Unbroken (9 page)

Because of all that, and how badly Mom tried to respect our bio-mom, and our grief over her loss, I can’t understand where her guilt comes from.

“Ana, honey, don’t worry over it. Bianca’s just sensitive about Catalina,” Daddy says. “Give her time. She’ll be okay.” He kisses Mom on the top of her head, and gets to his feet. “I’ll look after her.”

He squeezes my shoulder as he goes to tend to my sister.

Mom sits quietly beside me, and then she nods her head in the direction of the flower arrangements we bought. She starts taking the cellophane off the bouquet, her eyes watering as she does so. She’s far more emotional here than I ever have been, and I’m sure that’s just her guilt getting the best of her.

I reach over and grasp her shaking hand, pulling the attention away from the scene at hand. She gazes at me, her hazel eyes piercing my absolutely ordinary brown ones, a smile on her face.

“Mom, don’t beat yourself up so much when it comes to Bianca. You know why she feels the way she does, and it’s going to take a lot more than two years of therapy to vanquish those fears from her mind,” I tell her, trying to soothe her worry.

I understand Bianca’s feelings all too well, not because I agree with what she feels, but because I’m partially responsible for embedding that fear into her mind.

When they thought I was old enough to understand what happened to my mother, Mom and Daddy sat down and explained it to me. Words like “suicide” and “post-partum depression” were thrown around, and to a curious eleven year old, it was just another puzzle to solve. A trip to the library and a few dictionary and encyclopedia searches later, I came home on a rampage, fully believing that the birth of my baby sister was the reason our mother took her own life.

Years later, I learned the true meaning of those words, especially after Bianca was diagnosed with bipolar disorder, and I had to understand mental illness on a whole other level. I worked hard to convince my sister that she didn’t do anything wrong, that I loved her, that she was perfect just the way she was, and we would always be the best of friends.

But then Maddox Bradley came into our lives.

And the unthinkable happened.

And all Hell broke loose.

And she convinced herself there was something wrong with her, that she was responsible for taking all the people I loved away from me.

I still haven’t convinced her otherwise, and I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to.

“I’ll never understand why she feels the way she does,” Mom says, choking back a sob. “I’ve tried to do everything right, tried to love her past all that. And nothing works.”

“I understand why she feels that way. She’s my sister, and I’ll always understand her on a level no one else ever will. You let me worry about Bianca. Everything will be alright, Mom, I promise.”

Looking up, I see Daddy walking back toward us, his head hung low. He crouches down in front of us, placing a hand on Mom’s shoulder as he kisses her quickly on the lips. When he pulls away, he turns to face me and gives me a solemn expression.

“Your sister’s asking for you. Maybe you can say something to cheer her up,” he offers.

With an eyebrow raise, I nod. I’m not sure what I can offer in ways of support and a shoulder to cry on, but I’m willing to try either way. If it’ll make my dad happy, I’m more than happy to do it.

I leap to my feet and dust my jeans off, making my way to the backseat of the Denali. I climb in beside my sister, who’s looking out the window on the opposite side of me. When I shut the door, she winces, but she doesn’t look over at me. I’m sure she knows I’m here.

“Hey, Bee,” I tell her, scooting all the way over and nudging her with my knee. “Talk to me.”

She turns to look at me, and I inhale sharply at the tears spilling from her eyes. She hasn’t cried in front of me since she was ten, and that’s what bothers me the most about her emotional state right now. I know she cries, know she shed more tears than I could possibly imagine after what happened with Maddox, but I never saw it. I never watched her shed a tear over the most devastating thing either of us could remember experiencing since our mother’s death.

“I don’t know how you don’t hate me,” she whispers.

Her words take me aback, shove a knife in my heart. As heartbroken as I’ve been over many things that have happened over the years, including losing the first boy I loved, I could never imagine a reality where I’d
hate
my sister.

“Bianca, why would you ever think that? What makes you think I could ever hate you?” I ask, placing a hand on her shoulder.

“Don’t!” Her voice is sharp. “Don’t touch me…I can’t stand it! How can you stand to be in the same space as me, huh? I took her from you. She’s dead because I’m alive. She’s missing
everything
, and you grew up calling another woman ‘Mommy’ because of
me
.”

Jesus fucking Christ.

She turns away, folding her arms and leaning out the window. For a moment, I think she’s just gathering her thoughts, but I know otherwise. Her shoulders quake and I hear her gasp, cutting me to the core.

I grab her hand and pull her toward me. Her head falls forward to rest on my shoulder and I rub her back soothingly.

Her reaction to all this stuns me, although it really shouldn’t. She turns into stone the minute we pull into the parking lot of the cemetery, doesn’t say a thing unless someone says something to her first, and she always beats herself up later.

“Bianca, look at me.” My tone is demanding, the only one I can take with her when she gets like this, because otherwise she’ll end up on a destructive path and ruin everything in her wake. She lifts her head marginally, so I place my hands on either side of her jaw and hold her in place. “Bianca, I love you. Yes, she’s missing everything. Yes, she’s dead. Yes, another woman came in and took her place. But you’re forgetting one crucial detail.” Her eyes light up with scores of questions. I give her a weak smile. “You went through all that, too. I had four years with Mom. You only got one. I remember her. You don’t. I am not the only one who lost her, Bianca. And her death is not. Your. Fault.” I kiss her on the forehead as she continues to sob. “There is nothing you could ever do that would make me hate you.”

