“Of course they’re not. Greg and Antoinetta Barclay are on death row for their crimes already, you can’t exactly punish them further. But these families still deserve justice, so yes. I’ve offered to speak to police if for nothing else than to close the cases and give the Lyons, the McKendricks, and the Jones’ some closure.”
Red claps along with the rest of them, but I see the people whispering around her. I have my fair share of supporters, of people who understand I had nothing to do with the horrors my parents inflicted — yet there will always be those who blame me even though I was still a child when they were arrested.
I should’ve seen the signs, they say. I should’ve said something.
While I agree in hindsight, I have to remind myself that I’d never blame another child for this, so why blame myself? I have my own mistakesto atone for, I don’t need to add theirs on top of them.
Especially since I’m a victim of Greg and Antonietta Barclay, too.
“I think that’s all the time we’ve got today, Alaina. Thank you for your time, and to those watching from home, make sure you check out the newest Barclay documentary series. It’s quite the ride.”
She couldn’t be bothered to plug the name, but I don’t correct her. I take my cue to leave the stage and check my phone, glossing over the notifications from Brooke, my agent, and a reminder about a dentist appointment in two days to search for something, anything from Bash.
There’s nothing.
I didn’t imagine there would be, but I hoped maybe he’d be nice enough to thank me for covering his ass. I could’ve told the world what happened, could’ve let him take the blame for the dinner. I could’ve fucked his whole world up by announcing a fake pregnancy on one of the most popular daytime talk shows on air right now.
But I didn’t.
I’m not a liar, and I’m not above taking accountability. One of the perks of beingtraumatized is the self-awareness that comes with it. I don’t always make the right decisions and I’ve fucked more things up in my life than I’ve ever gotten right, but the one thing I’ve learned in the last few months is that I need to take several steps back.
Instead of chasing childhood ghosts, I should help the families I just defended and other people like me, who weren’t as lucky as I was to be adopted by parents who set things right. They hired tutors to help me catch up and gave me an identity. They gave me a home. And while they eventually hurt me in their own way, I am who I am because they gave me a shot. There are countless other people out there, kids just like me, building walls to stop the rot.
That’s who I should be focusing on, not rockstars who think I’m a ghost.
He was in the past for a reason.
Chapter Fourteen:
Destroy Me
Bash
Not even a week later, Sidney is using the spare key I gave him to come into my house and wake me up from a much needed nap.
I haven’t charged my phone in days, but that’s no reason for him to wake me up by pouring water on me. That’s just fucking rude. He lets me wash up and forces me to eat a greasy burger before he ever tells me why he’s here, but by the time I’m on the couch staring at him, I don’t know if I want to hear it. I can feel his anxiety. “Why do you look like you haven’t slept in days?”
“Between you and Levi, how can I?” he mumbles. “You know he called me in the middle of the night to ask me what would happen if he mixes three different uppers with three different downers?”
Yikes. Levi seems to be getting worse. That’s touring behavior, but usually he pulls it together in between. “Should we be worried?”
“No, I don’t think so. Jonah was there and texted me right after, Levi was just fucking with me. I can’t believe I... never mind. I’m not here about me, I’m here about you and the big fat fucking mistake you made.”
“Which one? You’re gonna be here a while if we’re making a list.”
Taking a breath, I push my bandmates from my mind. Deep down, I know Levi just wants attention from the man sitting before me, but he’s here talking abouther.I feel it. I’ve been too much of a coward to look her up myself, but the way he’s looking at me tells me I should have. Now it’s too late.
“The biggest one you might’ve ever made in your life.” He hands me his phone with a video up. “Push play.”
I see Alaina’s face behind the button, and the need to see her in person again punches me in the gut. She looks uncomfortable as fuck as some dickhead fires questions at her about what it was like growing up with serial killer parents. Alaina holds her own for a few questions but doesn’t really say anything that proves a fucking thing, until she lets something slip that tweaks my memory.
“Looking back, the signs were obvious. My mom would always tell me it was getting too hot right before we moved, and then we’d move further south. It never made any sense to me but now that I’m older, I know she meant that the cops were closing in.”
Too hot.
Suddenly flashes of my sad girl telling me that same sentence takes over, and I can see her as clear as day. Her parents were fucking serial killers. The signs were all there, but I was only twelve years old. I never once connected any of the dots, I was just happy we were alone together.
“Fuck,” I hiss, dropping his phone as she continues to talk about her horrible upbringing so I can tug on my hair. “Fuck. Fuck, fuck. I used to get annoyed at her when she wouldn’t visit and she was athome being fucking abused by serial killers. I never once did anything to actually help her.”
