Found (The Scions Book 2) Page 5

  I wouldn’t have chosen humiliation or a hysterical meltdown as the way to out my issues to my family, but I can’t help but feel a strong sense of relief that I’m not hiding this anymore.

  The door to the basement opens and Emmy walks through it and into the kitchen, smiling when she spots me. “You okay?”

  “He called me.”

  Her mouth drops open for a second before she snaps it shut. “Did you answer?”

  I nod.

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know,” I say honestly.

  “What did he want?” She asks, taking a seat next to me at the dining table.

  “To tell me it wasn’t him who recorded the video or played it.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “Do you?” I ask, hoping she’ll tell me she doesn’t, that he’s still manipulating me and that I need to block his number from my cell.

  “Honestly, I don’t know.”

  At her admission I close my eyes and inhale a long, slow breath.

  “I’ve been thinking about it and I just don’t get it. If he did it, why try to convince us all that he didn’t? Why turn up here yesterday and today trying to see you? You know I love your dad, but he can be scary and after he went out there and threatened him, I expected him to run, at least for his own self-preservation. But he only went as far as the curb and then he just sat there.”

  “I don’t know what to do,” I admit.

  She sighs. “Let’s go downstairs and see what the boys think. Unless you just want to forget about it? My mom and Duke have already arranged for me and Griffin to stay off school with you , and we both know Zeke was never going to go without you either. We don’t have to think about this, about him. We could just talk. You could tell us about what’s going on, or not, your choice.”

  Her expression is careful, and I can’t help but smile. “Let’s just go watch a movie and eat ice cream and pizza until we pass out. I promise I’ll talk to you guys about everything that’s going on, just not today, okay?”

  “Okay,” she nods, then she takes my hand and just like when we were little kids we head downstairs and together the four of us waste the whole night eating junk food and pretending like nothing happened. The real world can come back tomorrow, but at least for tonight I want to feel normal.

  The next morning comes too soon. I have another appointment with Dot today. This time I ride with my dad on the back of his bike. The wind in my hair, the freedom of the road rushing past me while I cling to his back is the perfect balm.

  The others all wanted to come with me again, but I convinced them to stay home, telling them that I’d tell them about it when I got back. When we push into the waiting room, it’s empty except for a smiling receptionist; who tells us that Dot is just finishing up an appointment and will be out soon.

  “You want me to come in with you, Princess?” Dad asks.

  I shake my head. “I’ll be okay, but could you maybe stay out here just in case?”

  “Always, baby, always.” His arm wraps around my shoulder and he pulls me to him, kissing the top of my head. “You’re going to be okay. But from now on we need you to talk to us, Princess, you can’t keep all this stuff locked up in your head. Okay?”

  “Okay, Daddy,” I whisper, my cheek still pressed against his chest, the reassuring scent of leather and his cologne filling my senses.

  Dot opens her office door a moment later, saying goodbye to a middle-aged man, then calling me in. I cling to my dad for a second and he drops a kiss against the top of my head, sighing into my hair before he releases me, and I stand, following Dot back into her office.

  I take a seat on her comfy couch, twisting my fingers together in my lap, nerves fluttering to life in my stomach.

  “Today I want to teach you some basic coping strategies for when you start to feel anxious and overwhelmed.” Dot says, her voice calm and relaxed.

  “Okay,” I say dubiously.

  “Just give it a try. Close your eyes and for a minute just concentrate on breathing.”

  I do as she asks, closing my eyes and trying to block out everything else. I focus on the sound of my breath, ignoring the mocking voice at the back of my head that’s whispering this is dumb, and the sound of the cars in the street outside. It takes me a few minutes, but eventually I manage to just sit and breathe.

  “In and out. Think about filling your lungs with oxygen and then slowly releasing it. Pull air in, then let it out.” Dot’s soothing voice directs.

  Her voice gradually slows and quietens and as her words soak in, I do as she says, just breathing.

  “Now I want you to inhale, hold it for a second, then slow your exhale down. This is going to feel a little strange the first few times but give it a try.”

