Page 78 of Unraveling with You

Or, rather, boiling water. Vivid images of the deep, horrifying pain of Dad burning me enter my mind. It killed so drastically that my brain protected me from remembering the physical pain, but I can’t forget the mental torment he caused when I looked up at him, realizing he hurt me drastically, on purpose. I thought I might die, and all I could see was a repeating image of his determined, disgusted glare as he tipped the pot.

But my back was turned; I had already learned I needed to run from him.

My body shakes, even as Remington grasps my arms to ground me. Mom rolls closer, her eyes wider than ever.

And my worst fears tumble from my mouth.

“Mom, does Dad hurt you?” I rasp. Shock ripples over her forehead, but as she sucks in a breath to speak, my chest tightens. “Physically. Does he hurt you, physically?”

Remington freezes beside me. I quiver in his arms, the acidic, burning sensation spewing deeper into my heart as I await Mom’s response.

But she continues to gape. As she takes my hand, she shakes her head. “What are you saying, Lilibeth? No, he doesn’t. No, how could he?”

I sputter out a sharp gasp like I’m drowning. Remington jolts into action, resuming his grounding squeezes, but I didn’t expect this to hurt this badly. If Mom isn’t lying, that means his daughters are the exception. That this really is personal. To Dad, I’m not worthy enough to protect.

Tears spill with my rasping hiccups. This isn’t how I wanted to ask Mom to live with me. I wanted to look strong enough to carry her.

But as Remington shakes his head beside me, Mom turns her focus to him. “Remington, what’s going on?”

Remington only shakes his head faster. It sobers me; no matter how angry Remington is with Dad, he’s not giving away Dad’s secret, just because I asked. It’s not fair - to me, either.

Or to Mom.

Straightening, I steady my weepy voice. “Sorry, I just need to talk to you about something. This isn’t how I wanted to ask you, but before Dad comes back, I have a question.”

“Okay, please, what is it, Lilibeth? You’re scaring me.”

I swallow hard. “Remington and I talked a few things over. We’re already spending so much time with each other that moving in together and splitting the rent would save us money. But that also means we could support you however you need to, and even afford a caregiver together. We wanted to offer for you to live with us, if you’d like.”

Mom blinks a few times, her focus racing between Remington’s somber expression and my reddened eyes. “Wait, what about your father?”

My shoulders raise. I lean in, softening my voice. “Mom, you and I both know he’s abusive.”

“What? Lilibeth, it’s not like that.”

My blood burns. “We agreed on it last time, and there’s a reason why I didn’t visit for months after that day.”

Jutting back by the chin, Mom only widens her eyes further. “Well, I don’t understand. We don’t argue like the two of you do. He’s not all that bad to me, and he doesn't mean the hurtful things he says. I still love him.”

As I gape at my mother, I can’t believe what I’m seeing; she’s choosing him, just like I was afraid of. Does she really think all Dad does is get into petty disagreements with me? She’s so set in her mindset that I almost fall back in with her: what if I’m the one giving too much attention and weight to what Dad treats me like? Maybe I should just be quiet and get over it.

But the second that thought crosses my mind, I stiffen.

No, I’ve had enough of sitting back and taking it. Remington’s sturdy grip on me proves it further; if Remington’s praise has taught me anything, Dad’s verbal abuse damages my soul, just like his physical abuse. Dad didn’t hurt me physically for years, yet my self-esteem around Dad is the polar opposite of the Lilibeth I can be with Remington. With Rem, I can exist without overanalyzing every blink, breath, or word. Even if I had never met him, the blissful, utter relief I felt holding my apartment keys for the first time at eighteen speaks volumes.

And my knight taught me that my safeword isn’t reserved for when my pain “matters enough.” My pain is worth acknowledging, even if it’s hard for Mom to hear.

Whether Mom believes me or not, I believe me now. My father is abusive.

And Mom hasn’t stopped staring, wondering whyI’macting like this.

As reality sets in, I’m just as nauseatingly horrified as I am furious. I clench my jaw. “Wait, so you want to stay with him, forever? This isn’t just the only option you have?”

Mom’s shoulders droop. She leans in, placing her cool palm over my knee. “Yes, honey. I'm okay. I’m happy here.”

This can’t be happening. My eyes flood, but as Remington huffs out fury with me, Mom only gives me a sympathetic, sad smile, stroking my knee.

“Lilibeth, I’ve told you time and time again that I don’t need you to worry so much about me. I want you to live your life for you now, not for me. I really mean it.”

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