Page 85 of Stupid Dirty

Every time he came home, she would be more depressed, and he would tell her to pull herself together. Then her behavior became erratic. He’s never given me the details, but I can fill in the blanks.

Still, he went back on tour.

After one road trip, he walked into the house and thought both of us were dead. It turned out we were both close, but still hanging on. He got us to the hospital, and then used his money and influence to make the whole thing go down on paper as a horrible accident.

That was what got him to stop touring and stay with us. Six years later, Mom finished what she started and took her own life, but Dad’s presence is probably the only reason she didn’t take me with her.

He’s been making me pay for it ever since.

I should be more grateful. He saved my life once, and then he gave up his career to protect me. But after twenty years of constant reminders, he’s made it feel less like gratitude and more like a punishment. He can’t punish a dead woman, but I’m right in front of him.

My life has always been a bargaining chip to him. I’m used to it. It’s not like he’s the one who tried to kill me.

In my cursed family, love never entered into the equation.

All of that lives in this house. I was beginning to hope I could make new memories here with Cade, but that was a pipe dream. My family’s shitty luck is too strong. All I can do is run as far away from him as possible before it smears over his life as well.

“Silas!”

Dad’s trying to get my attention, obviously, which makes sense because I didn’t even realize he was standing next to me.

“Yeah?”

His eyes are bright and clear. This is the first time I’ve seen him sober in a while, and the first time he’s seemed happyin even longer than that. It should make me feel better about choosing to go with him, but I’m still too numb to feel anything.

Digging up so many old memories has woken up the child that cowers inside me; the one who is still frightened and alone and desperate for affection. That’s dangerous. Filling myself with numbness is the only way to escape.

He keeps talking, oblivious to my growing internal void. “How much do you think your creepy boss would give you for your truck? There’s no point in paying for twice the amount of gas all the way to Canada, and we need the cash. My buddy is confident he can fast track your Canadian motocross license application, but it still might be a minute before we’ve got winnings coming in.”

“Um…”

I think about the intense feeling of pride and warmth andhomethat I felt the day Cade and I picked out that truck. I think about taking Cassidy home in it, and how it put things in perspective and showed me how I felt about Cade. I remember taking him and the girls into the city after their dad tore through town. Cade was bruised and hungover and slept the whole way there, while the girls slowly relaxed the farther we got from the trailer, until it all felt like it was just a bad dream.

I love that truck.

Maybe it is best if we sell it. My head is spinning, and the cleaner the break, the easier it’ll be to keep myself from crawling back to Cade and begging him to forgive me.

I love him. That’s why I’m leaving, and that’s what I need to keep reminding myself. I’m doing this for him.

“I’ll ask, Dad,” I answer, as he’s still staring at me.

“Good. We’ve got the money from last weekend-” he continues to mutter to himself, working out how much cash he can squeeze out of everything I’ve earned in the past few months.

I had a decent amount saved for a house deposit. The Silas that saved that money was embarrassingly naïve, looking back now.

Pulling out my phone, I tell myself it doesn’t sting that I don’t have any missed calls or texts from Cade. This is exactly what I wanted.

A clean break.

Chapter Thirty-Five

Idon’t know how many hours it’s been since someone came out here to talk to me, but I thought they’d finally taken the hint. There’s nothing to talk about. I want to be left alone. The sound of the screen door closing tells me that my brief window of solitude is drawing shut again.

Another empty soda can topples to the ground with a satisfyingping.I keep doing what I’ve been doing since yesterday: letting the sensations ground me, focusing on the tiny details of the present to keep a leash on my brain and not let myself think about how my life just fell apart.

The grass itches at my elbows, my skin prickling with irritation because I’ve been lying here too long. There’s a glare reflecting off my remaining line of cans, letting me know that the sun is well and truly up for the day. The breeze carries the smell of the forest over to me, reminding me that I’m at home, and the weapon in my hand—pathetic as it is—is the one thing I can control.

Ping.Another can goes down.

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