Page 64 of Alluring Darkness
“No one knows that I’m Con’s sister,” I say with a carefree shrug. “They all just think that I’m a random Smith.”
“The other students might not know,” Mom says. “But the teachers definitely do.”
“And?”
“What do you mean,and?”
“And what? Who cares if the teachers know?”
“You…” she begins, but then she trails off. Pinching the bridge of her nose, she closes her eyes for a few seconds and draws in what sounds like a calming breath. When she opens her eyes and lowers her hand again, most of the anger has been replaced by pity. “Look, Raina.”
A cold oily feeling snakes through my chest at the pity evident both in her eyes and in her tone.
“I’m sorry for what your father put you through when you were young,” she says, holding my gaze with sad eyes. “I know that it made you a little messed-up in the head.”
Hurt flashes through me, and I think I even jerk back a little.Messed-up in the head. I know that I’m crazy. That I don’t function like normal people. That I lack some of the common restraints and emotional responses that I should probably possess. But hearing my mom say that I’m messed-up in the head still hurts more than I expected.
I think she misinterprets my reaction, though. Maybe she thinks I flinched because hearing her say that brought on flashbacks from all those times with Dad. It has to be that, because she looks at me with even more sadness.
“If I had known about it, I would’ve put a stop to it,” she says, her green eyes searching my face. “You know that, right?”
“Yeah,” I manage to press out.
She reaches across the wooden tabletop and places her hand on my forearm, giving it a little squeeze. “I wish you hadn’t quit therapy, sweetheart. If you had continued going while you were still a teenager, I think maybe things would have been different. Better.”
Disbelief pulses through me. Blinking, I pull my arm away from her as I sit back in my chair. “I didn’t quit therapy.”
“Yes, you did. When you were fifteen, remember? You were starting to make progress, but then you just suddenly stopped going.”
“I didn’t quit therapy,” I just repeat like an idiot, because I can’t believe what is coming out of her mouth.
“Sweetheart, I—”
“I stopped going because Dad had my therapist killed.”
Shock crackles through the living room like a lightning strike. Even Connor looks up from his plate to stare at me with wide eyes. At the head of the table, Mom just gapes at me in stunned silence.
“I had told her that Dad was a hitman,” I continue. “Since, well, it’s kind of a huge part of why I went there in the first place. And Dad couldn’t risk her telling anyone else and blowing his cover, so he killed her and made it look like an accident. That’s why I stopped going to therapy.”
The silence in the dining room is so loud that it’s practically vibrating through the air. Light from the candles dances over the white walls and casts flickering shadows over Mom’s and Connor’s stunned faces. Since Mom and Dad were always such a perfect team, I assumed that he had told her about this. But then again, given how Mom had reacted when she found out the other secret concerning me that he had been keeping from her, I probably should have known that he hadn’t dared to tell her.
“Oh,” is what at last makes it out of Mom’s mouth.
“Raina,” Connor says. His gray eyes are so full of emotion that it sends another pang through my chest. “I didn’t know.”
“I know you didn’t.” Forcing a casual expression onto my face, I pick up my knife and fork and continue eating again, even though the chicken has now gone cold. “And the damage is already done, so don’t worry about me. I’ll be fine.”
“No, you won’t!” Mom protests, wrapping her hand around my wrist and stopping me before I can put the bite of chicken in my mouth. “This is all the more reason to stop this ridiculousness at Blackwater.”
I yank my arm from her grip and raise my fork again. After holding her gaze while chewing slowly, I try to muster up all my patience for an articulate response. But I find that particular attribute nonexistent, so I just swallow and simply reply, “No.”
“Raina,” she groans, frustration bleeding into her voice. Leaning back in her chair, she rakes her slender fingers through her loose blond curls and stares up at the frescos in the ceiling while heaving a deep sigh. Then she at last meets my gaze again. “Please. I know that your father has messed you up in ways that can’t be fixed, butplease. This is our family’s only chance to regain our previous standing before we’re ruined.Your brotheris our only chance. So please, don’t screw this up for him.”
Pain slashes through my chest like sharp claws.
Slumping back in my chair, I stare unseeing into the flames while those words echo through my brain.
Messed-up in the head.