Cut. Part 8

When we were finally released, I rushed out to my car, determined to get to Mom's as soon as possible. I felt bad for not seeing her the night before.

The house was dark and silent when I walked in. "Mom? Are you here?" No answer. I walked down the hallway towards her bedroom. The door was shut. I knocked. "Mom?"

The drapes were pulled and the lights were out. Mom was curled up in the corner of her bed with an empty bottle of vodka on the nightstand. There was no gla.s.s. She was drinking straight out the bottle now. My stomach was a rock sitting in the middle of my internal organs.

Everything came cras.h.i.+ng down around me. The weight of my family, my home, my life pounded on my shoulders and head. How did I think I could leave? Who was going to take care of her now? I couldn't do much for her, but at least I could keep her from finally disappearing into a bottle. It would only get worse when Dad got home and discovered I was gone. Without me there, all of his attention and energy would be focused completely on her. What would she do then? How long before she broke?

"Mom." I nudged her shoulder. "Mom, it's me. I'm home."

Her eyes struggled to open and she looked at me, confused. "You were supposed to be here yesterday."

"I know. I'm sorry. I got caught up doing other things, and I ran out of time. I should have called."

"I wasn't expecting you tonight." Well no s.h.i.+t. You were probably almost sober last night.

"Yeah, well here I am." She rubbed her eyes and tried to sit up. Her hair was sticking out at crazy angles and there were remnants of yesterday's make-up smeared across her face. It was like watching Whatever Happened to Baby Jane rise from my mother's bed.

"Good. I'm so glad to see you. My head is throbbing. Would you mind getting me some aspirin and a gla.s.s of water?"

"Sure, Mom. Of course I will." I patted her hand. Of course I will take care of you, Mom. I will always take care of you. And one day, maybe you will take care of me, too. It's okay. I know right now you can't. But maybe one day...

I rummaged around for some Tylenol wondering how I was going to tell Ken I couldn't do it. I couldn't leave her. He would understand, right? And Maggie would be okay with me not going to Project Graduation. This was a good place actually to go ahead and end our friends.h.i.+p. She would be leaving for college in a few months and would never need to look back. Who kept friends their entire life anyway?

I sat back down on the edge of her bed. "Here, Mom. Sit up."

"Oh thank you, sweetie. You know, your dad is coming back home tomorrow. It was a short trip."

"Okay."

"Don't you think you should be here when he gets back? I mean, don't you think that would be better for everyone?" For the first time she looked me straight in the eye, clear and focused. I didn't understand. How could she possibly think things would be better for me?

"For everyone, Mom? Really?"

"Sweetheart, your dad knows you're supposed to be grounded. And I know you think you left this house for good. But enough's enough. You've proven your point. Now come back home so everything can be okay. Everything can go back to normal." Mom patted my cheek and lay back down, snuggling into her pillow. "Would you mind finding yourself something for dinner? I just don't feel very good right now."

She knows! Oh my G.o.d, she knows! I felt sick. Maybe she didn't know it all, but Mom knew her life was easier when I was there-when I could help absorb his abuse. And when she weighed my life out over hers, she deemed hers more valuable. Everything shattered.

"Yeah, I'll do that."

"You're such a good girl." And with that her eyes closed. I didn't know if she had fallen asleep or pa.s.sed out. How much had she had to drink today? Was that bottle from last night or this afternoon?

You can't afford to care anymore. Run.

And I did.

Ken was waiting for me in the living room when I got there. "Hey, kiddo. I was starting to get worried about you."

"I'm sorry. I had to go by and see my mom after school."

"That's okay. Everything alright at home?"

"Sure, just needed to check in on her. Dad's gone on a trip."

"That's not what I meant. Don't you think it's time we talk about what's going on at your home?" Oh Jesus, why? Why do we need to do this now? Why do we need to do this ever?

"Nothing's going on at home. My relations.h.i.+p with my parents is just...complicated." I couldn't look him in the eye. Had I ever outright lied to him? I wasn't really lying then-it was an oversimplification.

"Persephone, let's get something perfectly clear before we go any further. You need to be here as much, if not more, than I need you here." I opened my mouth to say something, and he held up his hand. There was no arguing with that gesture. "Let me finish. I may be old, and my eyesight may not be what it used to be, but I'm not stupid. There is a reason you would rather be here than at home or out with your friends. Or friend, since you only have one that I know of." Well, that's kind of cold. "There is also a reason you have scars all over your arms."

I instinctively crossed them over my chest, trying to hide them. How in the h.e.l.l had he seen them? I had been so careful!

