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Chapter 15
I expect my parents to be waiting with another lecture, another reprimand when I get home in the afternoon, but neither of them are home when I arrive. They both called my phone numerous times last night, until I'd powered it off again, so I know I haven't even begun to hear their feelings about it.
I go into my room and lay on my bed, smiling when I think of the night and morning I spent with Elijah. It made me regret going the last few days without him, and letting what anyone else thinks of us get into my head. I'll never do either again. I love him. I'm not going anywhere, and I know exactly how I feel and why I'm with Elijah. And what's more, he loves me. Hearing those words leave his lips for the first time will forever be a memory I cherish.
Elijah had to go to work, so I decided I'd come home while he was gone. Basically to shower, change, and check my exam grades before I went back to his house tonight. Because my spring break will not be spent here, in silence, with questioning looks being cast my way. I just can't do it. Am I sure it'll end me right back in family therapy? Of course. But I'd rather sit through an hour of that than be here all day without school giving me a reason to leave.
I begin putting together a bag to take over to Elijah's, when I hear the first door open and shut. Praying no one noticed my car in the driveway, I hope to hear the footsteps walk past my closed door. But no such luck. I sigh when I see the doorknob begin to turn. My mother's stern face appears as the door inches open. She crosses her arms and looks from me to the bag, then sets her eyes on me again before speaking.
"I thought maybe I had gotten through to you," she says.
"About?"
"Everything. That boy. The way you are expected to act in this house, like not disappearing for a night. That your father and I are not at all pleased with your behavior lately."
"And what has my behavior been like? I've been happy. I've been smiling. I am not wallowing in grief and sadness. Or maybe that's what really bothers you. That I'm not so beside myself that I let you take control anymore."
She straightens at that. "Anything I have ever done has been what is best for you. I wish you would understand I only want you to do well, to succeed in life. But the way you're acting, this gallivanting all over town with this boy, because yes, I am hearing about him from more than the counselor, it makes all of us look foolish. Like you are not dealing with Callie's...passing."
Anger rushes through me then.
"Not dealing with it?" I hiss. "As in, I am not allowed to appear happy because then it looks like I don't care that my sister killed herself."
She flinches at my last words and a part of me feels guilty for how much I revel in it. Because even though my parents know Callie took her own life, they still cannot truly accept the fact. I wonder if, deep down, they are much like Regina, truly believing it was some accident. That Callie didn't mean to do it. I definitely wouldn't put it past them. It would fit their version of how this family was. It would excuse any guilt in the matter.
She clears her throat. "It makes you look unstable. You're out, seemingly having the time of your life, when your sister passed merely months ago. Don't you care how people see you, that they're watching you? Do you want to become some stigma like Callie?"
I stand then. "My sister wasn't a stigma. She was sick. She didn't know what else to do, or where else to turn. Because the people who should've helped her, didn't. Because the people who should've listened blocked out her cries. Because you and our so-called father could not take the time away from projecting the perfect image to this town to actually look at your daughter and see she was dying right before your eyes."
"How dare you?" she spits. "How dare you presume to know what we saw, what we heard."
"I have to assume you didn't notice all these things about her. I have to. Because the alternative is that you did know what was really going on with Callie and chose to ignore it anyway. That you saw how much pain she was in and looked the other way. So which one is it?"
"I don't want another word out of you," my father shouts, making me look past my mother to see him come roaring down the hallway. I didn't even know he was here. "Every single time we are discussing you, you turn the focus to Callie. What we did and didn't do for her. And I'm sick and tired of it, using your sister like some diversion. It's deplorable. She is gone. And we are going to make sure the same thing doesn't happen to you."
Why does that sound more like a threat than a concerned parent? My mother looks down like she knows exactly what he means, and I narrow my eyes at them. What is going on?
"Now you will put everything from that bag right back where you got it from, and you will sit in this room and reflect on the way that you have acted, or so help me Jolie, I will take back every single thing we have ever given you from your TV to your car. Don't test me on this!"
I scoff. "I'm not some child you can put on time-out."
He steps closer. "You most certainly act like one, so I see no reason not to treat you like one. Because children run away from their problems. Children speak to their parents without respect. Children feel the need to lash out when being reprimanded. It all ends now. There will be no further conversation about things. You will finish out the school year, acting in a way that we deem acceptable, and then we are moving. All of us." He makes sure to point out.
The room falls silent then, my father's chest heaving with his anger. My mother steps forward, putting her hand on my father's shoulder.
"Can't you see we're doing this out of love, Jolie? We only want you to deal with your emotions in a proper way. We only want what is best for you. And moving to another town, getting a fresh start, is a way for all of us to heal."
"I'm not moving," I bite out.
"Then you will be cut off," my father states. "We will not pay for school, your car, wherever you live. You will do it all completely alone."
"And that has always been your problem," I say to both of them. "Thinking your control over me and Callie was what mattered most. We couldn't move away for college, couldn't even live on campus a few minutes away. Even though we're adults, we had to be home at a certain time, act a certain way outside, lest someone think it reflects on you two. You can take it all, your money, the car, whatever. I'm not going. I'm. Not. Going."
"We'll see."
My father leaves my bedroom then. My mother stands there for a while, probably trying to figure out how to salvage this conversation. She can't. I brush past her and go into the bathroom. All I want to do is take a shower, finish packing, and get the hell out of here.
When I get back to my room, my bag is unpacked and I blow out a steady stream of breath to keep myself from screaming. Do they really think that will stop me? Their threats, unpacking my bag? How little they know me. How little they've always known me.
