No Way Back (Mia's Way, #1) (7 page)

I can’t finish this crap. No one in their right mind could say the rest out loud. Something about being partially
responsible
for what happened.

“I’m sorry for that,” I say. I look up. The lights of police cars blocking off the road remind me of something I know I should say. “Finally, I want to thank the policemen … police officers who saved me. Their names are Dom and Kiesha.”

“Do you know their last names?” someone shouts to me.

“Um, no. Dom sounds like a Brooklyn taxi driver, and Kiesha wears ruby lipstick,” I answer.

A ripple of laughter goes through the crowd, and my face feels hot. I see the pictures in the hand of one of the reporters at the front of the crowd. It’s of the bruise across my back.

It hits me that everyone in front of me can see what I looked like when I got to the hospital. Daddy gave them my most intimate, terrifying moment. It makes me want to throw up.

Near tears, I look at Shea, who steps forward. Chris is beside her.

“Does this change the position of Charles Abbottt-Renou on the morning after pill and abortion?” someone else calls.

Shea moves into position. As if the floodgates open, people are suddenly shouting questions at her. She gives only a few answers then declares the press conference over.

Overwhelmed, I let Ari tug me towards the door. She opens it, and I hurry inside and lean against the wall of the foyer.

“Done,” I breathe. “Thank god!”

“Very good,” Shea says, following. “Even if you didn’t stick to the script.”

Fury fills me. I can’t control it. I fling the leather frame at her. It smacks her on the cheek.

“Mia!” Ari exclaims.

“Don’t ever talk to me again, Shea!” I yell. “
Responsible
? You wanted me to tell them it was my fault this happened? You gave them pics of what those monsters did to me! You know, what? Fuck you! I hope you get raped one day so you know how fucked up that is!”

I go as fast as I can up the stairs, not caring if my mascara smears now. After a stunned silence, Ari follows. I slam my door and fling off the boots, gasping as the pain in my ankle subsides. I slam the bathroom door just as Ari closes the door to my bedroom behind her.

Leaning against the sink, I stare at myself in the mirror. Ari tried hard to fix me, but I still look awful.

How long until this is over? How long until I feel normal? When does this go away? I sag and sit on the counter.

“Mia, I called your mom,” Ari says, knocking on the door. She opens it and holds out her cell, still pale.

I take it. Ari steps outside and closes the door.

“Bonjour, my love.”

I don’t realize just how much I need my mom until I hear her voice with its thick, French accent. I melt.

“Hi, mama,” I reply.

“How are you, my love?”

“I, uh,” I clear my throat, though there are tears in my eyes. “Can you come home soon?”

“For you, I will. I am here voluntarily, at your father’s insistence,” my mom says. “I saw your speech. It was broadcast live. I am so sorry, my love. I don’t know what your father was thinking by putting you on TV.”

“His attempt to bribe some magazine not to publish pics didn’t work.”

“I assumed as much. I’m sure Chris gave you the speech about snuffing the fire-”

“-before it spreads,” I finish and half-giggle, half-sob. “Yeah, he did.”

“The speech was horrendous. Shea is slipping.”

“Shea’s a bitch. She wanted me to say … to say it was my fault, mama!”

“It’s political, love. Don’t take it personally. Everything you say in public must be a lie or too vague for anyone to misconstrue,” my mom says.

For once, her bitter words make sense. I never understood her resentment towards Daddy – or reliance on alcohol. After going through the speech, I’m starting to.

“I don’t know what to do,” I say. “I haven’t even seen Daddy!”

“His first priority is damage control. It’s what he does well.”

“Mama, are you there because you really do have a problem?” I ask.

“Yes, love, I am. But my little girl needs me. I will be strong for you, love. I will be home in two days, though I can’t stay long.”

“Thank you,” I whisper. The sense of being completely alone begins to fade. “I miss you.”

“I miss you. I trust Chris and told him to take care of you. Don’t let the rest of Daddy’s lackeys try to tell you what to do. Be strong for me, my love.”

“I will, mama.” I hang up, and I feel better.

I take a hot bath. It’s the first time my body doesn’t hurt quite as much. When I’m done, I wrap a towel around myself and walk into my bedroom. I’m tired, but it’s barely noon. Ari is laying across my bed, playing on her iPad.

“Chris came up. He says you have to write a statement and to meet him in like, ten minutes in the study,” Ari said, glancing up.

I just want this to be over. But I put on jeans. Ari helps me with the t-shirt. My upper body is too stiff and sore for me to raise my hands above my head. Finally dressed, I go downstairs. Chris is alone in the study, sitting at the table where Daddy meets his team. There’s a pad of paper and a pen in front of Chris.

“Have a seat,” he says without looking up from his phone. “I want you to write what happened in your own words. We’ll go from there.”

This
has
to be the last thing. I feel stronger after talking to my mom. I sit down and write my version of events. It takes up half a page. I slide it to Chris. He takes one look at it and slides it back.

“Try again. As detailed as possible.”

The next version, he marks up with a red pen, crossing out details and adding in notes. I rewrite it. He marks up the next one, too. We do this for
six hours
, until I’m numb and my wrist hurts. The final version is mostly his words with a few of my own sentences. Only one of those sentences is difficult to write. The one where I lie about knowing who hurt me.

Finally, I’m in tears but the statement is done, written on the official police form.

“Is this it?” I ask. “Am I done with this?”

