“Yaaas?”
“Tate?”
“Yes, bitch. What’s up?”
“Party at my place.”
That perks up her attention. “Oh? When?”
“You come now. The rest can come any time after 10:00 p.m. Spread the word.”
“You know I will,” she says.
I can just picture her from here, wiggling in her chair with excitement. I take a swig of the whiskey and smirk. “See you soon.” Hanging up, I flick my phone between my fingers and listen as the clock ticks loudly in the background. My breathing starts to come in thick, so I take deep intakes of breath and close my eyes.
It’s not real. You’re here, older, at your house. Home. Safe, warm. It’s not real.
One.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Four.
Four.
“Why don’t you like me? It’s your birthday today. You’re supposed to be happy,” I whispered toward the mean boy in the sandpit.
“Because you’re disgusting. Because you’re a life ruiner. Because I fucking hate you.”
“That’s a bad word,” I replied softly, even though I wanted nothing more than to burst into tears. I swallowed past the rejection and handed the boy my shovel anyway.
“I don’t fucking want that. Why the fuck do you think I want that now that you’ve touched it? You’re disgusting.” He got to his feet, kicking at the sand until the sharp stings cut through my eyes.
“Ouch!” I cried, no longer able to fight the tears as they poured down my cheeks. “What did you do that for?”
“Because I fucking hate you!” the mean boy roared, and then he stormed off back toward his mom.
Why did he hate me? I’d done nothing wrong as far as I knew. The first time I met him was today.
“Brantley!” a woman yelled toward him. “Get here now.”
“Hey!” I called out, dusting off the sand from my sundress. “Your name is Brantley?”
“Shut up, freak.”
“Madison!” my mom yelled out from the porch. She was holding a tray of little pirate-shaped cupcakes and wearing a yellow and white sundress. She looked beautiful. I wanted to be as beautiful as her one day. I skipped toward my mom, wiping the tears out of my face. Mommy wouldn’t be happy if she saw me crying, and I didn’t want to get the boy into trouble. I didn’t know why; he was not a very nice boy. I should’ve wanted to get him into trouble.
“Brantley,” my mom said once we both reached her, bending down to my level while still balancing the tray with one hand. “This is Madison.” Brantley must’ve been at least two years older than me. He wore a baseball cap and had an angry scowl on his face. I didn’t know why, but I instantly liked him.
“Hi!” I smiled, holding my hand out to him. Maybe if I introduced myself properly, he would like me better. Mommy always said people liked good manners. “I’m Madison. Are these your cupcakes?” I looked up to my mom. “Are these his cupcakes? Is that why they’re blue and why I’m not allowed to eat them?” My mom looked at Brantley and me nervously.
“Mom?” I asked again. She was starting to fidget, which she only did when she’s nervous.
“Yes, dear. Why don’t you and Brantley go play while me and Lucan have a quick word.” I must’ve been confused. Lucan? Bringing my eyes to the new body that stood beside my mom, I looked up the black suit pants, until I finally found ice-cold blue eyes, tanned skin, and blond hair. The man was looking down at me with a dirty stare that made me cuddle into my mom’s legs. He kneeled in front of me.
“Well hello. You must be Madison.”
I nodded, wrapping my hand in my mom’s frilly dress and using it to cover my mouth. “Yes.”
“I’m Lucan.”
“Hi, Lucan.”
He leaned forward, his eyes squinting. “I think I’ll call you Silver.”
I suck in a breath. Brantley? What the fuck? I remember part of that day now. I recall it so vividly it scares me a little that I didn’t remember it until this point. Brantley and I had met? I was at his birthday party? The rest of that day is a little blurry, but there was so much more, because I remember driving home with my mom and dad later that night. So there’s still a whole day unaccounted for.
Maybe I could ask my dad.
I frown, grasping the glass bottle. There’s no way I can trust my dad with anything now. Can I trust anyone? I know I can trust Tatum, I think, but then again, at one point, I completely trusted my dad. I would have trusted him with my life—and I did on multiple occasions, but yet, he still let me down.
Can I trust anyone?
Can I trust myself?
My brain fuzzes as white noise rings through my ears.
Something has happened. Something has switched inside of me since Bishop asked that question. It has triggered a dark part of my soul I never wanted to acknowledge again.
Have I ever really been safe? Even as a little girl, it seems the adults I trusted and the people I was supposed to be safe with let me down. Feeling more than overwhelmed with my thoughts, I bring the rim of my bottle to my lips, pounding down another couple of mouthfuls until I can’t feel the burning sensation in my throat and everything turns numb.
“Trust no one. Fear no one. Fuck everyone,” I whisper to myself, pushing my long hair away from
