Page 6 of The Enemy

The smile on the bitch’s face had slipped off. Okay, that was uncalled for mentioning her dead husband.

My gaze slid past her because her face was quickly becoming a trigger for me. What were the ramifications of a child attacking a grown woman? I was on the cusp of eighteen, so would I still be tried as a child?

“How about we move this to the dining room?” my father suggested, putting one hand behind my back and guiding me.

I let my anger simmer and allowed him to lead us. My father sat at one end of the table while I sat on the other in the smaller dining room. This left Priscilla to his right while Neo sat next to me.

This was only the second time we had been this close to each other. The first time had been a fluke—wrong time kind of thing.

He smelled good. I don’t know if it was his shampoo or his cologne, but it was something fresh, like pine trees with a hint of mint.

Once we were all settled, Father called our house lady to serve us the food. Pricilla chatted with my father, giving himsmall touches every chance she got and occasionally engaging Neo in conversation.

“Neo, did you ever run into Lou at school?” my dad asked, bringing me into the fold.

I stopped moving the food around with my fork and waited for his answer. I didn’t turn to look at him but waited to see what he had to say. He shifted in his seat, and I saw him straightening in his chair in my peripheral vision.

“Not really,” he lied. “There was no reason to hang out with freshmen.”

“Ah, that makes sense,” my father added.

The tense atmosphere was broken by the sound of my chair being pushed back ungracefully.

“If you’ll excuse me. I’m not very hungry.”

My father looked disappointed, but so was I, so he could suck it up the same way I would.

“Lou…” my father began to say. “You didn’t even touch your food.”

“It’s okay, honey. One skipped meal won’t hurt her.” Pricilla reached to touch my dad’s forearm and squeezed it.

My narrowed eyes cut to Pricilla as my cheeks heated from her sly comment. At least it stopped me from looking at the person next to me. Anger simmered, but I had more grace than her and didn’t bother with another verbal sparring.

I think everyone felt like an outcast in their community when they weren’t like the others. I didn’t notice the difference between me and my peers until third grade. Kids aren’t malicious at that age, and you still feel included. Then sixth grade came, and things began getting more tense.

That’s when cliques started forming. Much to my grandparents' disappointment, I was never, and would never be, one of the popular girls. Looks and perception mattered a great deal to them, and I had been a disappointment on that front.They couldn’t understand why I wasn’t closer to their friends’ grandkids.

My mother said that when I got older, I would make new friends—better friends.

Right after sixth grade, I got my period, and well, my body didn’t develop the same as the other girls.

I already had a thicker build, and it didn’t help that my grandmother kept putting her two cents in and telling my mother to get me on a diet before it was too late, despite my pediatrician never commenting on my weight. Once I started to develop into my teen body, things didn’t improve. My mother bought me clothes that weren’t formfitting. She said I was still a child, and some of the clothing my peers would wear weren’t appropriate—at least not for me.

The clothes I was allowed to wear weren’t flattering, making me appear bigger than I was. By freshman year, I had so many things working against me that, at that point, I just found it easier to keep my head down and stick it out. I focused on my fifteenth birthday as if that day would be miraculous and solve a few of my problems.

It wasn’t all bad, though. In high school, I found a group of friends I liked. Evangeline, Clove, and Martin. It wasn’t lost on me that my closest friends were considered new money and not old money like my father’s family—except for Martin, but he was finding out his sexuality and his beliefs didn’t align with those of his family. Just like me, he felt outcasted from his community.

I know it wasn’t much, but a good group of friends could get you through anything. When my mother passed away, they were there for me, but sometimes, I just wanted to be alone.

Please be empty.

Please be empty.

Please be empty.

I chanted as I made my way to the stairwell by the gym. People usually avoided it since they wanted to pass by the main hall and chat with their friends.

I pushed open the door and was relieved to find the stairwell empty. The door slammed shut behind me as I slid down the wall.

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