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He bolts up from the bed. “I’m going to throw up.” He stumbles to the bathroom and slams the door. The sound of his retching is followed by my grinning mother reaching over to stop the recording.
I can’t believe I just saw that. I can’t believe it happened.
I sit and stare at the screen long after the video’s over. I knew she was fucked up, but I could never, ever have imagined this. Obviously, or else I might’ve seen it before now. It’s so obvious. She and his dad started dating over the summer. I assumed the abuse started during swim training, but it started because she came into Hayes’s life.
All the times she’s tried to be the loving mother. I only thought it was a sick joke before this. Now, it’s sicker than anything I thought she was capable of. I used to think she was a neglectful mother. Self-centered, impatient, even violent.
I didn’t know she was evil, too.
What must that have been like for Hayes? She must’ve told him all kinds of sick things to get him not to tell his dad. That he’d be crushed, that he wouldn’t believe it, that their relationship would be ruined. Maybe she’d even try to blame Hayes for it if he came forward. I wouldn’t put anything past her now.
I have to make a decision. Somebody has to stop this.
Is it going to be me?
33
It’s obvious, right? Now that I’ve seen the proof, I have to do something about it. This is evil. It can’t keep going on.
So why am I still frozen at my desk?
Because this isn’t some true crime movie or TV show or anything like that. This is my life. Lucy’s life, too, and she means more to me than I do.
When our stepfather finds out about this, the marriage is over. The relationship is over. Nobody could see this and want to continue being with the person capable of it. According to the dates on some of these files, Hayes was seventeen when this started. He didn’t turn eighteen until August. She was preying on him when he was still underage.
My own mother. How could I come from somebody like her? I feel so dirty and sick. No wonder Hayes hated me for being naive. I would have hated me, too, knowing I came from the person who ruined his life and made him want to die.
But what happens to Lucy? What happens to me? We’ll be out on the street. I can’t support her. She’ll end up in foster care. I might lose her completely.
I grab the small pillow out from behind my back and throw it across the room, but that’s not good enough. I go to the bed and punch the pillows as hard as I can, teeth gritted, and every time I land a blow, I imagine my fist hitting Mom’s face. How could she do this to all of us? Hurting Hayes, abusing him. Neglecting me and Lucy. Hitting us.
And then she still walks around here like some kind of queen, like the perfect mother.
By the time I don’t have the strength to punch anymore, the sad truth is obvious. If I don’t come out and say something, I’m no better than she is.
So even though it might mean losing everything, I take the phone off my desk and text the only person I can think of going to. It should be his decision in the end. I can’t make it for him.
I know who did it, I text Hayes. I know everything now. What do you want me to do about it?
For once, he doesn’t leave me waiting. Immediately, the ellipsis appear under my message.
Wait there. Don’t do anything. I’m on my way.
Even now, relief washes over me. I don’t have to make the big decisions. I can leave it up to him. Still, I continue pacing my room, trying to come up with a plan for what to do when the inevitable happens, and we get kicked out. Maybe I could ask Salem if we could stay with her for a little while? Or one of the guys? They live in these massive houses with staff and everything. We wouldn’t have to take up much space. Lucy knows how to behave herself. I can’t believe I even have to think about this. Should I start packing?
Ten minutes seem to stretch on for hours, but finally I get another text. I’m not coming in the house. I’m parked at the foot of the driveway.
I slide on a pair of shoes and grab a sweater before running down the stairs and out the door. The sight of Hayes’s car is almost enough to make me cry. He’s safe. He didn’t do anything drastic.
He won’t look at me when I get in the car, staring at the wheel instead. “How do you know?” he asks as soon as I’m settled in.
