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I love the woman, she’s kind and thoughtful, but she’s fake when my father’s around and I hate that. She puts on a show for the world, masked with a different persona that suits her husband. I get it, because I wear a similar mask, but I still don't like it.
She shouldn’t have to pretend to be someone she’s not for someone else.
Maren follows her around, placing the forks where she’s told. Maren is the least likely of us to change herself for him, she also has an easier time fading into the background than the rest of us. Chaylene is always acting out, trying to get someone’s—anyone's attention. It makes it easier for Maren to slip by unnoticed. She wears a look of disinterest while she follows around my mother.
My mother is too focused on quizzing me to notice Maren’s attitude. “So,” she tries again, “Is it a girl?”
“Ma, stop.” I shush her. I hate her prying into my life. She wants me to find a girl to marry because she wants grandchildren. Declan’s a little too fucked up for that, a fact we all know but don’t say out loud. So my mother is depending on me to give her grandchildren. I don’t think I’ll ever be ready for kids though. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to bring a life into this world. They would have my father as an influence, and I don’t want that. I wouldn’t let him near any fucking child. Not after what he did to us growing up.
“Shame.” My mother mutters, assembling the last place setting.
“What’s for dinner, Ma?” Declan asks, entering the room behind us. He greets my mother first, placing a quick kiss on her cheek.
Even though our father doesn’t respect her, he did teach us to. One of the many lessons he beat into our heads.
“Corned beef, your father's favorite.” She smiles, placing a hand on each of Declan’s shoulders and assessing him in a motherly way. No matter how many years we grow, she also fawns over us, obsessing over us.
Being a mother is her number one priority in life. Not ever having anything outside of this house I guess I can understand why. We’re all she has and soon none of us will be living here.
I don’t know what she’ll do when it’s just my father and her here.
“Go get Chay,” my mother tells me, flicking a hand toward the stairs.
I take them two at a time, running up to the second floor where all our bedrooms sit as we left them. Even Niall’s bedroom is exactly the same even though he’ll never use it again. I knock on Chay’s door and then swing it open. “Chay,” I yell.
I’m startled when I see her and she jumps flinging the tube of makeup she’s holding.
“Shit!” she gasps, trying to grab the item from where it landed.
“What the fuck?” I ask, stalking into her room.
She’s trying to cover herself, hiding the offending area of skin from me. “It’s nothing.” She has bruises, covering her throat and trailing down her arms. She grabs a hoodie from her bed and pulls it over her quickly. The dark circles under her eyes tell me it’s not fine.
Someone fucking hurt her.
“What the fuck happened? Who did that to you?” I can’t stop the anger that’s rising from me, bubbling over. My voice is loud, I can tell from how wide Chay’s eyes are and she rushes over to shut the door.
“It’s nothing.” She whispers, wrapping her arms around herself protectively.
“It’s not nothing, Chay.” I inhale a deep breath, trying to keep my anger reeled in. “Someone hurt you.”
“He didn’t mean to.” Her eyes are becoming glassy as she holds herself and tries to avoid eye contact.
“Chay,” I say lower, cautiously reaching out to her. “What happened? Just tell me.” I pull her into my arms, trying to comfort her even though rage is boiling inside me. She’s lucky it was me Mom sent up and not Declan. Declan would have paraded her out through the house, in front of Dad until she shared who hurt her. The man, whoever he is, would be dead before dinner.
I try to handle things in a more subtle way.
“I met someone.” She whispered against my shoulder. “I thought… I don’t know I thought he was different, but I think I was wrong.” She hiccups a quiet sob. “He says he loves me.” She pulls back giving me a glimpse of her glassy eyes. “I just…”
“This isn’t love.” I tell her. “If he loves you, he wouldn’t hit you. Or choke you.” I add, eyeing the bruises on her neck.
She tugs her bottom lip between her teeth. “I just…” she trails.
She doesn’t need to say it, I know what she’s thinking. Our mother endures the abuse from our father. She takes it all and then cooks dinner afterward. She puts up with all his shit.
And she calls it love.
It’s no wonder that Chaylene would accept abuse as love, it’s all she’s been taught.
