The Struggle (The Things We Can't Change Book 2) (14 page)

“I’m sorry, Cindy,” I choke out. “I’m so sorry.”

I lay there until I’m too exhausted to keep my eyes open, and finally I fall asleep, before I even realize it. It’s the same thing, always the same; Cindy dying right in front of me. Except now, her face isn’t there. It’s blurry, my mind playing tricks on me, teasing me with the fact that I’m slowly beginning to lose hold of her, my grip on her is slipping, even though I’m holding on to her as tightly as I can.

I wake up the next morning screaming and shouting, bellowing for Cindy to run the way I couldn’t when it was actually happening. I have to lie on the floor for a long time, catching my breath, swallowing repeatedly to try and ease the dry burning sensation in my throat. Finally I’m under control, and I push up off the floor and head into the bathroom and take a long, hot shower. I go to my room and get dressed, and when I descend the stairs once again, everything is tightly locked down, the breakdown over, the self-disgust channeled into a brick wall around myself, one that is tighter and higher and thicker and stronger than ever, and I revel in it, wrap it around me like an old friend.

I feel so under control that when my phone vibrates and I glance to see its Cameron calling, I actually answer it. I don’t even blink when his mocking, snarling voice fills my ear.

“Quain. You gonna pussy out on us again tonight, or are you coming out?”

“I’ll be there,” I say, and hang up without another word.

Evangeline

37

After Zeke leaves, it takes me a while to identify the feeling that has come over me. Finally, after pacing back and forth for a while in the basement, I realize; peace. For the first time in forever, I actually feel
peaceful
, not as though I am on the verge of floating away, all the voices in my head not competing with each other, making me crazy with their loudness. I’m not scared, not trembling, and I’m not thinking of Tony.

It’s bliss.

Until that very last thought catches up with me.
Tony
. Before I can think twice, before I can run away from it, guilt steals over, making my stomach drop and my face flush.

No! You have nothing to feel guilty about. Tony doesn’t matter anymore!

And yet I feel it. I know it’s crazy and irrational, that I shouldn’t feel it, should fight it and be strong just like Zeke was lecturing me about. But it’s hard, so damn hard to fight against the feelings that have been natural to me for the last three years. And just as quickly as it appeared, the calm feeling is gone and I’m back to my usual mess, shuddering with an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach. Someone drops something upstairs and it makes me jump, scares me out of my wits.

I want it back. Want the feeling back, the safe, easy feeling I get with Zeke around. I don’t want to feel this, don’t want to be this way. I want to fix it, but the problem is that fixing it lies directly on my own shoulders, and I’m too weak and spineless, too cowardly to do it on my own. I want to feel safe, to look into those bright green eyes and know that everything will be okay. But if I can’t see Zeke, I know the next best thing.

I pound up the stairs and fly into the kitchen, looking for my dad. The only people I find are Hunter and Clarissa, standing in the kitchen in semi-formal dress, talking to one another over the kitchen island. They both turn to look at me as I skid to a halt on the hardwood floor.

Clarissa arches an eyebrow at me. “Aren’t you ready yet, Evie? Don’t tell me you forgot.
Again.
You’re so scatterbrained these days, honestly.”

“Ready for what?” I ask, confused because I have no memory of anything going on tonight. “Where’s my dad?”

“The benefit dinner tonight for the fire department. Your father is there supervising the set up. Now go get dressed, I don’t want you to make us late again.”

The idea of going to another benefit and being at that stupid country club makes my stomach feel even sicker. Especially the sight of Hunter behind his mother, leering at me.

“Can’t I stay home?” I beg, even though being home alone is another thing I usually try to avoid, just like going into my old bedroom. It brings back too many memories of that night, makes me feel too vulnerable. I like to be alone, not bothered, but not actually
alone
in the house. But if the alternative is going to the country club, I’m willing to have an uneasy night. Anything is better than going to the club.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Evie. Your father expects you to be there. I expect you to be there. Now go get dressed or we’ll be late.” There’s an edge to Clarissa’s voice that makes her mostly-polite words sound nasty and biting.

I wish I had the anger and strength to stand up to her, to put my foot down and insist that I’m going to stay home, but I don’t. I used to, was somehow braver and more like my old self when Tony was the one dictating my every move. I still don’t know why that is; perhaps I was just so frustrated because I couldn’t defy him that I defied everyone else instead. I’m not sure.

All I know is, I meekly nod my head and go upstairs to change and pull my hair in a braid over my shoulder so it looks halfway decent. I pull on a lacy skirt and a sheer silk top, but the actions all feel empty and robotic. It takes all my remaining energy to put on enough makeup to be called passable, and I make my way downstairs with a few minutes to spare.

“Evie, finally, we’re going to be late!” Clarissa is sounding frantic now and I roll my eyes at her back as we all rush out to her Escalade and take off for the club. We arrive ten minutes early, much to my chagrin.

We dash inside through the rain that has started to come down and I plant myself next to my dad, wanting his warm, reassuring comfort. When he hugs me, some of my panic and worry, my disgust with myself, eases away and I feel, if not well, a little more under control. I’ve been shadowing him for almost an hour when I see them, and my heart literally drops to my toes, all breath stolen from my body.

Tony’s parents.

I haven’t seen them since that wedding, since we all sat at that stupid table together and chitchatted, and I hadn’t been able to pay attention because I could feel the darkness radiating off their son. I’d sensed, with nothing more than animal instinct, what was coming, that something was wrong with Tony. I know they’re having trouble reconciling themselves with what Tony did; with the rumors flying around, there’s no denying that.

