Tiny fractures, p.32
Tiny Fractures, page 32
“Have a good trip, Dad,” I say, already feeling the tension rise in my body again as I finally head up the stairs and into my room. I hear my dad leave just a few minutes later. I still have a couple of hours before I have to head to Murphy’s, and the prospect of spending this time in the house with only my mother is anything but calming.
I wish I could hole myself up in my room until it’s time for me to head to work, but Onyx is in the backyard—and likely has been there all damn day, maybe even all weekend while I was gone—and I really need to take her on a quick walk. So I take a shower, relishing the hot water against my skin, then get dressed in jeans and a white t-shirt and make my way back down the stairs and to the sliding glass door in the living room to get Onyx.
“Don’t think I don’t know what’s happening,” my mom says from the couch. There’s already an edge to her voice, and my shoulders slump. Why can’t we ever just go about our lives pretending the other doesn’t exist and just leave it at that?
“What do you mean?” I ask, and turn to face her.
“Your little girlfriend.” She stands up. “I don’t appreciate that you’re keeping secrets, Ronan, but it would certainly explain why you’ve been slacking so much,” she says sharply.
My eyebrows knit together. I know for a fact that I haven’t been slacking. The only thing that’s changed around here is that I’ve been working more hours while her list of chores for me keeps growing longer and longer.
“What? Cat’s got your tongue?” my mother says, and laughs about her own fucking joke.
“Very funny,” I mutter. God damn it, she’s getting a rise out of me, and I can’t stop myself. “I don’t think I’ve been slacking.” I’m becoming defensive, even though I know I need to just back off, need to shut up and take her fucking shit if I want even the slightest shot at getting out of here unharmed today, but I can already feel myself reacting to her.
“No? Then you’re not only stupid, but you’re apparently also blind, Ronan,” she says, her voice getting louder. “You’ve been breaking your curfew, you can’t manage to do the things I ask of you, and you have a shitty fucking attitude to boot. Don’t think I forgot the way you were talking to your dad on Friday when he told you to use protection when you’re fucking around.”
“I’m pretty sure you’re talking exactly the same way to me right now,” I say, adding fuel to the damn fire. I swear it’s like I have two versions of me sitting on my shoulders right now. One’s telling me to back the fuck off and the other is telling me to double down. And it’s obvious which one is winning right now.
It’s a stupid game I’m playing, and I’m about to win a stupid fucking prize.
“I don’t appreciate the tone with which you’re talking to me, Ronan,” she hisses back at me.
“God, fuck, Mom,” I say against gritted teeth, my jaw tight as I run my left hand through my hair. “What do you want from me?” I say, my voice louder now.
“You better knock it off, Ronan.” She steps closer toward me. “This is a war you don’t want to start.”
“I’m pretty sure this war has been going on for a long time already,” I argue with her, unable to control myself. I’m honestly surprised at myself for talking back like this, though I’m perfectly aware this will not end well.
“Ronan, I’m warning you. You will lose.” Her hands are already balled into fists, ready to strike.
“Go the fuck ahead, Mom. This shit means nothing to me; I have nothing to lose,” I growl, and brace myself for her first hit. I’ve obviously lost my damn mind.
“Are you sure about that, Ronan?” She hammers her fist into my stomach, causing me to double over. “You think you’re so brave talking back to me, you worthless piece of crap. Did your little girlfriend suddenly make you lose your god damn mind that you think you can talk to me like that?” She shoves me, and I stumble backwards as I straighten myself up. “You know she’s going to see straight through you, right? You know that sooner or later she’s going to figure out that you’re useless. Or maybe she won’t; maybe that little blonde bitch has even less of a brain than you do.”
