Chapter 2
ON MONDAY MORNING, I woke up feeling more downhearted than usual. I had a restless night, Hayden’s words replaying in my mind on endless repeat. I was angry at myself because I felt all these opposite emotions and had to remind myself I was with Mateo. I liked Mateo, and our relationship meant a lot to me. I couldn’t go back to my old story with Hayden. Besides, his words on Saturday night were clear enough.
I’d pushed Hayden away, so he had the right to be angry with me. He had every right to forget about me and move on with his life. He felt each emotion much more intensely than I would ever be able to, and I could only imagine how devastated he’d been after I rejected him. I shouldn’t be so selfish. His indifference shouldn’t hurt me.
My life had gotten so much better recently. I had friends and a boyfriend, and my life in school wasn’t as difficult as before. My grades were amazing, and Ms. Clare had allowed me to work on my computer project at my own pace because I’d been injured and spent quite some time in the hospital. Everything was going well. So why was I unsatisfied?
And then there was that recurring voice saying “wrong.” Wrong, wrong, wrong.
These vehement feelings were twisted but addictive—hot and cold, just like Hayden—and I needed to get my mind off them. Thinking about Mateo helped me remember I had a promise of a peaceful future. I should never forget who Hayden was. He’d been my enemy. He’d drowned me in his hate that scarred me forever. He’d done so many sick things to me that having a future with him was out of the question.
I just needed time. I needed more time and these feelings would disappear. They had to.
I was on my way downstairs when my phone beeped. I fished it out of my pocket and opened Mateo’s text.
“Good morning, precious.”
A smile tugged at my lips. He wished me good morning every day before he left for school, and this became our routine. I was slowly getting used to the fact that I texted people every day now, regularly receiving messages from Mateo, Melissa, and Jessica, and it felt great. I wasn’t an unsociable loner and weirdo anymore.
I texted him back and went into the kitchen. The cigarette smoke hit me, and I wrinkled my nose, clutching the strap of my backpack. My mother was sitting at our kitchen table and reading her favorite gossip magazine, her half-smoked cigarette hanging between her fingers. My gaze landed on the ashtray in front of her. A few fresh cigarette butts already littered its shiny black bottom.
“Good morning,” I muttered and opened the fridge.
“Morning,” she responded blandly.
I took the milk out of the fridge with a sigh and poured the cereal and milk into my bowl. I sat across from her, placing my backpack next to my chair, and examined her exhausted, pale face as I ate my breakfast in silence. She had bags under her green eyes that held no light in them, and she got thinner, her cheeks bonier. Did she eat anything at all?
“Did you have breakfast?” I asked her.
She released smoke through her nose. “No.”
“Why not?”
“I’m not hungry.”
“That’s not okay, mom. You should eat something. If you don’t eat—”
“Stop preaching. You’re not the parent here. I am.” She added “Unfortunately” quietly, and my throat constricted.
I itched to get up and leave because I couldn’t be in the same room as her anymore. I was always mercilessly reminded that she would never be the person I was hoping for. She had her own burden to bear, which didn’t include taking care of her daughter.
These last few weeks, she’d been depressed and didn’t talk much. She got fired from the fast-food restaurant for working drunk, and she found a new job in a supermarket. She wasn’t happy about it in the slightest, because she didn’t get well with her new colleagues and the workload was heavy, so she drank away her stress and misery almost every night in the bars around Enfield.
I picked up my backpack and put my bowl in the sink. “I’m off.”
“Later,” she gave me the same old answer, her eyes fixed on the magazine.
I stood watching her put out her cigarette in the ashtray and blow smoke out of her mouth, ache twirling in my chest. Do you love me?
She raised her eyebrows when she saw me staring at her. “What?” she asked. Did you ever love me?
“Did I do something wrong?” I asked her, terrified of entering that desolate territory of anguish, but desperation in me pushed me to ask. My heart rammed against my chest as I waited for her answer, silently pleading for her to change—to realize I needed a mother. I needed her.
She shrugged. “Why do you even ask?”
Did you ever consider me your daughter?
“Forget it,” I said and left, pressure crushing my chest. I buttoned up my winter jacket, quickly growing cold in the freezing morning air. I hated cold weather. Winter hadn’t even started, but the temperature was already too low.
I glanced at Hayden’s house, and my heartbeat and anticipation rose. I expected to see him whenever I left my house, but just like these past few weeks, he was nowhere to be seen. His car wasn’t in his driveway, and it was highly possible that he didn’t even spend the night home.
Desperate to escape the cold, I rushed to my car. I started the engine and turned on the heater. A powerful shiver coursed all the way through me.
I could’ve died when Josh stabbed me two months ago, but my relationship with my mother didn’t turn the corner. It only got worse. She was so lost in her depression that I couldn’t remember the last time I saw her smile. She rarely spoke to me, and when she did, it was to talk about money. She never failed to remind me we struggled to pay the bills, suggesting that I find a better job.
I clenched my hands around the steering wheel. The fury I felt toward her compressed my chest. I wasn’t only mad, I was scared. There was a possibility I couldn’t go to Yale or any good college even if I got a full scholarship by some miracle. I’d have to pay for various expenses my mother wouldn’t help me cover. I’d have to work my fingers to the bone while studying, worrying about money, and I was terrified.
My anxiety kicked in again, and a whirlwind of negative thoughts and doubts blew through my mind. I’d have to work with people, and I didn’t like that. I didn’t want to be forced to interact with strangers, but I didn’t have any choice. I couldn’t be picky about jobs during college. My mother was clear about this—if I went to some far away college, I was on my own. She didn’t support my decision to leave Enfield. She wanted me to enroll in a local college, find a job that paid well, and support us.
Her selfishness and neglect knew no boundaries.
Gloom dug its claws even deeper into me on my way to school. I was afraid I would be stuck here forever.
A few students glanced my way the moment I entered the lobby, and my cheeks flushed. I knew I should be used to it already, but I wasn’t. The incident with Josh took their attention to a whole new level, and they became morbidly curious about me. My status had transformed from the school’s top “freak” to top “savior-freak.”
They created so many stories about me that one would think I was a superhero, exaggerating the moment I got stabbed instead of Hayden. According to one of the ridiculous rumors, I’d been stabbed fifteen times and lost one lung. Another said I’d been Josh’s secret lover, but I cheated on him so he decided to get his revenge. The most absurd rumor was definitely the one about me losing my child when Josh stabbed my stomach in the middle of my pregnancy.