He responds almost immediately this time, but it’s just a series of silly emojis, followed by “Have fun. Tell your mom and grandparents I said hi. Text me later.”
I send a thumbs-up emoji back. Then I close my eyes for a count of five before I stuff my phone in my pocket, climb out of the car, lock the doors, and jog into the restaurant to meet up with my family.
Chapter Five
Nico
Thehumoftheceiling fan in my roomshouldhelp me sleep. That’s what everyone’s always told me—it’s white noise or whatever. But it’s never really helped. Very, very few things have ever really helped.
So, like I always have, I pretend. I close my eyes and curl up in my bed with my comforter pulled up past my shoulders and my back to the door, and I lie there quietly, breathing slowly and rhythmically, hoping I’ll be able to drift off.
But I’ve been lying here for hours now.Hours.And every time I think I’m about tofinallyfall asleep, a fucking noise comes from the direction of my mom’s room down the hallway.
He’shere.
She probably thinks I don’t know since she probably thinks I’m asleep and that I’ve been asleep for a while. But I hear them talking. My mom giggling. Him laughing. Her shushing him. Then other sounds that make my stomach knot up and bile rise in my throat.
As if today hadn’t been fucking awful enough.
The third time I hear a thud against the wall connecting my room to hers, I can’t take it anymore. Silently, I turn over, grab my phone from the nightstand, and push myself up off the bed. Then I slip on my socks and shoes, stuff my phone into the pocket of mypajama pants, and tiptoe out down the hallway.
A moment later, I’m outside, and I suck in a deep breath. My heart’s racing, though I hadn’t noticed it before. And I needout of here.
Of course, my car keys are still in the pocket of my jeans, which are on the floor in my room. And there’s no fucking way I’m going back in the house now. Not knowing that that asshole is here. So I guess I’m walking.
The moon’s not out, and there’s no light to see by. But I don’t need any light to know where I’m going.
I start off down the driveway, ignoring how much my hands are shaking as I pull my phone out. Alex apparently sent me a text message about two hours ago, and I swallow hard and then click to read it.
Alex (11:04 p.m.):i ate a shrimp. it was disgusting. never again. not even for u
I should laugh. It’s funny as shit, after all, especially when I picture his face, grimacing in disgust as he chews. But I don’t laugh. My stomach is still in knots, and I’m fighting against the nausea in my gut and the tension in my jaw.
Fucking asshole Patrick. What the fuck is he doing back with my mom? And why is she allowing it?
Tears sting my eyes as memories spanning almost the last decade jump at me. I want to scream out loud to try and push them away, but they come anyway, and there’s nothing I can do about it. It happened so gradually, I don’t blame my mom for missing it early on—Patrick’s voice becoming harsher when he talked to me, then the slow buildup of physical stuff. Rough touches, like a sharp grab of my arm or shoulder, turned worse until it wasn’t uncommon forhim to hold me so hard he gave me bruises. He dragged me around by the hair more than once, yelling and cursing, and the time he shoved me up against the wall and punched a hole right next to my head should have been the last straw. But it wasn’t until the day he actually hit me—a closed fist to my face and the first and only time I ever broke a bone—that my mom finally kicked him out.
That was four years ago. She told me “never again” when it happened. Hell, she had the divorce papers delivered to him at Omaha Correctional Center while he was serving his sentence for assaulting me. So I believed her.
I’m a fucking moron, I guess.
I clench my jaw and try harder to push all that stuff away, and I focus on my phone again as I turn from the driveway onto the main road.
Nico (1:11 a.m.):You home?
Please. Please respond.
Alex (1:12 a.m.):yeah
Alex (1:12 a.m.):whats up
The relief is instantaneous, and I stop, my shoes scuffing into the dirt along the shoulder of the road, as I close my eyes for a count of three. When I open my eyes again, my hands are shaking so badly I can barely text my response back.
Nico (1:13 a.m.):Can I come over?
Alex (1:13 a.m.):ofc
Alex (1:13 a.m.):r u ok?
