"What?" I ask, staring at my brother. I know he's holding back.
“Did you even try?”
“Jax,” Tiffany cautions.
“No, let him answer that. Did he try to make it work? All you had to do was deliver a fucking plate to a table. Simple. But you cannot even do that, Kace.”
I feel my temples start to pound, and I have to grit my teeth before I say something we'll both regret. It’s so easy for Jax and everyone else to judge me. It is so convenient for them to belittle me. But this is it. I’ve had about enough.
"Excuse me." I stand abruptly, spinning on my heels and walking to the front door. Nobody follows me, and I'm relieved. They understand. I'm just the fuck up, after all. The Briggs brother who will amount to nothing. Tears threaten to fall, but I bite back the urge. I'm not about to show anyone any weakness. It's when they know their power.
“What the hellis wrong with you?” My father's voice is loud and angry as he sits at the head of the table. “Do you have any idea what I had to do to make sure you were not expelled?”
Oh, I had a few ideas, starting with that fact that he had the principal bent over her desk for far less. He visited the school every chance he got.
“It was not my fault. I was just defending myself.” My voice is shaky with emotion.
“Is that what you’re calling it now? You’re a disgrace. Look at you. Fucking dumbass!” he spits, slamming his fists on the table, making me flinch. I’m well accustomed to his name calling and belittling. “I have a good mind to whip your ass.”
I grit my teeth, looking to my mother for some support, but as usual, she's staring down at her plate, her eyes vacant and distant.
I look at my brother, whose face has turned red with rage. He’s close to trembling.
"Why can't you be more like your brother? More like me? Instead, you're a loon, just like your mother."
"She is not a loon," I growl, and Jax kicks me under the table. "She's sick."
My father laughs and almost spits out his food. “Sick? The woman is a corpse.”
I stand, and before I can stop myself, I’m launching at him.
His chair topples back with the weight of us, and I start to punch his shocked face. He grunts and growls, trying to pull me off him. But I’m strong. At twelve, I’m almost his height and have a good bit of muscle too.
“Stop it!” Jax shouts and tries to pull me off my father. I hate this man. I hate him so much I could kill him.
Jax manages to pry me off him and shoves me out of the room. I know my punishment will be severe, but I don't care. I never do. I'm already in hell.
The woodon my table is chipped, and there are carve marks on it from the days when it used to sit in the kitchen in my parents’ house. I trace the circles and patterns my mother would use her nails to indent. I haven't thought of my parents for a while, but my fall out with Jax just brought it all back. The utter rage I feel at my father, the devastation I feel that my mother saw no other way out but to end her life.
I still miss her. Her gentleness and the way she used to look at me with wonder. Nobody’s looked at me that way since.
I'm a frustration to Jax, and I know it. But he refuses to leave me the fuck alone. I didn't ask to be this way. I just am. It's not something I can switch off. I can't focus, and when I do, it's on things that mean nothing.
I can't hold a conversation with a woman for long enough to develop something. I'm always wondering — about their lives, about what they think of me. About how little I think of myself.
I have a half-finished manuscript I swear I'll publish one day. I have articles I've written that I am far too afraid to submit. Afraid I'll expose too much of myself, scared the world will never see, no matter how much I show them.
Maybe I should talk to Tiffany. Perhaps I should just lay bare all my troubles so she can fix me up for my brother so I can stop being the one thing that drags him down.
* * *
The next morning,I swear today will be different. Maybe I'll find a job I actually like. Grabbing my jacket, I make my way out. If anything, I have to clear my head after the wreck of a dinner last night.
I jump into my car and am met with typical London traffic. It’s congested at every turn. I turn on my radio and open the window to let the cool breeze in since my aircon has been bust for the last year. And then I hear it, a horn blaring behind me. I don't bother to look. Instead, I close my eyes and pretend I am anywhere but here. The horn continues. I hum along to the tune playing and gasp when I feel cold hands grab my throat. I open my eyes and there she is. Again. This woman has a habit of popping up. I struggle out of her grasp and suck in air.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I choke. “You’re insane, you know that?”
“You’re blocking up traffic, asshole. Get a move on.” Icy-blue eyes glare at me.