She closes her eyes as more tears stream down her face. She hiccups with every sob, and she finally opens her eyes to look at me after inhaling shakily.

“But I’m the reason you lost Maddox.”

So there it is. The giant elephant in the room.

Her voice is so soft, I’m surprised I’m even able to hear her above the howling of the wind.

I close my eyes, fighting off my own tears as they threaten to fall. I should have known that this would come between us, as hard as I’ve tried not to let it. She’s fourteen years old, we’re not too close in age. We don’t fight over stupid things like each other’s clothes and shoes and makeup. We don’t fight over boys. But this boy in particular ruined everything, and he doesn’t even give a shit.

“Maddox Bradley is a Grade-A son of a bitch.
He
made his bed.
He
fucked up.
He
is the reason he’s no longer in my life. Not you. I loved him, I did. And part of me always will. But I will
never
forgive him for what he did to us.” I give her a smile. “I will always love you, Bianca. You didn’t take anything from me. You, Grace, and Mila, are the only ones keeping me afloat these days. You don’t ever have to worry about me hating you. I never could. Do I make myself clear?”

She forces a smile and envelops me in a tight hug. “Crystal. I love you, Bree.”

SEVEN

FROM THE OUTSIDE, NO ONE would ever be able to tell the horrors this house has held for me the past six years.

White house, yellow shutters, large picture windows, an enormous front porch. To an innocent bystander, it probably looks like someone’s dream home. It looks like the home people write novels, write songs, make movies about. But for the past six years, it’s been the subject of all my nightmares.

For six years, I’ve run away from this place, my brother and sister in tow, trying to escape the demon who resides within these four walls.

We always run to the same place, to Mama Quinn’s. Nickayla was the first person to learn my secret, and she would take it to her grave if I asked her to. For years that place has been my safe haven,
our
safe haven. We learned there what our life could have been like had our mother survived her battle with cancer. We learned what a father’s love is
supposed
to look like.

Every time shit hit the fan at home, we always knew we had another one to run to.

And every time I decided it was time for us to go, it got harder and harder to convince myself I was doing the right thing for all of us.

This morning, for instance, I had to drag Dalis and Cason from the Quinn household kicking and screaming. They protested the entire time, and Dalis cried the entire car ride over. I knew I was hurting them, and I hated having to do it, but the fact of the matter was, if we weren’t at the house, our dad would find a reason to sell the house and all that was left of Mom inside it.

I didn’t stay because I was some kind of martyr or a masochist. I stayed because there was no way I could give up so easily on my memory of my mother.

That’s what I keep telling myself as I stand on the front porch of our childhood home, rummaging through my pocket for the keys. No matter how many times I say it mentally, it’s impossible to believe it when my siblings are looking at me like I killed the family pet.

“Do we really have to stay here, Bubba?” Dalis asks, her voice shaking. “I hate it here.”

I know she does, and I know she always will most likely. There’s nothing that can make being here okay for any of us, but I’m going to try.

Getting my hand around the keys, I pull them out and unlock the door. Cason’s the one holding our bags, so the minute we’re inside, he darts toward the staircase and runs upstairs. I close my eyes as I stand in the foyer, waiting for the inevitable. It’s not long before it comes: the slam of his bedroom door, and the familiar vocal stylings of AFI blasting from his radio. I shake my head and open my eyes, turning to look at my little sister.

I place the house key on the hook right by our hallway closet as I smile at her.

She looks so small compared to this house. It swallows her up, diminishes her size, and I never noticed until exactly this moment.

“Go on upstairs, Liss,” I tell her.

With a sideways glance, she stares me down. I know she’s trying to read me, trying to figure out what I’m up to. If only she knew…

I grab the back of her neck and guide her toward my chest so I can give her a hug. She buries her face against my shirt and sighs, trying to calm the emotions within her.

“Go ahead. I’ll be up in a few. I’m gonna see what’s in here to eat.”

A curt nod is passed between us, and I watch as she retreats up to her bedroom. Her shoes pound against the stairs, and she stomps purposely all the rest of the way to her room. I close my eyes, knowing exactly what’s coming next, and there’s no way I can stop it now. She slams her door closed, same as Cason, and then her teeny bopper pop music starts playing to compete against his rock.

There’s no way I can hear him coming up behind me. There’s too much going on around me, too much requiring my attention, like the giant mess in the middle of the living room, likely the result of another drunken night on his part. He grabs my shoulder from behind and I whirl around to look him in his red-rimmed eyes.

With a deep breath, I try to mentally prepare myself for what’s about to come next.

Sure enough, I’m greeted with a fist to the face. I reach up to cradle my jaw as he stares down at me with hate-filled eyes.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” my dad asks, rocking back and forth, beer bottle in hand.

I should know by now that he’s asking a rhetorical question. But there’s something in me that possesses me to answer him this time. “I live here,” I answer boldly.

He laughs without humor, stumbling over empty beer bottles, takeout containers, and shoes until he makes his way past me and collapses on the couch. He slouches against the back of the couch, taking a swig of his beer.