She takes another step toward me. She has her fist clenched, about to slam it into my stomach again, but I’m ready for her this time. I flex my abs as tightly as I can as her arm darts forward and she punches me. It still hurts, but not nearly as badly as the last time, and this time I can tell it caused her pain, too. She briefly looks at me in disbelief as she steps back, breathing heavily as she flexes her right hand. “Are you fucking serious, Ronan?” she asks in a tone that lets me know I’m in deep fucking shit now. And sure enough, her fist comes flying forward again, sucker-punching me in my stomach for a third time. I wasn’t expecting it this time, didn’t flex to dampen the blow, and I hunch over again, only for her to crash her fist into my nose, which immediately begins to gush blood.
I drop to my knees in front of my mother.
“Get up, Ronan!” she orders, but I don’t. What’s the fucking point? “Get the fuck up!” She kicks me in the stomach, forcing me onto all fours. The blood is positively dripping from my nose, a little puddle forming on the hardwood floor. “Ronan, I will fucking kill you if you don’t get up right this fucking second.”
I gather whatever strength I have and slowly push myself up off the ground. I wipe my bloody nose with my forearm. It doesn’t feel like it’s broken, which is a fucking relief. I wouldn’t even know how to explain that one to my friends and Cat.
My mother studies me for a moment, looking me up and down like I’m a pest, like she can’t believe she had to give birth to me. “You better knock off your shit or I will make your life a living hell, Ronan.” She takes a step back, signaling she’s done beating my ass for now. “Clean that up”—she points to the blood stain on the floor—“and get out of my sight.”
She turns and goes upstairs, leaving me standing in the living room, feeling punch-drunk.
I do as I was told, grab some paper towels from the kitchen, and clean my blood off the floor while trying to stop the bleeding with a cold washcloth to my nose. As soon as I’m done, I walk into the kitchen—all plans of walking Onyx gone—to wash the blood off my face, hands, and forearm, ensuring there are no visible signs of injury. Then I head into the garage, and I’m relieved to find a clean, long-sleeved Murphy’s shirt in the dryer. I change out of my bloodstained white t-shirt and discard it in the trash can. I decide to just leave the house now, eager to get away from this fucking hell hole, but quickly go back inside and grab an unopened bottle of Jack from the sideboard in the dining room. I just need something to take the edge off.
I make it out to my car seconds later and chug two large gulps of the whiskey. Then I sit for a second, eyes closed as I lean my forehead against my steering wheel, letting the alcohol hit my stomach.
Just hours ago I was happy, surrounded by my friends, kissing the most incredible girl in this world, but all that is so rapidly overshadowed and drowned out by my mom and her apparent desire to wipe out anything good in my life. I hate the effect she has on me, hate what she does to me. I fucking hate her. And I fucking hate myself for letting her get to me, for not being strong enough to withstand her, for not fighting back.
“Um, you’re early again,” Shane says when he spots me walking into Murphy’s fifteen minutes later, and his eyebrows immediately crease.
I have no intention of telling him what just went down at home and instead plaster on a fake smile. “Yeah, you know, after that long weekend with you I just started having immediate withdrawals and I needed a quick Shane fix.”
He grins at me. “I guess I can’t blame you. I’m surprised everyone else isn’t here also.”
“Me, too,” I laugh. “Guess we know now who loves you the most.”
“Just don’t tell Tori or she’ll kick your ass,” Shane says with a nod.
“I can take her,” I joke back.
“I don’t know, she fights dirty,” he laughs.
“Are you speaking from experience?” I make my way behind the bar counter to drop off my keys and wallet.
“I’d rather not say,” he says sheepishly, now making me laugh for real.
“Fair enough. Is Tori coming in today to make eyes at you while you work?”
“That’s the plan,” he says with a smile.
“Tell her to bring Cat.” I give him a grin, wanting to see her more than anything. I guess I could call or text her and let her know, but I don’t want to overwhelm her. We just spent seventy-two hours together, and I want her to decide what she wants to do tonight without feeling pressured by me.
“Oh, for sure. Wouldn’t want you to be jealous that nobody is making eyes at you,” Shane says, then adds, “Although, that’s never really been an issue. In fact, I’m pretty sure that chick over there is making eyes at you right now.” He nods in the direction of a table occupied by three girls.
