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A hollowness from within starts to burn; the sound of her voice is so familiar. It has to be my imagination, right? It’s not like I could remember a voice from thirteen years ago. There’s something about it though; I just can’t seem to place it. Lifting my head up off of the table, I try to gain some clarity while I start coming out of the fog I’ve drifted into when I passed out.
“Damn it, how could I let myself fall asleep?” I mutter to myself.
Typically I can’t sleep and if I do, I damn sure don’t sleep that hard. I could never afford to —it was basically a risk I wasn’t willing to take. This shit isreallystarting to wear on me.
I realize I probably look like a hot mess from my impromptu nap and I’m still holding my knife, so I tuck that back into my boot and try to finger comb some of my long dark hair out of my face. My clothes are a lost cause and it’s not like I could ever afford makeup so I wipe the sleep from my eyes and hope it’s good enough. I hear footsteps as they approach the door, and anxiety fills my chest as the door opens—
What. The.Fuck?
“Oh. My. God. I know you. I.. I- I mean it’syou.” I pause, closing my eyes and taking a deep breath to collect myself. Forcing a calm bravado, I open my hardened eyes and continue.
“You’reher.The woman holding me in the only picture I have from my childhood.”
The woman gasps like she’s been slapped and stares back at me with watery, cerulean eyes that match my own.
“Ma told me you were myaunt— and that you died when I was a little girl. I- I don’t understand...” The anger and frustration at my confusion must be shining through my gaze because time seems to slow.
Everyone attempts to take extra care with their movements and words. The beautiful woman standing behind my social worker slowly moves toward me. She lifts her hand as though she wants to reach out and touch me but drops it quickly— like she’s afraid I’m an illusion that’ll disappear if she touches me. Tears are now trickling down her face as she openly studies me. She makes no effort to hide any of her emotional turmoil. This must be just as hard for her, I realize.
My brain is working overtime to connect all of the dots, but the harder I try, the more muddled my mind feels. This woman looks more like me than even the picture shows, she looks as though she could be my twin instead of my own mother. The difference is in the air surrounding her. She radiates maturity and beauty that I’ll never have. I’m hardened, outwardly defensive and dirty and she’s… not. She’s soft and elegant and it’s only when you look into her eyes that you sense her power, her strength.
She’s a sight to behold, especially with her every feeling bleeding out in front of me. There’s a passion to her vulnerability — it’s not an act, it’s her truth. She’s loved me for a lifetime. Every moment since we’ve separated must’ve been torture for her— maybe even worse than it was for me. She knew what was missing from her life. It makes me think that she’s stronger than one would expect from just looking at her. Her allure is her mask.
“Okay, how about we just take things slow? Reacquaint ourselves, shall we?” Mrs. Ward says. Her own attempt to calm the overwhelming energy in the room. She appears to be trying to make this easier, so I figure I should probably take a deep breath and let go of some of the anger and resentment of my emotional state. My natural defense mechanism is to shut down any chance of showing my inner state of mind. So, I get mean. And now is most definitely not the time. I need to process everything first.
“Ahem.” I look up to the woman from the photo. Her only signs of aging come from the despair and worry now pouring from her eyes. Yet, she’s still stunning as she unleashes the most radiant smile I’ve ever seen. She’s staring at me with so much hope— like she needs to see into my soul to see that I’m actually alright. Her tears somehow add to her beauty as the weight of this moment falls on us all.
She lets out a deep, shaky breath before she finds her voice.
“Hello, my sweet girl. I’ve searched for you for so long. I’ve prayed, wished, hoped, and given every ounce of my faith to trusting you were still out there somewhere — waiting for me to find you. I knew down in the deepest part of my soul that you were still out there somewhere, shining your light on the world and I’d have died before I gave up on finding you. My name is Cecelia Salvatore and I am your mother. You used to call me mommy, but you can call me whatever you want, I’ll take what I can get. I know I have so much explaining to do. I just hope you give me the chance. Everything will all make sense… Eventually.” She stares intently into my eyes as she talks.
