Very Bad Things (Briarcrest Academy) (19 page)

“When
I was a four, I thought Mother was a goddess.

When
I was fourteen, I knew she was a monster.”

–
Nora
Blakely

AFTER I’D FLED the gym, I drove to a
local diner where I planned to drown myself in buttery pancakes and crisp
bacon. I sat myself at a cracked vinyl booth and picked up the greasy menu
being held up by the napkin dispenser. A few minutes later, the waitress
approached with a little smile and a pair of old orange flip-flops. I stared at
them in confusion.

“Hon, these were left here a while back, and well, I thought
you might want them. Technically, we can’t serve you if you don’t have any
shoes,” she said with a gentle Southern twang.

I blinked in surprise, looked down and saw bare feet that
were covered in dirt from the parking lot of the gym and the restaurant. And
so. It was settled. I’d officially teetered over from barely holding it all
together to losing it completely. Sign me up because I was ready to be
committed. I had no shoes, borrowed clothes on, blood on my elbows, tangled
hair, and a tear-streaked face. Oh, and no Leo, no soulmate, no mister right,
no true love, no beloved. I sucked.

I tried to remember where I’d left my shoes, and then I
dimly recalled leaving them in Sebastian’s car. “I lost my shoes,” I told her
nametag, not wanting to see the pity that must be in her eyes. “Thank you,” I
said, taking them from her and slipping them on.

She smiled sweetly and nodded like it happened all the time.
I sat there with borrowed flip-flops and ordered my late-night breakfast,
intending on savoring every delicious morsel before I went home.

Someone was at home, and I sensed trouble. Whatever was
waiting for me in that big house, I didn’t want to give in and take it. I
wanted to fight.

As I ate, I had a conversation with myself about Leo. I’d
laid it all out to him. Again. The roulette ball had landed, and it seemed I
was an expert at mastering the art of losing. I’d taken a chance and told him
what was in my heart, and he’d rejected me. Again.

About an hour later when I walked through the door at home,
Mother was the one who greeted me, an irritated look on her face as she sat at
the kitchen table. Her brown hair was bound up in a perfectly loose chignon,
and she wore a soft- green bathrobe. It struck me as odd because I hadn’t seen
her in night clothes since I was a child. She wasn’t the type to lounge around
in comfy clothes, and I tried to picture her in one of my usual garbs: sweats,
a hoodie, and my fuzzy multi-colored socks.

Normally, when she was home, we’d have a light dinner that
Mona had prepared, we’d sit in the living room and discuss world events for an
hour, and then we’d tell each other goodnight. I wouldn’t see her until morning
and most times not even then. The station usually sent a car for her around
5:00 a.m., which was before I got up.

There were lots of things in life I didn’t get. How the
universe was formed. How bed bugs can totally wipe out a hotel. Why Romeo and
Juliet didn’t just talk it out before they offed themselves. Why needy people
fish for compliments on Facebook. But, most of all, I didn’t get
why
my
mother hated me. But, then she didn’t hate me, did she? No, I think it was
worse; it was indifference.

Seeing her actually home for once, plus up and out of her
room, I figured something major had happened. Had Mona found the china?

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Where’s Dad?”

She shook her head at me and said, “Don’t play the innocent
act with me. The school called me today to tell me you’d dropped most of your
classes!”

“Oh, so that’s why you came home,” I said, hating the
let-down I felt because in the back of my mind, I’d wondered if maybe she’d
come home for my birthday, albeit a belated one. “Well, that’s old news.
Happened last week. I also quit debate and yearbook, too.”

She glared at me. “And, Emma Eason’s mother woke me up at
midnight to tell me you started a fight with her daughter, and you know I play
tennis with her mother. She’s the President of the Chamber of Commerce, for
goodness sakes! How could you?” She waved her hands at my appearance. “You’re
an embarrassment to this family, Nora Grace, and I won’t tolerate it. This all
started with the
incident
, and I’m nipping it in the bud once and for
all!”

“What do you mean, nipping it in the bud?” I asked, backing
away from her. I didn’t want her to hit me. Of course, she’d never use her
fists on me because that would leave bruises. But she could slap with the best
of them.

She laughed, but it wasn’t a pleasant sound. “I’m taking
your keys and electronics again. You can stay in your room for a week without
speaking to anyone. You will eat and shower in your room as well. Mona can
drive you to school. There will be no visits to Portia’s. If you reregister for
those classes and sign up for debate, however, I’ll let it all go.” She stood
gracefully, looking at me with disdain. “Thank God Finn was an easier child
than you. You’re the worst . . .”

“Stop!” I yelled. “You can’t talk to me like that!”

She gasped, surprised at my insolence. “Yes, daughter, I
can. I
am
your mother. You’ve humiliated yourself in front of the entire
student body, you’re staying out until all hours, you’re getting in fights,
you’re wearing God knows what, and oh yes, you’ve dyed your hair that red
color. You look like white trash.”

“No, no, no,” I said, “you’re a control freak who expects
everyone around you to be perfect! And where’s Dad? Do you even know who he’s
fucking? But wait, you don’t even care, do you?”

