Chapter 41
Elina
For the last three hundred yards from the subway station to the prefab building where my parents' apartment is located, I ran. Yet I still sprint up the stairs to the second floor. Because what I have to tell them cannot wait.
I won't take my new job. That dream was an illusion. Just as deceivingly real as the one my parents have been chasing for far too long.
Breathless, I press my index finger on the doorbell and don't let go until my mother opens the door.
"Elina?" Deep furrows form on her already wrinkled forehead. "This is a bad time. Aaron..."
Of course. Aaron, Aaron, Aaron. It's always about him. "Don't worry, I won't take long." Without waiting for her reaction, I enter the apartment. I rush down the narrow hallway. "Is Dad here?"
"He's out searching for..."
"Aaron," I finish her sentence because neither she nor my father have ever done anything else. "What's it about this time?"
With an exhausted sigh, my mother brushes her gray-streaked hair away from her face. "He escaped from rehab." She signals for me to follow her into the dimly furnished living room. "I need to stay here in case he shows up."
Inside, I feel the urge to comfort her. I could postpone my mission. It's not the right time. "Should I make you some tea?" I promptly ask. "Or are you hungry?"
There she is again. The dutiful daughter I've been my whole life.
Tears well up in her eyes as she sinks onto the sofa's protective cover. "He's probably in a park, doing his disgusting drugs."
It's as if she didn't hear me at all. As if I'm not even here. Of course, I understand her pain. That's always been the case, and today is no different.
But her reaction also shows me that it's probably really time to come clean.
I have to do it. Now or never. But what if she loves me even less afterward? Can I risk that?
My throat feels tight, and my breath is strained. I was so sure earlier, but now I feel that familiar fear creeping in.
"What more can you do?" I say cautiously. For the first time ever, I dare to criticize my mother, even if only softly. "You've tried everything. Aaron has dictated your lives since forever. He decides how you feel. Whether you can sleep, whether you laugh or cry."
Where is this going to lead us?
This is not the first time I've asked myself this question. But for the first time, I have an answer to it.
With their behavior, my parents haven't accomplished anything with Aaron. But it has left deep scars on me that they don't even notice.
My gaze falls on my mother, who sits on the sofa with a saddened expression and drooping corners of her mouth. "He's still our child."
"Just like me." Those are the words I've forcefully swallowed since I can remember. Because they shouldn't be said. They are too selfish. Yet I can no longer suppress them. Because if Noah has shown me anything, it's that I am also worthy of being seen and loved. Without having to achieve something extraordinary.
"We're grateful to have you," my mother responds absentmindedly but doesn't even look at me. "But Aaron—"
"To hell with Aaron." I interrupt her angrily, barely recognizing myself at that moment. It's as if something is breaking free from within me, something that has always been there. Behind a wall I built with my own willpower. Noah tore it down. And that's a good thing. "He's a damn junkie who doesn't give a damn about what he's doing to you."
My God, did I really just say that?
Suddenly, I have my mother's full attention. She stares at me in disbelief. "Excuse me?"
She's never heard that tone from me. Because I've always kept my mouth shut so as not to cause them even more grief.
So they would love me.
But all I achieved was them caring even less about me.
