Page 70 of The Breakaway

"Is Eric going to be there?"

My mom opened her mouth and then closed it. I blew out a breath and squeezed my eyes shut, dropping my head back against the headrest.

"Sharla. It's been six years."

"I don't care how long it's been. He abused me as a kid, Mom."

"Well, we still don't know."

"Don't know what? Just because you and Dad don't seem to know exactly what happened, I do."

"Sharla—"

"No." I cut her off, my chest so tight I could barely breathe. "Is he already there?"

"He and Megan drove in yesterday."

He was there. At my house.With my sister sleeping upstairs.

I turned my face to look out the window, not wanting her to see the angry tears pooling in my eyes. I couldn't do this. I wasn't going to drive home and spend my entire Christmas break in a house with him—to sit across the dinner table, to wake up on Christmas morning and have him sitting next to the Christmas tree.

I couldn’t feel my hands. “You have to tell him to go.” How could she not see how dangerous this was? How could she put another daughter in danger?

"Sharla, I'm serious.”

"I can't be in the same house as him. You can get him a hotel or something."

"Sharla, we're not going to get him a hotel. Do you know how much that would cost? You'll be on separate floors."

I was going to pass out. My lungs refused to fill. My hands and toes were starting to tingle.

"Stop the car."

"Sharla—"

"Mom, stop the car!"

She pulled over, her tires screeching, as she pulled into the parking lot of a gas station. As soon as the vehicle stopped moving, I threw open the door and stumbled toward the fence, crouching over my knees and throwing up in the gravel. I stood there watching the tears drip from the end of my nose.

A few seconds later, my mom appeared next to me, handing me a napkin. I wiped my mouth.

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you, but I thought it would be better to talk about it in person."

I let out a sardonic laugh. "There is no better time to talk about this, Mom. I can't be there with him."

"Well, then what am I supposed to do? I already told them they could stay."

I stalked back to the car and opened the back seat. I pulled out the gift bag with my parents' present in it and set it on the front seat, then pulled out my toiletry kit and purse and moved to the trunk.

"Sharla, what are you doing?"

"I'm not going to the house."

“You're being dramatic."

A switch flipped inside of me, turning my panic into raw anger. I yanked open the trunk and pulled my suitcase out. I couldn’t go back there. I hated myself for it. For not running to Red Deer and yanking my sister out of the house.

"Yep. Super dramatic. How ridiculous that I don't want to spend three weeks in the same house with the boy who shoved his hand in my underwear in the middle of the night when I was thirteen.”

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