“Nah, I only want Cat making eyes at me,” I say, then get to work.
Thursday, August 12th
Cat
July was an insanely hot month, and August hasn’t been much better. I’m used to humidity and heat, but that’s in a small town in North Carolina, and man, heat and humidity in the city are a whole different ball game. My days are spent either indoors or at Shane’s mom’s beach house. I even end up dragging Sam and Benny with me a few times when my mom has an emergency patient. Vada, Tori, Summer, and even Cheyenne completely dote on my younger siblings, which is really nice because they don’t get bored while we hang out with my friends, and my little sister Sam still appears to have a huge crush on Ronan. I can’t blame her; every day I spend with him my feelings for him grow more intense.
Ronan has been extremely busy with work and hockey practice for both his club and varsity teams, spending hours every day at conditioning, which throws off his daytime schedule a bit, but we still see each other just about every day. At some point I started sending him text messages every night before I go to bed. It’s usually something short, just meant to let him know that he’s my last thought before I drift off to sleep. And then I usually wake up in the morning to find a text from him—typically sent in the middle of the night—telling me he got home and that he misses me.
But it’s not just Ronan’s sweet messages I get to read in the morning. Adam has been calling and texting me randomly, too, always from an unknown number, which makes it impossible to block him. I’ve made the mistake of picking up his calls a handful of times when my fingers were faster than my brain, and I hit the answer button before I could remember that the unknown number most likely meant Adam was about to terrorize me again.
It’s always the same with him—he’s usually drunk when he calls, the phone ringing at the most random hours of the day and night. His tone is always accusatory, even when he texts me. A couple of times he said he should just come and take what he deserved all along. I know he doesn’t know where I live, but it still makes me uneasy. The fact that he somehow got my number is concerning enough, and I wouldn’t put it past him to get ahold of my address.
And then there are the pictures; the evidence; the proof of my promiscuity, my missteps. Adam wasn’t satisfied with the one photo I sent him when I was in Buffalo, and has forced me to send him new ones. I feel sick to my stomach each time I stand in front of my bathroom mirror, exposing my breasts to the camera, my hands shaking as I take a picture only to delete it the second I hit “send.”
And then, two weeks ago, things went from bad to worse when Ronan was at my house, spending the rare evening with me when he didn’t work.
I was cuddled up against Ronan on the couch, watching a movie I already can’t remember, when my phone notified me of a new text message. My stomach dropped when I read Adam’s words.
Unknown: Your tits are nice and all, but I think it’s about time I get to see the rest of your tight little body. You strung me along for almost five months, Cat, and I don’t think I need to remind you of what you did to me…
“What’s wrong?” Ronan asked, immediately alarmed when I clambered out of his arms, feeling pallid, my heart racing in my chest. “You don’t look so good,” he added, looking me over.
“I don’t feel good,” I said, my throat dry. “I feel really sick. I think… I think maybe I should go to bed.” I felt awful about ending our night so suddenly, about asking him to leave when all I wanted was to stay on the couch with him, to feel his body against mine and spend time with him.
“Okay,” Ronan said, obviously taken aback, but he got up off the couch nonetheless. God, he is always so considerate of me, so respectful, which made this entire thing even worse. “Are you going to be alright?” he asked, a crease on his handsome brow. His concern for me—my fake reason for cutting our evening short—tore at me. The building tears made the back of my eyes sting, but I nodded nonetheless.
I felt my phone vibrate again. I knew it was going to be another message from Adam and ushered Ronan out of my house, not daring to look at the text until I had closed the front door.
Unknown: Do I need to remind you of what will happen if I don’t get a picture of you right now? Don’t try me, Cat! Picture. Full frontal. Now.
I hurried up into my bedroom, locking the door behind me before I undressed and positioned myself in front of my floor-length mirror, feeling so, so ashamed. I always feel like that when I comply with Adam’s demands, when I send intimate pictures of myself to him, when I betray Ronan. But I felt even worse that night, felt even more violated than before.
