I force my eyes open, blinking to clear my vision, but the images won’t stay still. I catch pieces of skin. Black squiggly lines twist around the man’s arm. Some lines are long. Some short. Each one curls at the end. The shapes I make when Daddy lets me hold the sparklers.
I start to count each swirl.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
I can’t see the whole picture, but I push on, counting the black blur of swirls on his arm, even though my body is seconds away from crashing.
Five.
Six.
A quick whoosh flows across my body. A seat belt clicks next, locking me in place. Seconds later, the loud roar of an engine fills my ears.
Where is he taking me?
Seven.
“Sleep now, little Lucia. It’s going to be alright.”
Eight.
The car door shuts at the same time my eyes do.
PRESENT DAY
JULY 2024
“There arefive minutes left of our final session, Erin.” Roberta’s voice is balanced and mellow. “Take a moment and reflect on how far you’ve come.”
I take a deep breath and do as she asks.
Eight years in this chair, the same blinds, lamps, and lavender fragrance pumping in the air.
“I was twelve when we met,” I say quietly. “Now I’m twenty. It’s hard not to think you watched me grow up.”
Roberta’s light blue eyes brighten with a knowing smile as she waits for me to continue.
For as long as I can remember, before I went into the system, I’ve spent years trying to earn my mother’s love and affection. Nothing I did could satisfy her. I ended up with nothing but her frosty gaze and harsh words.
Even when she’s not there, her voice rings out in my head, cutting and cruel, telling me how stupid and pathetic I am.
You can’t do anything right, Lucia.
Whenever my foster father, Roger, would get angry and punish Griff, my foster brother, I’d hear her voice, whisperingthat it was my fault. That every punch and kick Griff endured was always because of me.
Look what you did, Lucia.
Before I came to Huxley Bay, I thought I’d never find a way to block her out. That I’d live with her condescending remarks forever, growing louder each time.
And then I met Roberta.
Mantras became our tool. Words I could use to build myself up when my mother tried to tear me apart.
