Page 131 of Bloom

The next one he throws, I don’t see what it is, but it explodes on the wall beside my head, and a shard slices my cheek. My forehead too, I think, because I think that’s blood dripping in my eye.

“Why did you do that?” I whisper, and I feel so uncharacteristically numb when my dad simply shrugs. When he simply stares, almost indignantly, defensively—like a child,I realize. Like a child caught doing something wrong, but they don’t want to admit it.

I say, “You could’ve blinded me,” and he doesn’t care about that either, and I find myself not being myself, not crumbling or crying or running.

“Okay,” the girl who’s not quite me, the girl who’s infinitely braver than me—if only because she can form coherent words—says as she, asI, wipes a bloody hand off on her t-shirt. “I’m going to go now.”

The girl goes. She walks out the front door. And, with blood dripping down her face, she goes to the only place she’s ever felt safe.

40

He almost cries.

He only doesn’t for her sake.

A long-sufferingsigh breaks the peaceful silence of Serenity Ranch.

“Really?” A familiarly disdainful voice whines, quiet so as not to awaken the rest of her slumbering household. “This is, like, super creepy, Caroline. Likestalkercreepy.”

Staring at the blood crusted around my nails, I imagine Lottie Jackson in my mind’s eye. I can hear the weight of the platform boots on her feet, the swish of a leather jacket as she crosses her arms, the huffed breath that probably displaces her wispy, red fringe. She’s scowling, undoubtedly, and creasing the makeup she carefully, quietly applied in the dark so as not to alert her siblings to her sneaking out—although, I guess it’s not really sneaking out if she’s nineteen. In my head, the dark eyeliner she favors is slightly smudged, the red outline of her lips isn’t quite perfect, whatever black outfit she slipped into is a little twisted from being blindly pulled on.

I don’t turn around to confirm.

“I won’t tell,” I mutter, picking at my nails. “You can go.”

I swear, I hear her eyes roll as clearly as I hear her sarcastic, “Thank you so much for your permission.”

Stomping as loudly as she dares given her current circumstances, she descends the porch steps. I expect her to stomp right past me, on a mission towards whoever must be waiting just far away enough for a car engine not to be heard, but she surprises me by pausing at the bottom step. And again by half-turning towards me, and once more by almost sounding concerned. “What’s wrong with you?”

“Nothing. I’m leaving.” Face still tilted to the ground, I stand up, planning on skirting around Lottie and getting back in my truck because at some point during the half hour I’ve been sitting out here, I came to the conclusion that coming here was a bad idea, but I’m not quick enough.

Black-tipped fingers wrap around my bicep and yank me to a halt. A young face dips into my view, looking exactly as I imagined it, but I feel no triumph when eyes a couple of shades lighter than those of her siblings widen. “Is thatblood?”

I try to shake her off, and I succeed. “I’m going, okay? Pretend I wasn’t here.”

For Lottie, that should be the easiest thing in the world—there are only five people in the world who warrant any kind of concern on her part. Except, for some reason, she chooses this exact moment to temporarily add a sixth person to the roster.

When she screeches Lux’s name, I whip around to shush her, but I’m too slow once again. Her brother’s name leaves her mouth before I can slap a hand over it, and the split second I take to gape in surprise is enough for the two eldest Jackson’s to barrel out the front door.

“Seriously, Lottie?” Sleepy, surprised, and furious in equal measures, Jackson rakes a hand down his face. “Again? What can you even do in Haven Ridge this late?”

“I don’t think you wanna know,” Lux mutters, but unlike her brother, her focus isn’t on their little sister. She frowns at me, squinting against the darkness to better make out the ugly mess I only took a second to check out in my truck’s rear view mirror because a second was all I could stand to look at it for. “Cheryl get you?”

I swallow. Smile, or at least I try to. Admit, because I’m so very tired, too tired to lie, “It was my dad.”

Silence. At least ten seconds of it. And then, an unsure, “What?”

“My dad threw a glass flower at my head,” I say, and I almost laugh because it sounds so ridiculous.

“Why?”

“Lottie,” Lux hisses at her blunt sister, but she doesn’t take her eyes off me.

“Because he was drunk.” I pause before amending, “Because heisa drunk. He has been since my mom died. And he—” I swallow again, the truth like a rock in my throat. “He hates me. So he hurts me sometimes. That’s why I moved out. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

I swear, I’ve never heard the ranch nor the siblings who run it so silent. I swear even the cicadas stop chirping. I swear the Jacksons’ hearts stop beating, and the preternatural silence would creep me out if I wasn’t so busy marveling at Lottie showcasing an emotion other than anger.

Shocked curiosity dukes it out with hesitation when her brother taps her on the shoulder and tells her to go, and she actually dithers for a moment before taking off into the night, and I silently commend her ability to move so fast in suchcumbersome boots over the uneven ground. And then, with a soft croon of my name, reality returns.

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