All I kept thinking while I snapped the picture of my fully nude body, then quickly attached it to my wordless response to Adam, was that Ronan had never even seen me like this—completely naked—even after more than two months together, and I was sending pictures like that to some other boy after lying to Ronan. Granted, I don’t think I really had a choice but to obey Adam’s orders—not unless I was prepared for Adam to make good on his threat and post my body on the internet for all to see—but that didn’t take away from the avalanche of guilt crushing me in that moment.
It took only seconds for Adam to respond.
Unknown: Shit, that’s even better than I could have hoped for. If only you hadn’t held back on me.
I began to sob then, overwhelmed by guilt and shame. I pulled on my pajamas and climbed into bed, where I cried myself to sleep. I didn’t pick up when Ronan tried to call me a little while later, didn’t respond to his text messages checking in on me, and I didn’t visit him at Murphy’s while he worked the next day. I just couldn’t talk to him, couldn’t see his face; I was too afraid that he would hear the betrayal in my voice, see it in my eyes.
I haven’t told anyone about Adam’s phone calls or text messages; nor have I told anyone about the photos he took of me while we were together, the ones I sent to him, the ones he’s now using to blackmail me into providing him with new pictures. Nobody knows—not my parents, not Julie, and definitely not Ronan. In fact, I haven’t shared anything about what happened between Adam and me with Ronan. And all of this is beginning to weigh heavily on my chest as our relationship grows. Ronan and I spend so much time together talking about everything under the sun, but I hold back every time he asks me anything remotely related to my relationship with my ex. I’m so terrified of what Ronan would think of me if he found out that not only did I lead on my ex, but I reported him to the police when he lost control and I ruined his future. And I’m convinced that my relationship will end the moment Ronan learns about the photos I sent Adam.
Like I did in the past, I erased any trace of my interaction with Adam, once again ignoring the glaring red flags, and I resolved to go about my days pretending none of this had happened. I hope Adam will tire of his game soon, will finally forget about me, will move on. What else can I do? Nothing at all. Defying Adam is too risky. God, I would die if Adam posted the pictures on the internet, if my friends founds out about them, if Ronan saw what I’ve done.
***
It’s another scorcher of a day; the temperature outside is a blistering 108 degrees Fahrenheit, and while the A/C is running around the clock, I still have a fan going in my room. I’ve been hanging out at Vada’s house the majority of the day, hiding away from the heat. Zack has been in and out of the house all day. I know he went to work out with Shane, Steve, and Ronan this morning, and although I love joining them and ogling Ronan while he gets all pumped and sweaty, today is not the day for physical exertion.
It’s around four when Zack walks into Vada’s room with Summer in tow.
“Hey, hey,” Summer chirps. She joins Vada and me on Vada’s bed, where I lie, stomach down and feet up, thumbing through a glossy sports magazine.
“What are you guys up to?” Zack asks, stepping into Vada’s room; as always, his camera is balanced in his left hand. It’s seriously impressive how the constant filming seems second-nature.
“Not much.” I smile at Zack, who stands there looking a little lost without the guys as his backup to all the estrogen in the room. “Just trying to stay cool. Is it still miserable outside?”
“It’s hotter than hell,” Summer answers for Zack, who nods wholeheartedly.
“We’re trying to figure out what to do tonight,” Zack says. “Shane’s working, so the beach house isn’t an option. But I talked to Steve and he thought maybe we should catch a movie.”
“Oh, I like that idea.” Vada screws her bottle of candy apple-red nail polish closed. All ten of her toes are beautifully painted, as are mine thanks to Vada’s polishing skills.
“Awesome,” Zack says. “Steve was out and about somewhere, but we checked and there’s a seven o’clock showing of some movie Steve said he wanted to see. Maybe we could grab some food beforehand.”
We’re all on board with that idea. Vada calls Steve and confirms the plan.
“Okay, so we’ll meet you at Javier’s in an hour,” she tells Steve, then reminds him she loves him before hanging up the phone.