  I do, inhaling until my lungs are full, then slowly exhaling. Again and again, I repeat the motion, just breathing like it’s the only thing in the world.

  “Okay, Nova, open your eyes slowly and let your breathing gradually return to normal.”

  Blinking, I open my eyes, slowly returning back to the present.

  “How do you feel?” She asks.

  “Calm,” I say, surprised.

  “That’s great. Now the next time you start to feel anxious, I want you to try this exercise. It won’t always work, but I want you to try. Find somewhere that you can just sit and then breathe. Our bodies have an amazing capacity for survival and all you have to do is remember to breathe.”

  I nod, feeling a sense of doubt, but allowing the calm I’m feeling to override it.

  “Today, I’d like to talk a little about you; would that be okay?”

  “Sure.”

  “Excellent.” She says brightly.

  I spend the next twenty minutes answering her questions. She asks me about my favorite classes, what car I drive, what I enjoy doing, the parties I attend. I’m not sure how these questions are going to help her figure out if I’m crazy or not, but I’m not the one who went to school to become a shrink, so I indulge her.

  “Is Valentine part of your group?” She asks and I answer without thought.

  “Yes.”

  “Describe him for me in three words.”

  “Hard, beautiful, cruel.” I say, the words rolling off my tongue with ease.

  Dot blinks, writes something on her notepad, then asks. “How does he make you feel? Three words.”

  I pause, taking my time to answer. “Scared and peaceful and sad.”

  “How can he make you both scared and peaceful?” She asks, her pen resting thoughtfully on her lip.

  “The way he looks at me sometimes and the things he says, that scares me. But when I’m with him, near him, he stops my mind from racing. It’s like all I can think about when I’m close to him is him.”

  A small smile flickers at the edges of her lips for a moment before it disappears. “What do you think about when your mind races?”

  “It feels like there’s a voice in the back of my head that keeps reminding me of all the doubts and worries and fears I’m feeling, and then they get louder and faster and…” I speak faster, my words almost jumbling together as it all rushes out of me. “It feels like my head’s going to explode and I just want to hide from it and I don’t know how. It feels like I’m losing my mind, like I’m going crazy and yet the thoughts just won’t stop. They just won’t stop.” Tears pour down my cheeks and my voice cracks. But it’s the truth and saying it aloud breaks something inside of me and everything else just rushes out.

  I tell her about how much I hate crowds and parties. How much pressure I feel under at school to be a certain person and act a certain way. How apart from when I’m with my family I always feel like I’m pretending. I tell her everything, and by the time I fall silent, I feel empty and hollow, but my head; my mind that is normally so busy, so hectic, is blissfully still.

  The ride home soothes my ragged soul and by the time I walk back into our house I’m exhausted but lighter, as if finally telling someone how messed up I a
m lifted a weight from me.

  “Hey,” Zeke says from his spot on the couch.

  “Hey.”

  “You okay?”

  I nod. “Tired, but yeah, I’m okay.” The words feel strange on my tongue. I’m so used to telling everyone that I’m okay even when I’m not, and now, for the first time in what feels like a long time I’m actually telling the truth. Two therapy sessions haven’t magically cured me, I’m not better. I don’t think I’ll ever be completely one hundred percent okay, but today I can feel a measure of hope and that hope is everything.

  Zeke twists his hands, giving me a double thumbs up and a cheesy grin. I can’t help it, I giggle. “Smooth, Bro, smooth.”

  His hands twist again and the thumbs up change to him flashing his two middle fingers at me. Rolling my eyes, I return a single middle finger back at him and head for the kitchen, pulling a can of soda from the refrigerator before turning back to Zeke. “Where is everyone?”

  “Mom made Emmy and Griff go home, but they’ll be back later. I think they only agreed to go so they could get stuff to crash here tonight. The twins are in the basement and Mom’s in her office.”

  “Okay, well I’m going to go take a nap, then later maybe we should talk.”

