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“It was difficult to navigate around someone so obsessed with family bonds yet so bipolar. One moment, we’d be laughing and having a great time, and the next, I’d be crying on the floor, bruised, with no clue about what I did wrong. Communication was his biggest weakness.”
The hand over my mouth is no longer holding back laughter but disrespectful comments about his father. Neglectful was one thing, but putting your hands on your own child? I’d never forgive him if he were my father.
“But, it’s easy for me not to dwell on the past when I can afford not to,” he smiles, easing the pain in my chest a little. “He pushed me every day since the day I was born and told me I was going to be the one in the family to get rich. I didn’t know how, and every day until I was years into my success, I felt like a failure for not being a one-year-old prodigy. Not anymore. I heal every one of those seconds of my life knowing my father watches me from his retirement home on his outdated box TV,” he concludes by taking another sip of tea, “I know it sounds harsh—”
“No!” I exclaim. “He got what he deserved. I’m happy one of us got a happy ending.” I relax on the couch. He nods. His mouth hangs open a second before he speaks again.
“What about your parents? Do you know where they are now?”
“My parents?” I rub my hands over my thighs, trying to soothe myself. The pain isn’t new, but it stings as bad as the first time, “They’re doing fine last I checked…they have another kid, a girl. Carina,” I begin. Evan fills in the gap when I don’t say anything for a moment too long.
“You have a little sister?” he voices with a bit of optimism. I wish I felt as happy about it as he sounds.
“Yeah,” I reply, and it becomes apparent to him that the news isn’t as pleasant as he thought. “Five years ago, I saw her on their socials. She was four…she’d be seven now. All those pictures, captions, andeffort. She looked so happy; they looked so happy. I haven’t checked since. I couldn’t bring myself to look at her again,” my fingers play with the string of my sweatpants, “I mean…I was happy for her, too."
No. Don’t cry.
It was already too late. I sob, and my eyes are watering too fast to blink back. The emotions are welling too fast to bottle them back up and toss them into the void of the black sea that ripples under my heavy heart.
“Hey, hey,” Evan places a hand on my back very slowly, and when I don’t flinch, he rubs soothing circles into my back, “Take your time,” he shushes. And time, I take. Minutes fly past while I recover, but I won’t let Evan be the only one to share. If he allows himself to be vulnerable around me, then I will return the favor.
I wipe my reddened face, “I don’t want to be jealous,” I sniff, “but,fuck, what was I? An experiment? ‘We fucked up the first time; let’s try again?’ No matter what I do…it hurts. I tried so hard to get them to realize they weren’t real parents to me, so what the fuck happened between now and then that—that...I’m…mad at my parents, I’m mad at this little girl who’s supposed to be my baby sister, and she hasn’t done anything,” I press my hands to my face. There has to be something wrong with me. I can feel Evan’s eyes resting on me, refusing to look away. Why do I always have to draw unwanted attention to myself?
“It’s okay to feel like that, Isabella,” he assures. It isn’t what I was expecting. I glance at him but feel the need to burrow my face into my hands again.
“They lost an opportunity to form a bond with their first daughter, and that’s on them. They have to live with that, and they’re trying to mend their mistakes with a new one. If that makes you upset, then you have that right. It’s not harming that little girl.” He retracts his arm once my tears stop pouring. I want the calming pressure again but won’t dare ask him for it.
“I get that…but it’s the thought that counts.Iknow that’s whatI’mthinking, and I don’t want to.”
My voice is roughened from the strain of crying, and I feel like a used tissue paper. Damp, weak, limp.
“...The pain will go away. It’s going to take time, but I know you can do it,” his voice is low and comforting. I want nothing more than to hug him and tuck myself under his weight. I grasp onto a couch pillow instead.
I nod, “You’re right…”
“Thank you,” he says.
I looked at him, confused, “What for?”
“Listening,” he replies.
“Thank you, too,” I answer back.
“And don’t worry; you’ll get your happy ending too.”
“You think so?” I ask, blowing air through my lips. It's hard to imagine anything but the cruel life I am forced to live now. Running, and running, and running.
“I’ll make sure of it. We let people get away with too many crimes, and this one is too despicable for me to hope for the best and take chances on.” That darker look had cast itself over his features again.
“You have a strong sense of justice,” I say, pulling at stray strands of hair. “I haven’t met someone actually willing to help me…it always comes across like I’m making them do a chore.”
“Desensitized cops,” he scoffs. “It’s too bad for them because I don’t care if they think it’s interesting and real or not. They will be ending this,” he states. That time, I almost believed it. Almost. I’d be able to stay and live in one place for the rest of my life, and I don’t care where that place is, but given Evan is here, I grew fond of Manhattan.
The negative thoughts never stray too far behind.
“What if we can’t find him? What if I have to move again—”
“If we can’t find him, moving will not be the saving grace you think it’ll be. You already have people looking for him here. You have my security and police, and you have me,” he says.
