrugged it on in a frenzy. I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t know where I intended to go. I just knew I couldn’t stand in this house while they fought because the guilt was crawling up my spine and I felt exposed and ashamed.
I zipped the jacket halfway, getting frustrated when my hair got stuck in the zipper. I tried to get my breathing under control as I moved toward the door. I needed to leave before I fell apart.
I kept my head down as I walked down the stairs, my eyes fixed on every step, and my only focus was on getting to the front door before anyone realized I was there. My pulse was loud in my ears, and it made me feel dizzy. I hit the bottom step when I saw her in the living room, her eyes immediately darting to me when she heard me. Her entire posture was rigid with anger. Her face looked flushed, her makeup smeared like she had been crying or yelling for a long time. Her hair was messy, sticking to her cheeks, and her breathing was heavy and loud. She stared at me as if she had been waiting for this exact second.
“Lana!” she screamed. Her voice made me flinch. I had heard her this angry before. A lot, actually. Especially when I was little. But back then I didn’t understand the weight behind it. Now I did. Now every shouted word felt deliberate. Every spike in her tone felt like a warning.
I froze again. My hands curled at my sides as my stomach twisted hard. I tried to look away but couldn’t. She was alreadywalking toward me with fast steps, and I felt my body start to shrink. I backed up until my shoulder hit the wall.
Before I could say a word, she reached me. Her hand shot out and grabbed my upper arm, her fingers digging into my skin with so much force I gasped.
“You little slut,” she spat, her face inches from mine. I could smell the alcohol on her breath. “Fuckingmyhusband…you’re a dirty little whore. Did you think I wouldn’t see it?”
The shame I had tried to bury came rushing up, overwhelming me. She shook me once, waiting for an answer I couldn’t give.
I didn’t get a chance to form a sentence.
She slapped me, making my whole body turn to the side. The sharp sound was almost as intense as the pain that rushed to my cheek, spreading in a sharp pain across my face. I didn’t move. I couldn’t. My eyes watered from the impact, and I blinked fast, trying to clear my vision.
