Page 67 of Submission

“What do you mean?” I ask.

“In that house, withthem.”

“You thought things would work with those three?” I say in disbelief.

“I know. I was delusional, but the tide seemed to be turning when I turned seventeen.”

“How so?”

“They hired a new art teacher at my school who encouraged me to paint just when I was thinking about abandoning my art. Then I got my first real job at a department store that paid me more money than I’d ever seen before,” she explains, wiping her nose with a clean tissue. I hand her another one in silence and wait for her to continue. “Samuel didn’t believe in giving us allowance.”

I stay quiet, her voice in pain each time she utters his name like a shard of glass cutting me inside.

“But going to work after school also afforded me some independence, something else that Samuel rarely gave me. Honestly, it was a miracle that he allowed me to take the job, but I soon realized it was because he wanted me to contribute to the house bills. They were always awful with money, but I wanted to keep mine, so I had to make sure that I never told them what I really made there.”

I try not to react in an audible way, but I can feel the imaginary shard of glass shredding me from the inside out. While this story is basically nothing compared to many of the other horrible ways those people treated her, I’m angered that Megan was a child who was treated like this, and nobody caught it.

“And how did you manage to keep the money from them?” I ask with a slight edge to my voice.

“The other thing that happened when I was seventeen was that I met my boyfriend, Peter.”

“Peter?” My voice sounds gruff. I have no interest in hearing about Megan’s past romantic relationships.

“He worked at the store too, and the best part was he didn’t know anything about my home life and how fucked up it was. He helped me.”

“What did he do?”

“I would cash my paycheck during lunchtime at the local cash checking place near my high school. I’d bring the money to work and ask Peter to hold on to some of the money for me.”

“Didn’t he ask why?”

“He did, but I never told him any specifics about my home environment. I just told him that it wasn’t good. I never even told him about Rachel.”

“And he didn’t push you for any details?”

Megan turns her head to look at me. “He was a teenage boy, Hunter. He wasn’t going to push for answers about my parents. All he cared about was getting in my pants.”

If I could go back in time, I’d slap that teenage boy and tell him to pay attention to his girl. How the hell was she able to keep the crazy going on in her home from him?

He wasn’t paying attention.

That’s how.

“Got it,” I reply. “Go ahead and finish your story.”

“Well…my birthday was coming up,” Megan lets out a shuddering breath as she continues. “I was planning on taking a day off from work to go to the carnival in town. Actually, I’m not sure how much of a carnival it is. I think most people from Los Angeles would call it a fair because it was a small event with rides and games sponsored by the local Rotary Club. I thought it would be romantic and something different to do because Peter and I would only see each other at work.”

I didn’t know that listening to Megan reflect somewhat wistfully on romantic dates with her teenage ex would make me feel so uncomfortable.

“I guess I was entirely too excited about the date because it wasn’t long before Rachel noticed, and that was trouble.”

“Even when she was younger?”

“Rachel was young, but Samuel and my stepmother brainwashed her early.”

“So she hated you as a kid and probably didn’t even know why.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.”

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