I’m not sorry, but I have to defuse this, not throw more fuel on the fire.
“So I’d love to do better next time. If there’s something I want to address with you about my sons, what would be a better way for me to approach it without hurting your feelings?”
“You could have just told me, ‘wow, good job, Martine, you really handled that well.’ That would have been just fine.”
“But…” I can feel the control slipping through my fingers, pressure building all around my skull and across my limbs. “That’s not constructive criticism. I’m asking, how do you want me to give you constructive criticism, Martine?”
“You don’t!”
“I don’t?” My jaw trembles. “So, you can behave however you want with my sons, and I’m supposed to say nothing? To just let it happen?”
“Rachel,” Jocelyne coos, her grip on my arm becoming tighter. “Let it go.”
“Let it go?” I forcefully pull away from Jocelyne’s grasp and turn to Martine. “Martine, if I can’t even have a conversation with you, if I can’t…”
Black spots take over my vision. The pressure gets worse. I might as well be trapped in a pressure cooker; there’s no air, nowhere for all the rage to simmer out.
If I don’t get out now, it’s going to boil over.
“You know what, it’s time for me and the twins to go.”
I turn around and scan the room for Cayce and Corey’s things, which are strewn all over the place. Toy trucks, dinosaurs, and pieces of costumes litter the cabin.
I’m doing this. I’m actually doing this. I’m taking the boys andleaving.
Still shaking, I stride towards the toys and start picking them up one by one.
“Rachel, what are you doing?” Martine stammers as she trails behind me. “You’re not actually leaving with them, are you?”
No one else says a word.
No one else except her gets in my space.
My already cramped, under-pressure space.
“Leave me alone, please,” I beg Martine, keeping my eyes on the items I’m trying to pick up.
My mind is going miles an hour, thinking of everything I need to grab.
Fuck, the boys are going to be so disappointed. I’m going to break their hearts.
But I’m not leaving them here withher.
“Don’t you think you’re being a little bit overdramatic here?” Martine continues, getting closer than she ought to, right on my heels, following my every step. “Just wait a minute, Rachel. Don’t leave like this.”
I approach a wall and pick up Cayce’s favourite toy—a big stegosaurus.
“Leave me alone,” I repeat, and it’s all I can do to keep the pressure contained.
“Rachel. Seriously.” Martine grabs my arm. “Just wait a min—”
At the contact of my skin, the lid blows over.
Every single shred of emotion stored in my body over the last hours, days—years—come ripping out of my bones—
I can’t control it—
LEAVE