I know she can sense my hesitation. Even with a blank mask on my face, she still seems in tune with me and the uproar of outrage this whole circumstance is causing within me.
I nod my head in acceptance but can’t find the words I need to express how I actually feel. The how. The why. The reasoning for it all. For the life I’ve lived. Everything feels so heavy and I’m so fucking angry. Why me? What in the hell did I ever do to deserve any of this?
* * *
Leaving Chicago feels weird.I thought I’d be ecstatic the day I left. In a way, it feels cleansing, like I can move beyond all of the toxicity that was my life and start fresh with something new. But it’s also the only life I know and it will always own a piece of my soul. It’ll be something I carry with me everywhere I go. Whether I want to or not.
I choose the window seat so I can see the world a little bit more than I ever have before. The flight is realistically the perfect time to talk to Cecelia. Five uninterrupted hours and she bought us first class seats, so it’s not like we don’t have plenty of privacy. Instead, I plug into my MP3 player and try to lose myself in myHighly Suspectplaylist. I’m determined to avoid this conversation for a while longer, although I don’t really know why. I’ve been aching for information and my head hurts from trying to put the missing pieces in place. I just have this feeling that I’m going to find out more than I bargained for and I need to chill for a bit before I add more to the puzzle.
I can feel her stare from time to time. Her concern is apparent but I’m just not ready to feel all of those feelings just yet. I do much better with them locked up in a safe place until I know I can control them. Crying is for the weak and I. Am. Not. Weak. And if I’m throwing it out there straight, I’m pissed. I’m fucking angry and I need to work through a lot of this shit before I talk to anyone. Otherwise, I’m going to unleash on the first person who tries to pry into my head. And I really don’t want it to be the one person in this world who might actually care about me.
Thank god she hasn’t asked much of me so far. I know we’ll have to talk it out sooner or later; I’m just hoping for way, way later. This whole mess feels a little off. Like, there’s way too many holes in the small amount of information I’ve been given. I know that I need the whole story before I can start to make sense of it, but that doesn’t stop my brain from entertaining a multitude of scenarios.
Why would a drug-addled whore steal a baby if she didn’t want to take care of it? And how? Ma wasn’t exactly winning the Olympics with her physical prowess. She was lazy, slow, and uncoordinated, mostly due to drug use, but still. It seems to be a physical impossibility that she’d have the capability to pull off an abduction. Especially from someone so wealthy.
Cecelia obviously isn’t hurting for cash based off these fancy ass flight seats. But also, she low-key looks like she could kick some ass and decided to play dress up instead. I know a fighter when I see one and this newfound mom of mine—yeah, she’s definitely hiding some shit. It doesn’t add up. As for ma, or Lauren, I guess, why feed me the story about my “aunt”. Wouldn’t it have been easier to trash my baby stuff than make up some fake shit?
What happens next in this new life I’m heading towards? Can I go to regular school or is it going to be one of those prestigious campuses that cost an arm and a leg to get into? It’s hard enough being a transfer student, but if I have to go from having bars on our windows and regular cop patrols through the school to some fancy pants bullshit, I might actually run. It sucks not knowing anything but I can’t bring myself to ask yet either. I just needsomethingto be on my terms. My anxiety has my guard all the way up and it’s exhausting. Ugh, my head hurts. Here’s to hoping I can take another nap. My brain needs to shut down for a while so I can turn this around. Things are about to change in a big way and California ain’t ready for me, that’s for damn sure.
Chapter Five
Quinn
Iwake with a start when Cecelia gently lays her hand on my shoulder, “We’re home sweet girl.” She says, softly.
I look up and realize Mrs. Ward used the term house loosely when telling me I’d be moving in with my real mom. This is a full blown estate. How could a child get kidnapped from this place? There’s literally an armed guard at a gated entry. Is my mom famous or something? What am I missing? We drive through the gate and down a long driveway. As we get closer, I notice the house is unlike anything I’ve ever seen outside of maybe a picture in a magazine.