He shook his head. "That doesn't do you any good, Persephone. Is everyone in your life blind? Do your parents wilfully ignore them? Never mind. The answer is painfully, horribly obvious." He sounded angry. His words were like sandpaper over raw skin. I didn't want to hear anymore. I had to say something-anything-to make him stop.

"Ken, listen, it was something stupid I did. I don't really-"

"Stop. Just stop. I don't know what's going on, and I'm not entirely sure I want to. What I do know is I care about you. If your parents aren't going to take care of you, I will. Do you understand?"

You don't deserve this. You know that, right? He may think he cares about you, but if he knew-if he knew everything-he wouldn't want to have anything to do with you.

"Persephone, are you listening to me?" I couldn't look up. I couldn't speak. "Persephone?"

"Ken, I... I don't think you understand." Then the sobs came, uncontrollable and violent. Each breath hurt and my face contorted in pain. Ken crossed the room to wrap his arms around me.

"Shhh. It's going to be okay. I promise. Everything is going to be okay." He smoothed my hair with his hand, trying to calm me down. "Good Lord, what have they done to you?" I don't think he was actually looking for an answer. Or maybe he was, but it wasn't one I could give him right then. All I could do was cry and let myself be soothed.

Ken kissed me on top of my head. "I didn't think there was much point to my life anymore. I didn't think there were more enemies to be fought. I guess I was wrong."

The next morning, I woke up before Ken did. I cracked open his door to check on him, and heard him snoring. It was only seven-thirty, but I thought he would like to wake up to the smell of bacon and coffee. I found the skillet and coffee filters and set to work. It felt nice to be making breakfast to make someone happy as opposed to coaxing a drunk parent out of bed.

"Well, good morning. What a pleasant surprise. Did you sleep well?" Ken asked, as he walked into the kitchen, his robe cinched around flannel pajamas and slippers on his feet.

"I did, thank you. And you?"

"Yes, thank you."

We ate our breakfast in companionable silence. The bacon was a little overdone, but Ken didn't seem to mind. His appet.i.te was better.

"So what do you want to do today?" I asked when our plates were empty.

"I was thinking we could start a new book today, if you would like. And at some point there are a couple of errands I need you to run for me."

"Sure. I'm going to shower real quick, if that's okay and then tackle the breakfast mess. We can read after that."

"Of course. The bathroom across the hall from your room is all yours. There are clean towels in the cabinet under the sink. I'll shower after you're done."

"Great."

While I was braiding my hair, my scars flashed a few times in the mirror, but I did my best to ignore them. I didn't want to think about them-I didn't want to remember they were there. Not today.

Maggie sent a text while I was cleaning up the kitchen. "Prom tonight. Not going. I think I'm going to go see Mickey instead. Do you want to hang out tomorrow?" Mickey, huh? Good for you, Mags.

"Sure. Tell Mickey I say hi. On second thought, don't. He probably doesn't have fond memories of me."

"Lol. I'll tell him. I'll give you a shout tomorrow."

"Cool."

There were no other missed calls or texts. Not that I expected to hear from Mom this early in the morning. With Dad not due home until sometime early evening, she wouldn't even make an effort to get out of bed until after three.

Ken still wasn't out when I was done with the kitchen, so I wandered into the living room. There were so many books. Which one was he going to choose? As if on cue, I heard his voice behind me.

"Have you read anything by Kurt Vonnegut?"

"Uh, I know some of his books have been banned? I'm sorry, I'm not much of a reader."

"It's okay. You will be. Get Slaughterhouse-Five off the shelf. It's a quick read. You'll like it." We made it through the first chapter before Ken started to doze off.

"Do you want me to stop?"

"Maybe so. I guess I didn't sleep as well as I thought I did." He tried to smile. "You could go run those errands if you wanted to. I'll get a little rest."

"Of course."

"The list and money are on the table in the entryway. It should be fairly self-explanatory."

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Of course. I'm just old, Persephone. It happens."

"So it goes." That made him chuckle.

I called James as I pulled out of the driveway. We hadn't spoken in a few days, and I had no idea how much he knew of what was going on.

"Well, hey there, sweet pea. How are you and the old man gettin' along?" The sound of his voice made everything feel more solid.

"Oh you know, he's a pretty tough guy to handle, but I think I'm holding my own."

"I bet you are." He chuckled. There were a few moments of silence, and I knew James was giving me the chance to bring it up first.

"So, I guess Ken has probably told you about the job offer."

"Well yes, him and me discussed it. I thought it was a fine idea. I can't think of two better people to be takin' care of each other. Are you all settled in?"

