Page 11 of Commit
“We’re seventeen, Abbot. It’s only for a little while, and then we can get our own place.”
He grunts.
“I’m sorry. I know you hate him, but it could be worse.”
“Oh yeah, and what’s worse than a deadbeat dad?” He winces as soon as the words are out of his mouth, and I roll my eyes.
“I’m—”
“It’s fine.” I wave him off, not needing his apology.
We sit in silence after that, listening to the birds and letting the early afternoon sun wash over us. I take a few more bites of food, enjoying the peace. After a few minutes, I hear voices and turn to see people filtering outside, probably wanting to take advantage of the sun. But that doesn't stop the feeling of their pitying looks and silent judgments pressing in on me.
Taking a breath, I place my still half-full plate on the ground and get to my feet, brushing the grass from my dress. “I’m going to wander around the garden a little.”
“Want me to come?”
“No, stay. I won’t go far.”
Abbot nods and leans back, closing his eyes. I hurry away before he changes his mind and decides to join me. I just need a moment alone.
I pass a few people without looking at them. They don’t say anything, but I sense their stares. When I’m sure I’m out of sight, I take another deep breath and rub my hands up and down my arms, trying to inject some warmth. It isn’t cold out. It’s actually unseasonably mild, but I’ve felt nothing but cold for days.
I take in the flowers. The shock of color on such a sad day feels fitting for the woman who was a giant contradiction. I’m not naïve. I know she was deeply flawed, and as much as she’ll always have a piece of my heart, I can’t deny that part of me is still angry at her.
Her relationship with Abbot was heartbreaking to watch when all he wanted was her approval. She was so blinded by what she thought that she failed to see that the angry man who butted heads with her was still the sweet boy who loved her unconditionally.
I wander aimlessly around the property until I reach a lake. It’s one of those perfect days when the air is still and the water is calm, where not a ripple disturbs the glass-like surface, reflecting the light and hiding its darkness in its depths. And if that’s not a metaphor for my life, I don’t know what is. My English teacher would be so proud.
I close my eyes, tip my head back, and let the tranquility of the place wash over me.
I don’t know how long I stand there, but I feel some of the tension leave my body—that is, until I hear a twig snap behind me. I whirl around, my hand flying to my heart, which is threatening to beat right out of my chest.
I swallow when I see a man standing a few feet away from me, watching me. I fight the urge to back up. He’s not coming across as aggressive, but there’s something about him that sets off warning bells in my brain.
“You okay?” His deep voice makes goosebumps break out all over my skin.
“I’m fine, thank you. I should head back.” I move to walk around him, keeping my distance when he starts toward me.
For a moment, fear paralyzes me. It’s always like this. I’ve read so many books where the female characters are always so strong and fierce. Faced with a situation like this, they’d kick the guy in the balls or pull a gun like some kind of badass, leaving him begging for mercy. But I’m not that girl. I’ve wished I was a million times, but where fear triggers a fight-or-flight response in most people, it causes my body to shut down. My terror locks me in place even as I scream at myself to run, and I hate myself for it. I hate feeling weak and small. I hate being scared, and yet I can’t stop my responses.
The man’s face morphs from curious to worried. “You’re white as a fucking ghost.”
He’s touching me now. His hand on my elbow is gentle, yet it might as well be a vice. A tiny whimper escapes my lips. My frustration has tears slipping free, which makes the man curse.
He scoops me up into his arms and then sits down with me in his lap. “Alright, birdie. I’m going to need you to calm the fuck down for me. I want you to copy my breathing, okay?” He inhales deeply and holds it for a moment before releasing it.
Without thought, I do as he says and mimic his actions, my mind stuck on what he called me. Birdie?
“That’s it. Good girl.”
I jolt at his words, my body and brain coming back online as humiliation threatens to choke me.
“Nope, don’t panic now. You’re doing so good. Just keep breathing. In and out. That’s it.”
His hand moves to my throat, making me freeze until I realize his fingertips are resting on my pulse.
“Feels like wings fluttering. I guess that’s fitting, huh, birdie?”