Page 42 of Carnival
But on a different level, I understand that it’s much deeper than that. I need James. Not just for my past — I need him. I’m not sure when it started, whether it was when he took my virginity or when he took me out of the carnival, but I know that I will not let him die.
I’ve never had anyone to call my own, and he’s the closest thing to mine that I have.
I can’t lose that.
???
The flight home was a nightmare. Neither Arlo nor Aria spoke much, and it was suffocating, to say the least. My heartwas thumping against my ribcage, and every time one of the siblings would throw a jab at me, it would skip a beat.
For the most part, the drive from the airport was fine. They’d still maintain the silence, but neither of them could contain themselves from teasing me. But it wasn’t funny then; it isn’t funny now. They’re too accustomed to laughing and joking about these situations, and for the first time, it makes me uncomfortable.
Aria pushes the door open of their gigantic manor and steps inside. Arlo’s right behind me, as if to make sure I wouldn’t run away again. I suppress the urge to roll my eyes and sigh, walking into the deadly silent manor. It’s already morning, around nine o’clock, and both Noelle and Hudson should be somewhere near.
As if on cue, the faint, soft sound of footsteps from the right side, where the big living room is, reaches my ears, though barely. They’re too quiet, almost unnoticeable, but I practically grew up here, and I learned how to pick up on these things — and the quiet, almost silent footsteps are precise, deliberate, and purposeful, and my heart sinks to my feet.
A part of me had hoped it would’ve been Noelle. But no — it’s Hudson.
The moment he comes into view, my anxiety spikes. He doesn’t say a word, nor does he pay attention to either of his biological kids — his eyes are on me. Briefly, he looks at me, head to toe, as if to inspect for wounds. A small flick of relief passes behind his eyes when he sees I’m perfectly fine.
“Rosalie,’’ he greets me curtly, and that’s somehow worse than his yelling. “My study, now.’’
He’s not asking me — he’s commanding me and leaves no room for argument. I look between Arlo and Aria, silently begging for help. Arlo just smirks, shrugs, and walks away, while Aria is pretending to text someone. And I know that she’s pretending because she was bitching and moaning during the car ride that her phone had died.
Hudson stalks off, expecting that I’d follow.
Silently, I walk behind him, keeping some distance between us. The silence stretches between us, and the walk to his study seems eternal. I keep stealing glances at him, but he doesn’t turn around to acknowledge it, even though I know he can feel me staring at his back.
He enters his study, leaving the door wide open for me, and takes a seat behind his desk. I step inside, close the door, and awkwardly stand there for a few moments. It’s been a while since I came in here, because this room isn’t just for anyone to come in.
Only Noelle has access to it. Once, Aria entered it just to satisfy her curiosity. She was banned from entering it ever again, and I did press for information, only for her to tell me that there weren’t any hidden weapons or useful information in the study. So, I’m confused why no one’s allowed in and by the fact that I’m here currently.
Hudson pulls open one of his drawers and whisks out a bottle of old whiskey and a glass. He pours the whiskey into the glass, then lights a cigarette, then leans back and simply stares at me for a moment.
“Sit,’’ he orders, and I obey like a mindless doll.
The leather armchair is cold as I sit, shivers spreading through my body. I don’t know if it’s the sudden cold I’m feeling or the fact that I’m scared of the direction this conversation will go. Hudson wouldn’t hurt me; I don’t doubt that for a second. But James? He’s dead if I so much as say something Hudson doesn’t like.
“You know, Rosalie,’’ Hudson starts speaking, taking a drag of the cigarette. He exhales the nicotine, a gray cloud forming in front of his face before it spreads out until it disappears entirely. “When you first came into the picture, and Aria brought you home… Noelle was the first person to suggest adopting you. Right off the bat, with no additional information about you. She just saw you and thought you’d complete our family, while gaining the one you never had.’’
Oh, God. I’m fucked.
Whenever Hudson starts reminiscing about the old times — stories I’ve been unfortunate to hear many times — it means that he is beyond angry. Yet, by looking at him, I can barely tell. His shoulders are tense, but the way he is casually sipping on his whiskey and smoking isn’t a clear tell of his anger. He’s a master of controlling his emotions, and I’ve seen it a lot of times. It’s admirable, really.
“But at the time, we couldn’t adopt you, not without risking you getting hurt.’’
My mind drifts back to those times. I learned later on that at the time, they were at war with some other family, and having them legally adopt me was out of the question. It would put me under the other family’s radar, and their names would be in the systems.
“So, Noelle made a deal with your foster parents and a few people at the agency. You’d officially still be fostered by the family, and Noelle would send them money each month from her bank account, and you’d be staying with us. Unofficially, you’re our child, Rosalie. We love you. We care about you, and we’ve done everything we possibly could to ensure you felt the love and the care and to have everything you might need and more. So, tell me, why was risking your life by going to a deadly carnival worth it?”
I take a deep breath, hands trembling on my lap. I hang my head down in pure shame, and it starts overwhelming me, because Hudson is right. When I had no one, I had them. When I felt unloved, they proved their love, and they taught me to know that I am worthy. It wasn’t until now that it started hitting me how terribly wrong this entire thing could’ve gone.
“I’m sorry,’’ I lift my head and look at Hudson. “I’m sorry for acting stupidly, and I’m sorry for worrying you.’’
He sighs, then takes another sip of the whiskey. “This isn’t about us worrying. Yes, we did worry, but you could’ve died. We could’ve lost you. Why, in God’s name, did you go there?”
“To find information you weren’t willing to find.’’
“And did you?”