"Yeah, it's nice. I play the piano, too." Apropos of nothing.

"That's what I heard. I'm sure he likes hearing it again. How's he doing?"

"Good! Well, I mean, he seems to be tired a lot lately and I can't get him to eat much, although he did eat a pretty good breakfast. But he's doing really good. We started a new book today. And James, I promise I won't be any trouble for him. I promise."

"I know you won't, sweet pea. You two need each other, and nothing more needs to be said about it, okay?"

"Okay."

"Alright. Well you take care, and give me a holler if you need anything. We'll talk again soon."

"Sounds good. Bye, James."

"Bye now."

Ken needed shaving cream and aspirin from the drug store and a list of books picked up from Barnes & n.o.ble. There was a Stephen King book about the a.s.sa.s.sination of JFK that looked interesting. I bought a latte and sat down in the little cafe to read a few pages before heading back. It was as weird as it was relaxing. I wasn't escaping. I wasn't trying to distract myself. I wasn't anything except being. It wasn't until I pulled into the driveway I realized not only had I not thought about cutting, I also hadn't smoked in two days. Watch it kid, you might be getting happy. That made me smile.

The rest of the weekend was lazy and uneventful. We made it through half of Slaughterhouse-Five, and Ken promised we would start on the Stephen King book next, as long as I promised not to read any more first. Maggie and I hung out at our favorite coffee shop while she told me all about her evening with Mickey and his dad. She hinted there was a chance of them getting back together, even though Mickey would be staying in Springfield for college and she would be three hours away. Ken taught me a game called Shut the Box. It was kind of mindless but fun. We played for pennies.

My phone didn't ring. I was surprised, but mostly relieved. Maybe, just maybe.

Monday morning dawned clear and bright. Three days of school left. Graduation on Sat.u.r.day afternoon. I sailed through my finals and even chatted with a few cla.s.smates. Like, engaged in genuine small talk about the prom. I may have even seemed interested, without a hint of sarcasm. There were a few times I was tempted to sneak into the bathroom, look in the mirror and make sure it was really me looking back.

Maggie and I met at the front door after the last bell. "Hey, killer. Don't you look like the cat that ate the canary? Did you make a cheerleader cry or something?"

"I'm allowed to just be in a good mood, right?"

"Sure. Of course you're allowed. But are you capable? Hey, I'm just kidding! It's good to see you smile! Did you get your Project Graduation ticket yet?"

I patted my purse. "Right here, baby. All purchased and ready for a night of frivolity and shallow fun with a group of people I hope never to see again in my life. If you ask me, fifteen dollars well spent."

"Smarta.s.s. Well, hey, I'm running over to Mick's for a while. I figured you would be over at Ken's. Want to try to do something tomorrow?" I fought down the urge to tell her I wanted to do something today or not at all. It was petty and spiteful-two things I was trying very hard to get rid of.

"Yeah, great. Have fun with Mickey!" I waved as she veered off in the other direction towards her car.

On the way home, I thought about the Alfredo sauce recipe I had found online during cla.s.s earlier. I was anxious to try it out and hoped Ken was up for pasta. I was pretty sure there was a box of frozen cheese bread I could make to go with it. Maybe I would run to the store and get a pie or something for dessert. Maybe the Mrs Smith's Reese's Peanut b.u.t.ter pie. That would make him happy.

These were the thoughts running through my head when I turned onto Ken's street. When I saw my father's car sitting in his driveway, my stomach twisted in on itself. I gagged, feeling the bagel and cream cheese fighting its way out. I barely got the car slowed and the door open before it tumbled out of my mouth and splashed onto the street. What was he doing here? How had he found me? I knew the answer almost before the question had formed in my head. f.u.c.king phone tracker.

There was nowhere left to run. There was no safe place. I was out of options. He had taken everything from me. Pure hatred and rage caused my cheeks to flame. I could feel the heat of it in every pore. I wanted to scream. I wanted to beat someone. I wanted blood. I wanted to stop feeling like my body and mind were exploding and shrinking at the same time. I wanted anything but to go inside, but it was my only option.

The front door was unlocked, which was good. I didn't think I could focus enough to get my key in the hole. I stood on the threshold, not sure what to do next. I could hear the murmuring of voices in the living room. What was he saying? What was he telling Ken about me?

"Persephone, I a.s.sume that's you. Please come in here." Ken's voice drew me in. My natural instinct was to obey.

Dad was sitting in my chair ( a.s.shole, that doesn't belong to you. That's mine), arms resting on his knees, leaning forward. Whatever the discussion was, it was obviously intense. I hovered on the edge of the living room.