Both of them are lawyers, and Tony had a fairly bright future ahead of him in law when he would join and eventually inherit their practice; he wasn’t stupid, had been pretty smart, actually. Except when it had come to that hidden darkness inside of him. Rapists and abusive men generally aren’t welcomed in the field of law, and Tony’s parents know that. I know they’re only trying to protect their son, but in the crossfire, I have been shunned and banned and it makes it hard for me to acknowledge the blow this must have been and feel sorry for them.

I’ve been staring at them for almost ten whole minutes as they mill around, greeting their friends, before they even notice me. Tony’s mom, Anne, looks up and meets my eyes first, and then she nudges her husband, Anthony Sr. He looks up too, and for a long moment we just stare at each other. It’s a long, heavy minute and both of their faces are filled with ill-concealed anger and hatred.

I’m the first to look away, because that awful guilt is back. My fault. It all feels like my fault. That’s what Tony always told me. He always said that I made him hit me, made him be that way. He’d always promised to stop, made me promise to be better and I had tried.
Shit
, had I tried, done everything I could never to piss him off. None of it had helped. In the end, none of it had mattered. He was just fucking crazy, and yet somehow, deep down, I know the root of my guilt comes from the worry that somehow, I made him that way.

Suddenly, I can’t be there in that crowded room for another instant. My chest is rising and falling way too fast and the walls feel like they’re closing in on me. I can’t see my dad, we’ve lost each other somehow and it feels as though people, strangers, are pressing in on me from every side. My vision clouds, then clears, then becomes hazy again, switching with every loud
thump-thump
of my heart.

Sick. I feel so sick to my stomach, lungs pumping like a bellows as I try to get some air to my oxygen-deprived brain.
Panic.
I’m having a panic attack, I’m sure of it. Someone brushes against my back, startling me and I jump away so suddenly that I bump into someone else and their drink sloshes over the rim of their glass.

“Sorry, sorry,” I say, panting. “So sorry.”

And then I flee, pushing franticly through the crowd, tears stinging at my eyes because I’m in full flight mode, unable to think rationally. A few startled “Hey!”’s and irritated noises follow me as I finally reach the edge of the mass of people and see my dad. I run up to him, almost slamming into him and Uncle Greg.

My dad’s arms go around me automatically but I’m too on edge, too freaked out to take comfort in it or even to realize that it’s just Dad and that it’s safe for me to touch him. I jump away out of reflex and just catch the startled look that flashes through my dad’s eyes before he banishes it and becomes deathly, calmly still.

“Evie, baby, what’s up? What’s going on?” He speaks in a low, soothing voice but it doesn’t calm me at all.

“Keys,” I gasp, chest heaving. “Please, Dad, I need your keys. I have to go. I need to leave. Please.”

He reaches instantly into his pocket but hesitates before he hands the car keys over to me. “Evie,” he asks in a low voice, “can you drive? Are you sure you don’t just want me to take you home?”

I shake my head violently, hand outstretched. “I’m fine. I mean, I’ll
be
fine. I just need to get out of here. I’ll be fine out of here away from all these people. Please, Daddy. Tony’s parents are here. I have to leave.
Let me leave
!”

With those last words, he hands the keys over without hesitation. “Call me when you get home. The second you pull into the driveway, understand?”

“Yes,” I say quickly, but I’m already heading for the door, half-running, only holding myself back a little bit for the sake of my dad’s reputation. People already think I’m some kind of troubled, whore teenager, sleeping around with Zeke and Tony and causing fights; the last thing my dad needs are rumors of how his daughter is crazy.

Even if that might be true.

It’s pouring rain outside by now, torrential downpour kind of rain and I run flat out to my dad’s Porsche, but I still get completely soaked. I throw my soggy braid over my shoulder and drive home, momentarily distracted from everything as I try to keep the car steady on the slick black roads. It isn’t until I pull into the garage and get into the house that it all crashes back into me, stealing my breath away. I lean my back against the door and slide down to the floor, hating myself.

I want it out. I don’t want to feel it anymore, but even as my fingers tingle and I threaten to float away, get to that point where I actually can escape it all, I don’t allow myself. It’s all my fault and I can’t take the easy way out. I dig my fingernails into my scalp, scream deep in my throat without opening my mouth, over and over. I pound at the door behind me and the hard tile floor until I can’t anymore because the heels of my fists are raw and red and tender. It still isn’t enough.

“Leave me alone!” I scream into the empty house. “I don’t want to answer to you anymore!”

I know Tony can’t hear me, but it doesn’t matter. That isn’t the point. It’s not like it helps, anyway. The threat of floating away is still hovering over me, and I know that I can’t allow it to happen, especially not here in front of the garage door. If my dad comes home and finds me lying on the floor, unable to wake me up, he’ll panic. I don’t want that. I don’t want anyone to know.

I force myself to get up, running through the house and up the stairs, trying to flee my demons. And failing, just like always. It’s as if they are real, live things, making me stumble on the steps, holding me back. I feel as though I’m running through clinging mud, fighting through water, moving in slow motion. I have to stop, my heart pounding like a jackhammer, as I grab a doorframe to hold myself up and scream deep in my throat.

I gasp for air, know I have to stop or I’ll probably have a heart attack; I feel that close and out of control. I look up and see I’m next to my dad’s office, clutching the doorframe like a lifeline. I go inside and collapse into his big leather chair behind the desk. I let the purse I didn’t even realize I was still carrying thunk down as well, grateful to give my trembling legs a rest as I slouch down in the chair.

I close my eyes and try to control my strangled breathing, but it’s no good. My chest is slick with water and still rising and falling much too rapidly, I can feel it heaving and I’m slipping away, fading into myself even though I’m desperately holding on with everything that I have left.

“NO!”

I slam my fists down onto the desk, as hard as I can. Sharp, stinging pain along the heel of my left hand brings me sharply back to reality. I’m suddenly grounded, firmly back in the present, the tumult of emotions shoved back and the door in front of them slammed closed.