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“Well, you did it just fine.” She turned back to me, accusation and self-loathing in her look.
“I’m not her mother—”
“And you did more than I ever could.”
“That’s not fair. Beatrice, you were in a lot of pain—”
“And I wanted to take my own life. If you hadn’t been there, I would have done it. All I cared about was myself…not Claire.”
“You were distressed. Cut yourself some slack.”
“I appreciate what you’re trying to do. I really do.” She was wrapped in a blanket, looking even smaller in the bulky fabric. “But this is best for everyone. Benton had her most of the time anyway, and I only took her out of obligation. Benton is a better parent than I could ever be.”
“Not a contest.”
“I can’t stand him anyway.”
“I don’t think your feelings toward him should matter.”
She gave a loud sigh. “What do you want from me, Constance?” She stared at me, hopeless, like she had nothing to live for. “I’m not cut out for this. I never have been. I want to leave. You can try to talk me out of it or berate me for my selfishness all you want, but it’s not going to change anything. I’m fully aware of how shitty I am.” She sank back into the chair and pulled the blanket tighter around her, propping her feet on the edge of the table.
I let it go. “What will you do in London?”
“Live with my parents for a while. Maybe go back to university.”
“You won’t dance anymore?”
She shook her head. “No.”
“I’m sorry.”
“It would never bring me joy again, so I’m not sad about it…”
“Maybe you can get some help there. Find a therapist to talk to. I’m sure it would help.”
She gave a noncommittal shrug. “What are you going to do?”
“Stay here.”
Her gaze rose from the floor slowly, as if she were lifting something heavy with her stare. “How long?”
“I don’t know… For the foreseeable future. I offered to help out with Claire while he’s at work in exchange for a place to stay.”
“And he agreed to that?” she asked, slightly incredulous.
“He knows if I leave, Forneus will come after me. This is the only place where I’m safe.”
She turned away again, growing quiet.
“He said he would do anything to help me…after you told him everything I did for Claire.”
She gave a slow nod. “Then it’s a good thing I told him. Otherwise, you’d be on the street right now. Like I said before, she’s the only person he cares about. He’s not helping you because he cares about your well-being since you helped his daughter. He’s doing it because he feels obligated after you helped his daughter.”
“That’s fine. I don’t expect anything from him.”
She stared out the window across the street to another apartment, the lights in the bedroom visible through the curtain that was pulled over the window. “And he’s not a guy you want to get involved with either. He’s beautiful on the outside, but not so much on the inside. He’s good for a night. That’s it.”
“I…I wasn’t even considering that.”
“I wish I hadn’t considered it in the first place.”
I stared at the side of her face, her beautiful complexion, in the glow from the street. I was a person with no judgment, because you couldn’t walk a mile in someone else’s shoes, but her words broke me a little.
Broke me for Claire.
“Makes you wonder…”
“What?” I whispered.
She turned back to me, her eyes lifeless. “How different my life would be if I’d never met him.”
“If you’d never met him, you wouldn’t have escaped Hell.” I admit he was a bit rough around the edges, a bit coarse like sandpaper, but he had more love in his heart than most people. “Without Claire, he wouldn’t have come.”
“But I wanted to move back to London, and I had to stay here…for Claire. If I’d never had Claire like I wanted, none of this would have happened. I wouldn’t have these scars on my back for the rest of my life.”
It dawned on me, like the strike of a gong. “That’s why you can’t stand him…”
Her eyes were back on the window.
Her silence was the loudest confirmation I’d ever heard.
“This is Precious.” Claire held up the white pony with blond hair. “Because she’s precious, obviously.” She handed the toy horse to me.
I smiled as I ran my fingers through her hair. “Obviously.”
“This is Strawberry. I named her after my real horse,” She grabbed a chestnut brown horse with pink hair, but it looked stained, like she’d dyed the hair herself.
“Did she come with pink hair?”
“No. I told Dad she needed a makeover, so he helped me.”
I chuckled as I took the horse, because it was ridiculous to imagine a man like that helping her with these little ponies. “She looks very nice.”
She showed me the rest of her horses, putting them on the bed between us. Her walls were covered with posters of the animals, everything in pink and white, matching her personality perfectly.