“For now,” Chris says, taking my statement. “I’ll discourage them from further questions. And, apparently, Robert Connor has an alibi.”

I look up at these words, surprised.

“I called the police officers you gave his name to. They checked with him. He’s got several witnesses that place him somewhere else. If you remember anything else about who did this to you, please let me know,” Chris says. He’s looking at me intently, like I’m the one that lied about Robert.

But I didn’t. I have a photo. Rather, Ari has a photo.

“Where’s my phone?” I ask.

“I’ll retrieve your property when I drop this off at the station. They said everything went into the fountain, so I imagine we need to get you a new phone.” He slides the statement into his folder and rises.

“Chris,” I say as he walks towards the door. “What happens now?”

“Dr. Thompson will be here tomorrow. He’ll help you through the mental damage. Shea is still gauging the press corps’ response to your speech this morning. Hopefully, we can distract them with your sister’s wedding. She’s marrying the son of a former president. Lie low, heal, and get yourself together. You’ve got one year left of high school before you can walk away from the family business. That’s always been your mother’s goal for you, and I think she’s right. You’re not cut out for this. You’ve got two trust funds. Go do whatever you want with your life.”

“Thanks.” It’s the most encouraging thing I’ve ever heard from him, and it still sucks. He leaves. I return to my room. Ari is still there, but I’m too tired to do much of anything.

I make Ari swear she won’t leave me alone then go to sleep facing the windows and the sun.

Chapter Six

Mom’s two days turn into several days, although she calls every day to say two more days. Ari stays. My nightmares are bad, nothing but memories of the night that changed me.

Daddy doesn’t talk to me or visit me. He won’t even respond to texts. If not for Ari, I’d spend every minute of every day sobbing in my closet, which has become my second home.

Finally, on the sixth day after my incident, Chris sends me a text asking me to go to my father’s office. I’m tempted to tell him I’ll be down in six days. But I go.

Daddy is seated behind his desk when I tap on the door and walk in. He bids me to enter without looking away from his computer screen. I cross quietly and sit in front of his desk, well-aware he doesn’t like to be disturbed and will acknowledge me when he’s ready.

That takes five minutes, and I still have issues sitting for more than a few seconds without pain. I shift forward at last, and he glances up. Gerard Abbottt-Renou is at least twenty years older than Uncle Chris. His hair turned from blond to yellowish, and his blue eyes are bright in his tanned face.

“You look much better than I expected,” he says with a smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Better,” I lie. Daddy doesn’t like bad news.

“Good, Mia. I was worried you wouldn’t be able to handle this as well as Molly.”

There it is. The inevitable comparison to my too-perfect half-sister. I want to scream.

“Daddy, why didn’t you come see me at the hospital?” My voice carries a tremor of emotion in it, one I hoped I could prevent.

“Mia, dear, you know I would have if I had the time. Your press conference did wonders for my polls this week. Did Shea tell you?”

I shake my head and look down.

“You’ve become Daddy’s-little-helper,” he says with a chuckle.

I’m glad someone can laugh off my rape.

“And don’t worry about the mistaken identity with Robert Connor. Chris got the District Attorney to seal the reports with Connor’s name. We wouldn’t want any issues distracting the voters from the election, would we?”

My mouth is too dry to speak. I always know how our conversations will go. I thought my monster face would have some kind of effect on him, like maybe make him realize he loves me more than politics? I’d settle for him loving me as much as politics.

“Molly’s giving a press conference about her wedding this weekend,” he continues. “Maybe you can watch it, pick up some tips? Shea says people really responded to your unpolished delivery. Invokes a sense of protectiveness in women voters, the demographic I’m struggling with this year without your mother to help me.”

“Okay,” I say numbly.

“I’m attending a ceremony within the next few weeks to present awards to the two police officers who rescued you.”

“Really?” It’s the first thing he’s said that doesn’t make me feel like shit. I look up.

“Really,” he says. “It’s the least I can do to show the men and women of the law enforcement how much we appreciate what they do.”

My excitement fades. He’s doing it for political reasons, not because they helped me. It strikes me that Dom and Kiesha stayed with me at the hospital, because they are the kind of people who help others. My daddy is more interested in what others can do for him. I should’ve done more than thank the two.

“I’m glad to see you’re doing okay, kiddo,” Daddy says in a voice he uses with interns.

“Thanks, Daddy,” I say and rise. I understand it’s a dismissal.

Dejected, I leave. I just want him to love me. For once. He looks at me like he’s trying to figure out how he can use my monster face to his advantage to win over voters, not like he cares that I’m hurt.

I go to my room and ignore Ari, who’s stretched across my bed with her iPad.

“So?” she asks.

I go to the closet and curl up in the nest I’ve made there. I don’t feel like crying, after the talk with Daddy. I feel like I’m dead inside.

Ari leaves the next morning, exactly one week after the incident. Two hours after she’s gone, I still sit in my window seat and stare past the gates, hoping she comes back. Instead, more protestors with signs show up outside the gates.

I assume Daddy said something controversial. Every time it happens, we end up with protestors. My cell phone and wallet were thrown into the fountain at Sven’s. Chris brought me a new phone a few days ago, one without the pics of the guys who did this to me. I don’t need reminders. I see them in my dreams every night. I promised Ari I’d buy her a new snakeskin wallet someday, if I ever feel like leaving the house.