She looked down at her French manicured nails. “Our
relationship is not your business.”

“You’re never here during the week, and I eat alone, Mother.
I walk around this big house, feeling invisible. And why haven’t you asked me
why
I told them all to fuck off. You don’t ask those questions because you
don’t care! You didn’t even call me on my birthday!”

She sneered. “I know why you made a fool of yourself. You
did it because you’re ungrateful,” she said, opening the kitchen drawer and
pulling out a pack of cigarettes.

What was this? She’d never smoked before. I watched her
light one with quivering hands. More secrets. We all had so many secrets.

“I knew I never should have let you take that theatre course
at the community college. It’s made your tendency toward drama even worse,” she
said, exhaling smoke.

“How would you know if I was dramatic?” I yelled at her, my
anger escalating. “You know nothing about my life. You don’t even
look
at me half the time, much less see who I really am!”

“You’re a sick girl who has to repeat words in her head so
she can function.” She took a drag off the cigarette and then pointed it at me.
“You’re screwed up . . . that’s who you are.”

I gripped my purse, wanting to run. “Don’t you see that
you’ve ruined the person I could have been.” I got my courage up and said the
truth. “Mother, I told you when I was fourteen years old that Finn was crawling
in my bed at night, forcing himself on me, and you ignored me! It went on for
months! You called me a liar!”

“Shut up!” she screamed, but I didn’t stop.

“And now . . . now, you’re telling me he’s coming back to
live here! With me alone in this house!” I said, clenching my hands into fists.

She rolled her eyes. “God, just shut up and about Finn! He
never touched you. You and I both know you made that up.”

Tears stung my eyes at the pain her words caused. “You’re
just as sick as he is,” I whispered.

Her eyes bulged out, and she slapped me so hard that my
purse fell on the kitchen floor, its contents spilling out across the marble
tile. She bent over and picked up my knife and eyed it warily but sat it back
down when she saw my silver case. She snatched it up, popped it open and glared
at me. “This, Nora! This is what’s wrong with you! You’re using drugs! You
blame everyone else for your problems, when it’s your own fault, not Finn’s and
not mine. God, my own daughter is an addict!”

I cradled my stinging cheek as I laughed at her. “I’ve only
done coke one time, Mother,
one time.
Finn was the one who gave it to
me. It’s his cocaine.”

I bent to pick up my phone and opened it with shaking hands.
I found the hateful images stored there and shoved it in her face. Her skin
whitened as she saw it. “Look, this is how your precious son posed me the last
time he raped me. He got me high on cocaine, Mother. He took pictures of an
innocent young girl like this! He used me and then let his friend from school
have a turn! Is that brotherly love?” I said, my body shaking all over at
admitting out loud what had happened to me.

She shook her head at me, “You’re a whore!”

I gave her a look of disgust and gathered up my purse,
knife, and keys. There’s no reasoning with a mad woman. “Keep the coke. You
might need it,” I said.

“You are
not
leaving this house, Nora!” She grabbed
my shoulders, her nails digging into my skin. “If you walk out that door, I
will never speak to you again,” she said. She meant it. Silence was her
ultimate punishment for me.

I tore her fingers out of my arm and backed up from her,
trying to get closer to the door, knowing to not turn my back. I knew her ways.

I said, “There was a time when I needed you. I came to you
and told you what was happening, and you convinced yourself I was a liar,
because you didn’t want to believe your son would be so twisted. Because what
would your high society friends and
Good Morning, Dallas
fans think if
they knew your precious son was touching your daughter? What if they found out
he was my half-brother and didn’t belong to dad? What if he was arrested? No,
Mother, you chose yourself over me and left me to suffer.”

She winced, like I’d struck a nerve.

“There were nights when I was alone, and I’d lay in bed with
knives. I didn’t know if I wanted to kill myself, kill Finn, or kill you. I
tried to become this perfect person, hoping you would love me. I got the best
grades, I played the piano, I paraded myself around in stupid dresses, I won a
national spelling bee,” I said.

She sighed. “You’re exaggerating as usual, Nora.”

“No,” I choked out, letting the tears pour down my face, not
getting why she wouldn’t just
love
me. Why couldn’t anyone just
love
me.

She smirked. “God, do you need me here to cuddle you at
night? Grow up. And don’t think I’ll give you a dime if you leave. You’ll get
nothing from me, do you understand? You can forget piano lessons and going to
Princeton.”

“All I ever needed was love,” I whispered.

She laughed. “Please. Stop with the drama.”

I walked over to stare down at the weight scale. She’d
placed them next to the fridge years ago. “I am never getting on this scale
again,” I said, picking it up. I slammed it down repeatedly against the marble
floor until the face snapped off and bits of white enamel innards flew around
the kitchen. Breathing heavily, I stood up and looked at Mother whose mouth
gaped open in shock. If she thought that was bad, wait until she saw her china.

“Goodbye, Mother,” I said in a tired voice. I walked out the
door, leaving the house of hell where I’d grown up.

As I drove away, I felt something new spark inside me, and I
think it was hope, burning like a tiny flame, flickering back to life.