Hunter had lost his mother and Carmen had lost hers, but Beatrix Rutherford had lost both her sisters, and she was now forced to watch the memory of one them being dragged through the mud and spit on.
“It wasn’t her fault,” Hunter gasped. He seemed to be having trouble catching his own breath after the curveball that Viola had thrown at him. That rough-around-the-edges, tougher-than-steel exterior of his was crumbling down, falling apart to nothing.
There was only so much even he could take. He was no longer the ruthless boy who Carmen used to watch walk down the hallways but he also wasn’t the lost little kid who’d apologised just minutes ago for not being strong enough.
He seemed to be something in between now, as if he was stuck floating between identities different halves of him wanted to claim.
Still, Carmen said nothing. She wondered if that was the masochist in her, if it was that ugly, dark part of her rearing its head after being dormant for so long. That part of her she could never learn to love.
“No, I suppose you’re right,” Cole drawled, eyes gleaming. “It wasn’t Carmen’s fault that dear little Aunt Sophia was raped, was it? No, that was all on her. I mean, that woman had a reputation, didn’t she? Wild cheerleader during her high school days and whatnot.”
Nobody saw it coming, but Beatrix’s hand came crashing down against Cole’s cheek in an ear-splitting slap, the sound ricocheting off the walls of the large house and bouncing on everybody’s nerves.
“Don’t… you… dare,” She bit out each word, her eyes red and cheeks stained with tears that kept flowing despite her rage. “She was my sister! My baby sist—” Her voice broke and she choked on her own words, the gut-wrenching sobs making it harder and harder for her to speak.
Everything was swimming around Carmen.
She was there, but she also wasn’t. She felt someone wrap their hands around her forearms and haul her out of her chair. and guide her away from all the chaos. She felt the floor beneath her feet, saw the walls and the framed paintings and the elegant chandeliers whizz past her as whoever was pulling her picked up their pace.
And then she was out in the chilly night air, taking in huge gulps of breath. It was cold outside, but somehow it was also warmer than it was in there with all of them.
“I’m never stepping foot in there ever again,” Hunter said in gasps, his hands leaving their hold around Carmen and clutching his knees for support as he bent over and clenched his jaw. “Never again.”
Carmen was still saying nothing. What was there for her to say, really?
Maybe she was still in shock. Nothing seemed to be working in her; her senses registered absolutely nothing.
“What are you guys—” Carmen’s dad stopped short, pausing in his steps towards the house, when he saw the state both she and Hunter was in.
His mouth parted as if to ask if something had happened, but the words didn’t come. Instead, realisation dawned over his face and then his eyes hardened.
“Are you going to be okay on your own for a while longer?” he asked Carmen. “I need to go do something I should’ve done a long time ago.”
The disappointment hit first, a huge wave of it, dragging down whatever remaining composure Carmen had left. And then came the anger.
“Am I going to be okay on my own?” She let out a short, humourless laugh that took both Hunter and her dad by surprise. “I’ve been on my own for a while now. I didn’t have you in there with me, and I don’t need you now.”
Hurt flashed through her father’s eyes but he didn’t say anything. He turned to Hunter instead.
“Here.” He tossed the car keys towards Hunter. “Take her home, will you? I’m going to end this once and for all.” And with one last glance towards his daughter, he walked past them and back into the godforsaken house.
Even her father didn’t get it. She didn’t want to be defended in a place where she knew she was never going to be accepted. She just wanted a warm pair of arms around her and a safe place to break down against. She didn’t want a father. She needed a dad.
Twelve years after the tragedy, and he still couldn’t grasp that fact.
“It wasn’t true,” Hunter murmured from next to her as they settled into the car, hesitating before awkwardly patting her shoulder in an attempt to be comforting. “Her death isn’t on you.”
Carmen laughed. She didn’t know why, but she was laughing. She was laughing so hard that she even doubled over and clutched her stomach, ignoring the panicked look on Hunter’s face. And then somewhere in between, a laugh broke, splitting right in the middle and turned ugly, clawing at Carmen’s throat and ripping through her very existence as it turned into a sob.
One soul-crushing sob after another fell past her lips, her shoulders shaking violently against the passenger seat as the universe she carried on her shoulders came crashing down with full force.
“Hey, hey,” he mumbled softly, rubbing her arm gently, his voice thick and hoarse. “Those animals that hurt your mum, it’s on them, okay? Not you, Carmen. Never you.”
Carmen wiped a hand under her eyes, but the tears didn’t stop, and she eventually gave up trying. “You say that like she died because of the rape, Hunter,” she told him in a small voice, her words wobbling with her soft cries. “It wasn’t that which killed her, was it?”
Another sob escaped her, sounding like it came from deep within the hollow
