More Than Forever
Page 23
She shakes her head slowly. "I don't think anything can ever get in the way of our love. Ever."
-LUCY-
There's a banging on my bedroom door—or so I think. When I open my eyes I'm not in my room. But the banging is incessant.
"What's going on?" Cam blinks rapidly, trying to wake himself. The banging won't stop.
"LUCY!" Dad's voice jerks us both awake. "LUCY!" he shouts again. He's slamming his palm on the back window of Cam's bus.
"Oh my God, Cam. We must've fallen asleep!"
He doesn't speak, his focus solely on my breasts. I look down. "Shit," I whisper. I'm not wearing a shirt, just my bra.
"LUCY!"
I find my shirt and rush to put it on, even though I know it's too late. Dad's face is pressed against the window, I'm sure he's already seen us. And Cam—he's shirtless, too.
"Nothing happened," he rushes out. "We didn't do anything wrong." And even as he says it, I can see the panic in his eyes. "We just need to explain it to him, okay? It'll be fine."
He puts on his shirt and opens the door. "Mr. Preston," he starts, his hands going up in surrender. "We fell asleep. I'm sorry. It's my fault. I should—"
"Shut up!" Dad growls. "Just shut up, Cameron."
"DAD!" I try to get off the bus but he grips my arm tight and roughly pulls me down. He uses so much force I fall to the ground. "Dad, stop! You're hurting me!" I get out of his hold and try to straighten.
Cameron's arms are around my waist, helping me to stand upright. But I can't. Dad's pulling me away again.
Away from Cameron.
"Mr. Preston." Cam's in front of us now, walking backwards and trying to talk sense into him. "I swear to you, nothing happened."
But Dad doesn't care.
And now I'm crying.
I use all of my strength, shrug out of his hold, and run to Cameron. He stops walking and moves me behind him, becoming a shield between us, like he's done before. "We fell asleep—" Cam starts.
"Shut up!" Dad shouts. "I told you to shut up!" He shoves Cam out of the way so forcefully that he hits the ground hard.
I try to say his name but I can't. I can't because my cries won't let me. I can't breathe. I can't see through the tears.
Then Dad looks at me—right into my eyes. And even through his anger I can see the truth; shame.
He sucks in a breath, as if trying to calm himself, but it doesn't work, because his eyes narrow and a look of pure hatred washes over him. And if he says what he says next to ruin me, it works. "What would your mother think if she were alive? What do you think she'd say if she knew her daughter was a whore?"
Empty. Darkness.
That's all I feel. That's all I see.
Somewhere in the distance, I hear Cameron's voice. "Don't you dare talk to her like that."
His hand on mine is pure fire.
It burns.
It hurts.
I hurt.
Everywhere.
I open my eyes, and I let the numbness from the hurt drive me. "Go home, Cameron."
***
Every day for the next two weeks he knocks on our door. Vagina tells him I'm not allowed visitors; Dad's orders. But she knows. She sees me. She understands. It's not just Dad that won't allow it. I won't either. Every day I watch him from the window in my room as he gets in his shitty bus, the one he bought for us. He sits in the driver's seat and looks up at my window—for minutes that feel like hours. I know because I watch him. I watch him watch me, and I do nothing to make the pain go away. Not for him, or for me.
Dad doesn't speak to me. He won't even look at me. I'm his only daughter. His daughter—the whore.
I don't leave the house. I barely leave my room. The place is always full of people, full of laughter, full of joy. Me? I'm empty. I feel nothing. Absolutely nothing but the constant churning in my stomach. Sometimes, I let that churning feeling control me. And sometimes, I empty that feeling.
-CAMERON-
For two weeks I try to see her. I need to make sure that she's okay. If she feels half of what I feel, I know she's hurting. And the kind of hurt she feels shouldn't exist. Which is why I find myself in the last place any sane person would be. "Is Mr. Preston here?"
The middle-aged man removes his hard hat and looks up from the blueprints in front of him. He eyes me up and down quickly before asking, "You here for a job?"
"No, sir." I take a look around the construction site. "I'm here to speak to Mr. Preston."
He nods and walks away.
And I wait.
With sweaty palms and a hammering heart, I wait.
"What do you want?" His voice makes me jump, but I hide the reaction.
