Exit Wounds

07 | dead girl walking

          If my relationship with Sadie ever reaches a boiling, breaking point and we decide it's best if both of us go our separate ways, it will be far easier for her to leave and be seen as the good guy than the opposite. I'm already plagued by a reputation of being difficult and unapproachable, as carefully fabricated by her, and word would quickly get out about how not even a tough-as-nails publicist wants to work with me. My ego would survive a brutal break-up and I'd lick my wounds in private with a large carton of ice cream, no problem, but my career would be over before it properly began.

         I've already had to dust off my past life. I don't think I have it in me to reinvent myself, not to mention I'm down to my middle and last name, and I'm not powerful enough to exist on a single name basis like Prince or Madonna. Nick's presence in my life isn't as steady as Sadie's—and I realize, with my stomach sinking hard thanks to the heavy rock weighing it down, that I have yet to talk to him after unceremoniously leaving him alone in my apartment—and I won't have anyone else in New York. The city is big and bright enough for Sadie and I to avoid running into each other and she's smart enough to know where I spend my free time, but those places are covered in memories of us. 

          I've already been Dead Girl Walking once. I don't want to put myself through that again.

          "Let's go," Sadie insists. Her face is flushed crimson from the strain and all the effort she's putting into not slamming me against a marble pillar, face first, but I can't bear to look at her when my father is in the room. Whereas my mother sucks out all the air in the room, he attracts the light, and I can't help but feel drawn to him, even when all my instincts urge me to stay away. "We're going home."

          "But there's still so much to do here," I insist, pouting and stomping my feet like the child that I am, throwing a tantrum in public and all. My mother uses this opportunity to flag security, while my father hesitates between getting involved and leaving, aware both choices can either ease the tension or turn her into a ticking time bomb. "I feel like I have another slap left in me." I look at Michelle, stepping aside. "Once more, with feeling?"

          "I think you should take your friend and go, Rebecca," my mother intervenes, pushing Sadie to the side. Sadie jumps back, scowling like she can't believe silly divorcée Mother Kane has just dared to lay a hand on her. "You've caused enough harm already. It's just like you, flying across the country to ruin the night for everybody—"

          "I did tell you to not push her," my father points out, voice booming around the room, "just like I told you this isn't a cocktail party or a high school reunion for you to relive your glory days. This is supposed to be a wake, for Christ's sake."

          My mother has always wanted to be Medusa, but I refuse to give her the satisfaction of letting her paralyze me just because I'm the one person in this city who has ever looked her in the eye and stood up to her. Even my father had to bend to her will, letting her keep the house and the Benz after the divorce, and part of me has resented him this whole time for being so meek. Tonight, however, he's proving he's grown somewhat of a spine, but I also have to remember his mother has just died.

          I stop to think about whether not caring about a death in the family makes me a bad person. I'd never been close to my grandmother and she was never that big of a fan of my existence and life choices either, so I suppose I'm only here thanks to family ties. After cutting those ties years ago, even with my father, I shouldn't have come back here. They don't want me here either way, so no matter what I do, no matter what I say, no matter how I act, this won't be a pleasant experience for anyone involved.

          "Don't go," my father asks. The pleading tone in his voice doesn't go by unnoticed and slices right through my chest, splattering blood all over the marble pieces in the room, but I can't let it win. I've let it win before, with disastrous consequences. "You were invited."