Page 260 of Ominous: Part 1
We wrestle. I wrap my arms around him, dragging him down, down,down.My leg sweeps behind his ankle, and he hits the floor of my bedroom with a thud.
My ears are ringing as my fingers find his throat, and he’s grabbing at my own, thumbs going over the hollow, and I’m laughing even as I can barely breathe.
He flips us over, and I’m not sure if I let him, if some strange part of me submits to him because no matter what, heismy dad, or if he’s just stronger than me.
I doubt it, but either way, I don’t mind when my head cracks against the floor.
I don’t mind when he straddles me, pinning my thighs with his knees, and he grabs my wrists and yanks them over my head and I grin up at his angry, red face and the way he hangs his head a moment after, and his shoulders shake.
And he’s crying.
He’s crying.
I feel the warmth of a tear on my abs, and I hate him for that.
More than anything else, more than the pounding in my temple, the bruise sure to stay on my face, I hate him for his weakness.
But I don’t have to stay underneath it for long.
He says, “I do love you,” in a choked, strangled way, then he releases me, gets up, and walks out, not even bothering to slam the door after me.
When I’m up off the floor, the feel of the bruise forming on the side of my face pulsing alongside my heartbeat, I throw myself down on my bed, lying on my back, still smiling, my nose running from the fan all over again.
It feels good, the inconvenience of it.
Eden has texted me.
Three times.
Her: Two more secrets before you can ask more questions you may not like the answers to.
Her: I’ve thought about following you to college, but I know I’ll never get into wherever rich boys go.
The second secret is a photo.
When I see it, I forget the fight with Dad, already a lingering memory as is. I forget Mom’s letter. Her photos. All of her mistakes.
My stomach twists into pleasurable knots, the kind of pain I crave.
A straight razorblade, lying on top of Eden’s wrist, her bracelets pushed down to her forearm. The silver of the blade sits over the white letters of a boy’s name who never deserved to know hers.
I can’t breathe as I text her back, phone held over my face.
Me: No.
I hope she waited.
Me: You’re going to college with me. Caven U. Apply.
Me: But the second secret. No.
Her response comes thirty seconds later.Her: Why?
It should be obvious, baby girl.
Me: I want to do it.
She’s typing as my heart pounds hard in my chest, and I wonder if this is what hers feels like, all of the time. Anticipation makes my stomach flutter, and I’m breathless, waiting.
