After what I said to Lucy in New York about her trying to replace Samuel, the least I can do is protect her from Paul’s wrath.
“You mean,youdiscussed it,” I say, pointing between Connie and Paul. “Not we. You.”
“And this is the reason why.” Paul tosses his iPad on the couch like a live hand grenade, and I turn to pick it up. The headline from a news article and a screenshot from my live stream covers the entirety of the screen.
Silent Scars: Alexander Morgan Breaks His Silence Revealing Childhood Abuse.
I fling the iPad back at him, the rage inside me now like a whirlpool.
“You think it’s okay to shame me? To make me feel guilty for speaking out about what happened to me?”
The sheer audacity of the man.
“Have you stopped to think about what this has done to your family, your father?” His tone is so cold it could freeze Death Valley.
My heart skips a beat.
What does he mean, my father?
Is this the reason I haven’t heard anything from them?
Paul crosses his arms and waits for me to respond.
“What do you mean?”
“Let me read it to you.” Paul puts his glasses back on, picking up the iPad and scrolling through the article. “Alexander Morgan’s father allowed a pedophile to abuse him for years.” He swipes across to another article. “Is Alexander Morgan’s father responsible for allowing a pedophile to molest him?Want me to continue?” Paul pushes his glasses down his nose.
“Why would they say that?” A stutter appears in my voice.
“Because you said your father’s friend was the teacher. That he encouraged you to take David on the road with you,” Connie jumps in.
Her words slice through me like a scalpel with no anesthesia.
During family therapy, I’d gotten to air all the things I’d been holding back: Frustration toward my parents for having to placate my brother by minimizing or hiding my own success. Anger toward my dad for not getting rid of David when I pleaded with him to. They’d even shared a few home truths with me. How hurt they felt when I always took out all my anger on them. How Harrison felt neglected by my absence, when all he wanted was to have me around. Not the Alexander Morgan the world wanted, but Al, his big brother.
I thought I’d processed all the hurt and pain with my family. That the deep wounds that had left their scars had finally begun to heal. But clearly, in that video last night, I still had a lot of hurt and anger toward my father. I still held him responsible, even though he had no idea his friend was a pedophile.
“That’s why you run things past us, Alexander.” Paul puts the iPad down on top of a pile of magazines in front of him. “So we can look over everything. We ensure your words aren’t misconstrued.”
I’m barely able to concentrate on what Paul is saying.
I glance at the clock on the trailer wall. New Mexico’s only an hour ahead of California, and it’s not even 9 a.m. there. Hopefully Dad hasn’t seen the news.
“I need to call my father.” I grab my phone and dial my dad.
The sound gets louder with each successive ring.
Please let him answer.
Someone get me the gun and put me out of my misery.
I’m slowly drowning in the verbal Niagara Falls coming from Laura’s mouth. Her voice is like nails down a chalkboard.
Laura’s been chewing my ear off for the last five minutes while we sit in the wooden chairs on set. Our respective surnames are written on the black fabric. The crew, getting things reset on the soundstage for the murder scene, can’t work quickly enough. Two people move the couch to make space for a tall lampshade. Another person adjusts the family portrait on the wall.
“Can you believe he still hasn’t returned any of my messages or calls?” Indignation lines her every word as she leans across to me.
Clearly, personal space isn’t something she’s familiar with.
