Page 10 of Unhinged Love

“Oh. Okay. Maybe next time,” Wren offers after her face falls.

She can’t be for real. There’s no way. Nobody is actually this nice on purpose. They can’t possibly be disappointed that some stranger won’t go window shopping with them over iced coffee.

No, they’re probably disappointed they won’t have a chance to be mean. Like that bread roll Carter threw at my head last night. The prick.

I look up from my scuffed trainers in time to see Wren nudge Maya, nodding at something behind me. “Here comes Carter. I guess we’ll let you guys go home. It was really nice to meet you,” Wren adds.

I wish I could believe her. It’s almost shocking how much I wish I could believe her. Why don’t I get to be normal like everybody else? Why do I have to carry all these ugly, humiliating memories with me everywhere I go?

“Hey, girls.” Since I’m not looking up, I can’t see whether Carter exchanges anything beyond a glance with the two of them. Really, I don’t want to see. I don’t think I could handle it if either of them rolled their eyes or smirked.

It’s not often I want to believe somebody has good intentions, but I really want to believe they do.

Of course, I’ll only end up getting my heart crushed when it turns out they’re no better than Carter or any of the countless kids who made my life a living hell all through high school.

Especially the ones who decided to give me a swimming lesson one night.

Carter passes me on the way to the driver’s side door, and his brief nearness makes me shudder. I shouldn’t think about thatnow—not around him. Not around anyone. If the memories are going to come, they should come while I’m alone, so nobody sees how freaked I am.

Especially Carter, who doesn’t need any more excuses to bully me.

At least this time, he doesn’t bother trying to make conversation. It feels almost miraculous to pass the drive in silence. I just need to get home. I need to be alone and recharge my battery a little after spending hours around so many people. It’s exhausting, but it’s not like I can explain it to anybody. Nobody would listen, for one thing. Mom sure wouldn’t. She never has, even when I tried to tell her what happened that night. I thought I was dying, but all she could do after I tearfully poured my heart out was tell me to stop being so dramatic. Any illusions I still held onto about her being a caring mother vanished in smoke.

It’s a relief to pull into the driveway. Obviously, meeting Maya and Wren unsettled me more than I realize, since the sweat on my palm makes opening the door a challenge. Carter is already opening the front door and sailing through by the time I jog up the wide front steps. I’m surprised he doesn’t try to close it behind him and shut me out.

Was I hoping for a little peace and quiet today on my return? I was planning on running straight up to my room without saying a word to Mom.

As soon as we’re inside, it’s obvious I’m not going to get the chance.

“There you are! I was starting to wonder if you would ever get home.” Mom shakes her head as she emerges from the living room, where a handful of people are chatting, taking notes on tablets, and examining a stack of fabric swatches in different colors. “I told you the wedding planners were coming today, remember?”

I’m sure if Carter wasn’t standing only a few feet away, she would add a biting remark about how I never remember the important things; how my head is always in the clouds, and how she basically wishes I didn’t have to be a part of the wedding in the first place. But she and Paul are still in the honeymoon phase, meaning she can’t show her true colors yet. At least, not until she gets the big, splashy public wedding of her dreams.

“I came home right after class.” I glance toward Carter before I can help myself—he can back me up. But will he? No. He doesn’t say a word, only scoffing as he stares into the living room. No need to ask how he feels about all of this.

Either her head is too far up her liposuctioned ass to notice, or she knows it’s safer to overlook his attitude. Tossing her hair over her shoulder, she heaves a sigh. “Well, you’re here now. I’m still not completely settled on the color of your dress. There are some fabric swatches in here that I’d like to hold up next to your face to see how they go with your coloring.” She’s still rambling on as she takes my wrist and almost drags me into the room. Carter, of course, doesn’t follow.

Will she ever get tired of humiliating me?

“How was your first day? Please tell me you made some friends.” She grabs a few swatches and holds them up next to me, scowling at every one. “Honestly, you’re the only person I’ve ever met who doesn’t look good in anything. Could you at least try? Put on a little mascara, a little eyeshadow. You might actually start looking like a human being instead of a zombie straight from the grave. At least this wedding will be a reason for you to wear something other than these ugly, shapeless clothes you insist on wrapping yourself in.”

Who needs to go outside to be bullied when I can just stay home and let Mom do it?

“I mean, you must be sweltering,” she frets, clicking her tongue and wrinkling her nose. Because, of course, anybody whodoesn’t walk around with their boobs hanging out the way she does must have something wrong with them.

I am so tired of this. Tired of being her daughter. I’ve never been good enough. She doesn’t even try to understand why I dress the way I do. Why I want nothing more than to fade into the background—to go unnoticed. Why bother understanding when it’s so much easier to simply disapprove?

Before she pries any deeper into how my day went and whether I met anybody nice, one of the women beckons her. “What do you think about these floral arrangements? You were talking about an archway to stand under when you exchange vows, right?”

I don’t know the woman, but I’m grateful to her. She just saved me from having to suffer through what I know would be disappointment verging on anger from dear old Mom. Now that her attention has been stolen away, she forgets all about the right colors for me and discusses hydrangeas versus roses.

Which is my cue to get the hell out of here before she remembers I’m around. When Mom’s not looking, I duck out of the room on tiptoes, then jog over to the stairs and take them two at a time, desperate for solace. I feel beaten and bruised. Is this how it’s going to be every day? Why can’t I take online classes? Nobody would miss me. Why can’t I just disappear?

Probably for the same reason I can’t avoid Carter: my luck has never been very good. Once I reach the top of the stairs, his snide voice assaults me. “You know, your mom might be a gold digger, but there’s one thing we can agree on.”

He’s leaning in the doorway to his bedroom, arms folded as he follows my progress up the hall. I pin my gaze to the floor, refusing to give him the reaction he’s so clearly going for. Snorting, he adds, “Your clothes are hideous.”

Because I needed that last little kick in the teeth to put a bow on this gift of a day. The first of so many days. An endless string of them filled with nothing but anxiety and fear.

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