"I need to talk to you."
"I have nothing to say to you."
He starts to leave, and for a split second I almost give up. I know men like him, my dad is just like him. His pride comes first and his sense comes second. He wants to be right, even when he's wrong, and he likes to have power over me. But this is bigger than his pride. And it's bigger than him and I. "I think Lucy's sick."
He freezes, his shoulders rigid, and his breath heavy. He slowly turns to me, his mask faltering. "What do you mean she's sick?"
I ask him to talk somewhere more private. No one needs to know his business, and I'm not one to air it publicly.
He takes me to his portable office and sits behind his desk. I stay standing. I don't want to get comfortable, and he shouldn't have that luxury either. "While your wife was dying, Lucy was making herself sick. She'd make herself throw up." I sniff back my stupid tears and speak through the lump that's formed in my throat. "She said she did it to feel alive. That when things got really bad, she wanted to feel alive. That night when Lachlan was sick and you came to your senses... I walked in on her doing it. She says she hasn't done it since, but I haven't been around for the past two weeks, and I'm guessing you haven't either."
He doesn't respond. He just looks out the window, too ashamed to face me... to face up to what he didn't know.
"I'm telling you because I care about her."
He turns to me now, his tough-guy persona completely wiped.
"I'm telling you because I love her. I love her more than absolutely anything in this entire world. I'm hurting not being able to see her, so I can't imagine how she's feeling. I have my mom, I have her boyfriend, and they help me get through every day. She probably has no one."
He leans his elbows on his desk and drops his head between his shoulders.
"If she's doing it again... if she's chasing that high of feeling alive... if she's so far gone that she's making herself sick again... I'll never forgive you. And one day, when she somehow gets through all of this, neither will she."
CHAPTER TWELVE
-LUCY- I don't bother answering the knock on my door. If it's one of the boys, they'd just walk in. But I know it's not them because they haven't been around for days. They must know. They must be able to read me. Just like Cameron can.
Dad enters without explanation. I sit at the edge of my bed, facing the bathroom. That's where he goes; drill in one hand and a wrench in the other. His footsteps are heavy as he walks to the toilet and drops the lid. Then he proceeds to screw the lid onto the base.
-LUCY-
There's a banging on my bedroom door—or so I think. When I open my eyes I'm not in my room. But the banging is incessant.
"What's going on?" Cam blinks rapidly, trying to wake himself. The banging won't stop.
"LUCY!" Dad's voice jerks us both awake. "LUCY!" he shouts again. He's slamming his palm on the back window of Cam's bus.
"Oh my God, Cam. We must've fallen asleep!"
He doesn't speak, his focus solely on my breasts. I look down. "Shit," I whisper. I'm not wearing a shirt, just my bra.
"LUCY!"
I find my shirt and rush to put it on, even though I know it's too late. Dad's face is pressed against the window, I'm sure he's already seen us. And Cam—he's shirtless, too.
"Nothing happened," he rushes out. "We didn't do anything wrong." And even as he says it, I can see the panic in his eyes. "We just need to explain it to him, okay? It'll be fine."
He puts on his shirt and opens the door. "Mr. Preston," he starts, his hands going up in surrender. "We fell asleep. I'm sorry. It's my fault. I should—"
"Shut up!" Dad growls. "Just shut up, Cameron."
"DAD!" I try to get off the bus but he grips my arm tight and roughly pulls me down. He uses so much force I fall to the ground. "Dad, stop! You're hurting me!" I get out of his hold and try to straighten.
Cameron's arms are around my waist, helping me to stand upright. But I can't. Dad's pulling me away again.
Away from Cameron.
"Mr. Preston." Cam's in front of us now, walking backwards and trying to talk sense into him. "I swear to you, nothing happened."
But Dad doesn't care.
And now I'm crying.
I use all of my strength, shrug out of his hold, and run to Cameron. He stops walking and moves me behind him, becoming a shield between us, like he's done before. "We fell asleep—" Cam starts.
"Shut up!" Dad shouts. "I told you to shut up!" He shoves Cam out of the way so forcefully that he hits the ground hard.
I try to say his name but I can't. I can't because my cries won't let me. I can't breathe. I can't see through the tears.
Then Dad looks at me—right into my eyes. And even through his anger I can see the truth; shame.
