Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80197 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 401(@200wpm)___ 321(@250wpm)___ 267(@300wpm)
"I'll see you later." It's one of those flippant things people say, but I mean it. It would be cool if we could hook up with Celine. Maybe get a takeaway and hang out at Travis's. Maybe do some other stuff, too.
"Yeah. Call me when you and Celine are done if you want to meet up."
It's like he read my mind.
"Okay. We will."
As I walk away with Eddie's phone still buzzing and Celine waiting for me, I feel more settled than I have in years.
The police took the phone. They ask me how I got it, and I reply, 'no comment.' The officer presses his lips together but bags the device up anyway. When I give him the password, he cocks an eyebrow but still doesn't ask. I guess he's happy that he has the chance to easily clear a case from his workload.
At the hospital, Celine holds my hand as we make our way to the ward. Mom has been moved now that she's conscious. When I'm asked if Celine is family, I tell them she's my fiancé, so she can come inside with me. The blush that spreads up her cheeks at the suggestion makes me want to kiss her hard.
Mom blinks up at me, surprised to see us. It's been a while since I visited her at home. The risk of running into my dad is too great, so I've stayed away for months.
"Elias." She stretches her hand out, and I take it. It's weird that I don't really feel anything when I touch her. As a kid, I was desperate for her love and protection. When Dad would beat me, I'd look at her and plead with my eyes, but she'd never stop him. She'd look away or go into another room. I know it's because she feared he'd turn his fists on her. He did it often enough, but I was her kid, and she should have done whatever it took to defend me. Her weakness isn't forgivable, even if it is understandable.
"How are you feeling, Mom?"
"Like I got run over." She laughs lightly and then winces.
"I went to the police," I tell her. "I told them it was Dad."
"Why did you do that?" Her horror makes my skin crawl. Celine, who's still holding my other hand, gives it a squeeze.
"Because he needs to be stopped. He's not going to change. Maybe next time he'll kill you."
"No," she says, but it sounds weak.
I'm not going to argue with her about this. I decided when I went to the station that things would be different. She has to take a stand, or I'll cut them both off entirely. There's no middle ground anymore.
"Either you tell the police that he assaulted you, or I'm not gonna see you anymore, Mom. You have to decide now. I can't watch this happen to you over and over anymore. It's gone on for too long."
Her face twists like she's in pain.
"He showed up at my game the other day and started throwing his weight around. I don't want to see him anymore. I'm done. And you should be too."
"But Elias…"
I hold my hand up, and she shrinks against the pillow, worried I’ll hurt her like he does. That stings worse than anything. Her hair is matted, and her face is a patchwork of green, blue, and purple. She looks old before her time and so damned tired.
"There are no buts anymore, Mom. This is it."
Her lips thin as she presses them tightly together, and I know I was right. She's not going to say anything. Nothing's going to change. She can't live without him, and that's the disturbing truth. In my heart, I knew. It's why I went to the police first, so that she'd feel some extra pressure. I hoped it would be enough, but it's not.
"I'm happy you're awake. You're obviously recovering, and that's a good thing. But I'm not going to come and see you again. Not until he's out of your life for good."
I turn to Celine, and her pretty, green eyes are so soft when they focus on me; it's like she's stroking my face tenderly just by looking.
"Let's go," I say, and we do.
When we get to the car, Celine wraps her arms around me and holds me tightly. I encircle her with my arms, and we embrace for the longest time. "You're doing the right thing," she murmurs against my chest.
"I know."
"It's hard, and you have to stay strong. She'll come around."
"If he doesn't end her first."
She squeezes me tighter and then tips her face to mine. I don't even think about what it means to kiss her. I don't ask if it's okay. We're still walking this tightrope where neither of us has admitted to feelings or been honest about wanting more. I want her so badly, my palms itch with it. It's the same way I felt when I was a kid, hoping Santa would bring me something good. A yearning hopefulness that I keep praying won't be dashed.