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The girl in the mirror, she was beginning to recognize herself not twenty-four hours ago, but she’s fading to black now.
Suffocating.
Sinking.
This is why I kept my relationships at face value.
I hate the way my body feels, as if it’s tied to a tower, suspended so high that the air’s too dense to breathe, the clouds too countless to find my way through, the harsh wind a cool slap in the face.
There is no escape, this house is my tower, and the hand that sweeps across my skin is my own, a desperate attempt to hold on to the girl within, whoever the hell she is.
The perfect daughter?
The playful paramour?
The desolate doll.
I need to get out of here.
I need to see Ransom.
As if my mother has not only the power to dictate my life but the ability to read my thoughts, her curt tone breaks through, pulling me from my mind and placing herself inside it.
I turn toward the door, knowing she’ll be headed for it soon enough, so while I have a second, I call Cali to see if she heard anything about Jules. She shares she’s awake and in recovery, but nothing else has changed. We still can’t see or talk to her.
“I’m staying home, I don’t want to deal with the questions from people who pretend to care.” She yawns into the line.
I nod, my eyes trailing over the massive grandfather clock on the wall opposite of the foreign bed I’m sitting in. “Yeah, I’m not going either.”
“It will mean a lot to her to know that you’re checking on her,” she shares.
I grip my phone tighter, pulling at the small thread hanging from the hem of my leggings. “Have I been that shitty lately?”
“Not shitty, but you did drop us pretty fast. At least we know why now, though.”
When I don’t say anything, she quietly adds, “You know we don’t care, right? About you and, you know, those guys.”
“They have names.”
She chuckles sleepily. “Yeah, they do, but after the way your back seat bestie looked at me yesterday, I think I’ll take a page from Harry Potter and fear speaking his name aloud.”
I scoff, a small smile tugging at my lips, but my muscles ache beneath my skin. My mother’s voice grows closer, so I tug myself up.
“Want to come over, watch some Kardashians or something?” Cali offers.
I know I’m messed up in the head when that sounds amazing.
“I can’t.” I put the phone on speaker and set it on top of the dresser, tightening my ponytail and running my fingers under my eyes, patting at the puffiness my sleepless night gifted me. “I have to go, and I might not be around to answer calls today, but I’ll check my messages when I can.”
“Well, unless Jules can sweet talk her way out of the hospital’s regulation of the mandatory psycho watch, I say you’ll be missing nothing.”
“True. Okay, talk to you later.” I hang up, stuff my phone in my closest bag and open the bedroom door to find my mom headed right for me, a glam team silently following.
“What, you have a key to his house?”
“Your house?” she corrects but waves me off and steps inside the giant space. “No, I don’t have a key, but you have a maid, and maid’s open doors when someone knocks.” She spins on her heels. “I called you three times.”
“I know. I’m the one who hit ignore.”
She looks over my shoulder. “Come in, set up. We’ll be right back.”
She steps out and with a roll of my eyes, I follow her into the kitchen where an espresso machine is being set up in the corner.
A hint of satisfaction twitches at my lips, but it’s an extremely low win at this point.
“I thought you were strong, Jameson? Tough.”
“I am.”
“No, you’re not. You’re standing here acting like a child and pitying yourself. You’re not a prisoner here, Jameson. It’s simply a new place to call home. Nothing changes in your contract.” She shakes her head and tries a different approach. “You are the one who wanted this.” She slips closer, reminding me of the words I once spoke to her, but standing here, I can’t remember if they were ever even mine, or if they were planted like a seed, and called upon at the precise moment she planned for, the skill she’s perfected that’s led her to courtroom victories, time and time again.
She’s a cold woman, and she never should have been blessed with children, let alone daughters—a fact she’d agree upon.
I shake my head. “My dad would be so disappointed in you.”
“Yes, well.” She nods. “The weak always are.”
Her blatant disregard for her deceased husband is sickening and steals the air from my lungs, but she either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as she goes to turn away.
“Are you not going to tell me Happy Birthday?”