  Zeke’s expression sobers. “Okay.”

  Padding over to the couch, I lean over the back and hug him. “I love you, baby bro. I’m okay, I promise.”

  He holds me for a moment then releases me. “Go sleep, I’ll see you in a while.”

  My steps are weary as I walk into my room and close the door behind me. I quickly strip out of my dress and pull on shorts and a tank before I crawl into bed. I’m tired, both physically and mentally, and the sheets beneath me are soft, warm, and inviting.

  Closing my eyes, I try to let my body succumb to sleep, but Valentine’s words from yesterday echo through my mind.

  “Not like that, Princess, I swear.”

  He’d sounded so earnest, so honest, but I just don’t know if I can believe him. Lifting my cell up, I quickly type out a text and hit send before I can second guess myself.

  Me: If it wasn’t you then who was it?

  I don’t wait to see if he replies. Dropping my cell back to the comforter, I close my eyes and drift to sleep.

  I’m a coward. Since my temper tantrum last night, I’ve been hiding in my room, only emerging for dinner, then scurrying back upstairs straight afterwards. I’m waiting for the disappointment, disgust, and judgment I deserve from Brandi and Sleaze, but it hasn’t come.

  Even knowing how much of an asshole I actually am, neither of them has admonished me, judged me or doled out any kind of punishment for everything I’ve done to Nova. Maybe they just know that I’m punishing myself, worse than anything they could come up with.

  I don’t feel regret that often. In truth, my only real regrets in life are not telling my dad I loved him the day he died, getting involved with Bella, and now Nova. It’s not that I’m a sociopath who doesn’t recognize my wrongdoing; it’s more that I haven’t cared enough about my actions or anything else to really feel any remorse.

  I wasn’t this much of a dick when my dad was alive. I was spoiled, privileged, indulged, but I wasn’t hard or cruel like I am now. The person I’ve become is a product of everything that’s happened to me in the last three years.

  It’s hard to look at yourself and know that you’re a bully, but I am. I’ve manipulated, extorted, tortured and controlled, but for the most part I’m not ashamed. As a throwaway you have to do whatever you need to survive. Kids like me, kids who move from group home to group home, they get harder with each move, more resilient.

  I’ve been beaten by people who are being paid to protect me. I’ve protected myself from people who think that kids like me are easy prey for the sexual predators of the world. I’ve stolen so that I didn’t go hungry and I haven’t once felt an ounce of remorse until her.

  The way she looked at me, the look of betrayal in her eyes, I’ll regret that until the day I die.

  Now it’s morning and I’m lying in bed staring up at the ceiling above me. My broken cell is next to me on the bedside table, silent, the screen dark behind what remains of the shattered glass case. I have money, a roll of notes sequestered away in the bottom of my backpack for if I ever need to run. It’s not much; $500 dollars wouldn’t last long, but it’s enough to escape. Only for the first time in years I don’t want to run. Nova’s here and before I can walk away, I need to make her believe me.

  It shouldn’t matter, she shouldn’t matter, but it does, she does. Rolling out of bed I head for the bathroom, turning on the shower as I pull off my boxers. I use the toilet then step under the hot water, letting it soak me and wash away all of my sins, at least for a moment.

  Hot showers with decent water pressure are a luxury you don’t expect to crave. The last two group homes I was in had showers that barely had chance to get above lukewarm, before the timer ran out and the water switched off. With fifteen kids or more all sharing a single bathroom, anything more than a five-minute wash was out of the question.

  Today I stay under the stream of water for nearly twenty minutes, washing my hair and soaping my body with products that haven’t been watered down. After drying off I dress quickly, pulling on a pair of jeans that have worn so thin at the knees that rips have formed. My lips twitch into a smile as I consider the kids at my old prep school who would probably pay hundreds of dollars for jeans made to look just like this.

