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Drew follows.
I ignore him and storm through the red door. I stop in shock.
Everything is different.
Everything.
Gone is the white carpeting my mother always told us to keep clean. Gone is the chandelier that glittered like diamonds at night when it was turned on. Gone are the heavy green curtains that framed each window.
Gone.
Gone.
Gone.
The floor is blonde hardwood now, the walls textured with subtle earth colors, all beige and cinnamon and lemongrass tones. I see a zen rock garden and a small water fountain burbling in the corner, water pouring over carefully stacked and balanced stones.
The parlor room looks like a spa. It looks, disturbingly, like one of the spas at the island, and I recoil in horror.
“Lindsay!” booms my dad’s voice as he opens the door to his office wing. “Welcome home. I see Drew is doing his job well. You’re home safe and sound.”
Sound, maybe. Not so sure about safe.
And job? What does that mean? I open my mouth to ask, but am met with a face full of cashmere suit jacket.
Daddy offers me a big hug, like he’s the loving father and I’m his prodigal daughter. Much of this is for show. For Drew’s sake, and to impress any of the servants who see my homecoming. If we weren’t being watched, he’d give me a half-hearted “hello” or say virtually nothing. I know that the drama from four years ago ripped him apart, but mostly because having your daughter gang-raped on live, streaming television can cause a few bumps for your publicity team when you’re a United States Senator.
Funny how that works.
Like Drew, though, I can’t forgive Daddy for what he did. Drew did nothing to stop it, but Daddy’s words after the event were like pouring salt on the wound.
I can’t believe you let that happen isn’t exactly the sentence most people want to hear while they’re soaking in the bathtub after having three men drug you and hold you down and enter nearly every orifice on your body.
They couldn’t fit their cocks in my ears. Otherwise, my body was one big game of insert the peg into the hole.
I can’t believe you let that happen.
Daddy shakes Drew’s hand and I start to gag. The retching feeling is stuck in my throat. I don’t make a sound. They ignore me, heads huddled together, eyes on the ground as they murmur and whisper, conferring and transferring information.
I am just a fleshbag. A possession. A piece on a chess board that Daddy moves where he wishes for optimal game play.
And Daddy always plays to win.
I walk into the kitchen and reach for a glass in the cupboard, but instead find breakfast cereal bowls.
Everything has changed.
Four cabinets later and I locate the glasses, new green-tinted tumblers. All the appliances are new, sleek stainless steel nestled in between countertops made of polished pearl marble. Not granite. Marble. I’ll bet Daddy had it flown in from Italy or Slovenia or some obscure country where he helped open a new trade agreement.
Being head of the Foreign Relations committee meant every personal decision carried a political attachment to it.
Even choosing not to prosecute the men who raped his daughter.
The past and the present are blending together in whip-quick succession as I stand in front of the water dispenser, impatiently waiting for my glass to fill. My head is pounding and blood rushes through me like waterfalls are in my ears. My hair is plastered to the back of my neck and every word I can’t hear between Daddy and Drew makes me want to scream.
I know they are talking about me. Figuring out the best way to handle me. Well, Drew’s done his job. Goods have been delivered. Lindsay is under control.
And having me contained is Daddy’s biggest wish. You can’t do damage control on someone who isn’t corralled.