He sucks in a breath, as if trying to calm himself, but it doesn't work, because his eyes narrow and a look of pure hatred washes over him. And if he says what he says next to ruin me, it works. "What would your mother think if she were alive? What do you think she'd say if she knew her daughter was a whore?"
Empty. Darkness.
That's all I feel. That's all I see.
Somewhere in the distance, I hear Cameron's voice. "Don't you dare talk to her like that."
His hand on mine is pure fire.
It burns.
It hurts.
I hurt.
Everywhere.
I open my eyes, and I let the numbness from the hurt drive me. "Go home, Cameron."
***
Every day for the next two weeks he knocks on our door. Vagina tells him I'm not allowed visitors; Dad's orders. But she knows. She sees me. She understands. It's not just Dad that won't allow it. I won't either. Every day I watch him from the window in my room as he gets in his shitty bus, the one he bought for us. He sits in the driver's seat and looks up at my window—for minutes that feel like hours. I know because I watch him. I watch him watch me, and I do nothing to make the pain go away. Not for him, or for me.
Dad doesn't speak to me. He won't even look at me. I'm his only daughter. His daughter—the whore.
I don't leave the house. I barely leave my room. The place is always full of people, full of laughter, full of joy. Me? I'm empty. I feel nothing. Absolutely nothing but the constant churning in my stomach. Sometimes, I let that churning feeling control me. And sometimes, I empty that feeling.
-CAMERON-
For two weeks I try to see her. I need to make sure that she's okay. If she feels half of what I feel, I know she's hurting. And the kind of hurt she feels shouldn't exist. Which is why I find myself in the last place any sane person would be. "Is Mr. Preston here?"
The middle-aged man removes his hard hat and looks up from the blueprints in front of him. He eyes me up and down quickly before asking, "You here for a job?"
"No, sir." I take a look around the construction site. "I'm here to speak to Mr. Preston."
He nods and walks away.
And I wait.
With sweaty palms and a hammering heart, I wait.
"What do you want?" His voice makes me jump, but I hide the reaction.
"I need to talk to you."
"I have nothing to say to you."
He starts to leave, and for a split second I almost give up. I know men like him, my dad is just like him. His pride comes first and his sense comes second. He wants to be right, even when he's wrong, and he likes to have power over me. But this is bigger than his pride. And it's bigger than him and I. "I think Lucy's sick."
He freezes, his shoulders rigid, and his breath heavy. He slowly turns to me, his mask faltering. "What do you mean she's sick?"
I ask him to talk somewhere more private. No one needs to know his business, and I'm not one to air it publicly.
He takes me to his portable office and sits behind his desk. I stay standing. I don't want to get comfortable, and he shouldn't have that luxury either. "While your wife was dying, Lucy was making herself sick. She'd make herself throw up." I sniff back my stupid tears and speak through the lump that's formed in my throat. "She said she did it to feel alive. That when things got really bad, she wanted to feel alive. That night when Lachlan was sick and you came to your senses... I walked in on her doing it. She says she hasn't done it since, but I haven't been around for the past two weeks, and I'm guessing you haven't either."
He doesn't respond. He just looks out the window, too ashamed to face me... to face up to what he didn't know.
"I'm telling you because I care about her."
He turns to me now, his tough-guy persona completely wiped.
"I'm telling you because I love her. I love her more than absolutely anything in this entire world. I'm hurting not being able to see her, so I can't imagine how she's feeling. I have my mom, I have her boyfriend, and they help me get through every day. She probably has no one."
He leans his elbows on his desk and drops his head between his shoulders.
"If she's doing it again... if she's chasing that high of feeling alive... if she's so far gone that she's making herself sick again... I'll never forgive you. And one day, when she somehow gets through all of this, neither will she."
CHAPTER TWELVE
-LUCY- I don't bother answering the knock on my door. If it's one of the boys, they'd just walk in. But I know it's not them because they haven't been around for days. They must know. They must be able to read me. Just like Cameron can.
Dad enters without explanation. I sit at the edge of my bed, facing the bathroom. That's where he goes; drill in one hand and a wrench in the other. His footsteps are heavy as he walks to the toilet and drops the lid. Then he proceeds to screw the lid onto the base.