  The clothes that Brandi bought for me are still sat neatly folded in the closet, the tags still in place. I know she’d like me to wear them, but until I can figure out their angle, old habits die hard and I don’t want to accept something without knowing what the cost to me will be. I ignore the soft t-shirts, and instead I pull out a worn black band t-shirt. There are a couple of cigarette burns in the hem from whoever I stole it from, but it’s comfy and fits okay.

  I head downstairs into the kitchen where Sleaze and Callum are at the kitchen counter making pancakes. “Morning,” Sleaze says.

  “Morning.”

  “You want breakfast?”

  “No thanks,” I say, eying the pancakes.

  “You sure? My pancakes are legendary.”

  “Vali, you need to have some, they’re epic,” Callum says from where he’s stood mixing pancake batter in a bowl.

  The kid is adorable, and I find myself ruffling his hair. “Well if they’re epic,” I say, moving to grab a cup from the unit and heading for the coffee pot. “You want coffee?”

  “Please, black, no sugar,” Sleaze says, his attention back on the pancakes he’s flipping on the hotplate.

  Filling a second mug, I cross the room and place his on the counter within his reach. “You know anywhere I can get my cell fixed? I kinda smashed it last night,” I say, twisting my lips together and lifting my mangled cell into the air.

  “We have a plan we can add you to and just get you an upgrade.”

  “I have a plan; I just need to get the screen fixed,” I snap.

  Sleaze flips three pancakes onto a waiting plate and hands it off to Callum. “Buddy, go eat your pancakes in the family room.”

  Callum reaches for the syrup and drowns his pancakes in it, then rushes out of the room. Sleaze stares at me, his eyes pinning me in place until the TV turns on and we hear the sounds of cartoons.

  “What’s going on?” Sleaze asks, his voice deceptively calm.

  Clenching my teeth, I swallow down the urge to tell him to go fuck himself. “Nothing. I just need to get my cell fixed.”

  “Who pays for the plan, Valentine?”

  Averting my gaze, I glance at the ceiling, the floor, the walls, anything to avoid him, before my gaze inevitably lands on Sleaze. “My mom,” I say through gritted teeth.

  I watch the shock flit across his face. “Trisha said you don’t have contact with your mom?”

  “I don’t,” I snarl.

  “We don’t care, Valentine. She’s your mom. You want to
see her, that’s your call, as long as it’s safe.”

  “I don’t see my mom. I haven’t seen her since the day she decided to throw me away like the fucking trash.” My fingers clench into fists and I put my cup down onto the counter with enough force for the coffee to splash out of the top.

  “Calm down. Count to ten or some shit, then explain why if you don’t have contact with her, your mom is paying for a cell phone plan for you.”

  His casual words diffuse some of my anger and I close my eyes, inhaling sharply. “She doesn’t know,” I say.

  “What?”

  “My mom’s rich. If I had to guess, I’d say that she doesn’t realize the plan is still active. Or maybe it helps her pretend that I’m really in Switzerland in boarding school,” I say, bitterness coating each word.

  Sleaze’s eyebrows lift almost comically high. “Switzerland? What the…?”

  I laugh, but the sound is hard and angry. “I guess she didn’t think she could tell people she handed me off to the state. So, she told my school and fuck knows who else, that I moved to a boarding school in Switzerland.”

  His eyes soften and I wait for the pity, but instead, a harder edge appears. “That’s some fucked-up cold shit.”

  I laugh again, only this time it’s with actual humor. “I know, right? It’s gonna fuck up her plans once I graduate and get my trust fund.”

  “You planning on going to see her, back to your old community?” Sleaze asks.

  “You’re not gonna ask about the trust?”

  “None of my business, kid. Money comes and goes. In the grand scheme of things it’s not that important. My life won’t be judged on how much I’ve got in the bank; I want to leave a legacy about who I am as a person, about the lives I made better, the people I called family. That’s what’s important to me.”

  I stare at him for a moment unsure, what to say. “That’s…” I trail off.

  Sleaze shrugs. “Cal has an appointment with his social worker later so he and I will give you a ride into town, there’s a place that might be able to replace the screen. If they can’t fix it, we’ll get you a new phone, deal?”