Exit Wounds

10 | girl on a mission

          Michelle herself is quick to follow suit, a girl on a mission, ready to protect poor little Adam from whatever—or whoever—is making him wail like a banshee. I know damn well why this upsets me as much as it does; after all, I desperately need her to open her eyes and realize how dangerous this man truly is, in spite of his boy next door, golden boy good looks. His looks make him even more dangerous, if anything. I need her to stop treating me like the villain, to stop turning my feelings into something that can be simplified into something as stupid as petty jealousy. I need us to be sisters, to fight over dumb stuff, not argue about the validity of my trauma.

          "I don't know why I even bother to feel surprised when you do these things," Mother says, exasperated. Michelle is by Adam's side before I can blink, with Sadie shooting daggers at him while pulling me back by the bony wrist, and it's the soft pressure of her fingers against my skin that reminds me to keep breathing. "Every time I expect you to behave like a normal human being, you always find new ways of surprising me."

          "Well, I am an actress," I point out. "It's my job to reinvent myself."

          This infuriates her even further, as evidenced by both the red flush on her cheeks, the one semblance of emotion that passes through the botox, and by the way Sadie steps in front of me. I don't need her protection during broad daylight, but it's not even fair or justified to wish she had been there when it mattered. After trauma dumping all over her in the living room last night, I feel strangely closer to her nõw, but I still have some reservations about whether it was wise to open up to her like that.

          "You could've ruined Adam's car," my mother continues, speaking through gritted teeth. She's never been one to yell; after all, appearances matter, especially in Los Angeles, and we can't have the nosy neighbors eavesdropping on conversations, especially when the exiled disgrace of an eldest daughter is involved. "First, you slap him out of the blue. Now this. And for what, Rebecca? For what? What has that boy ever done to you?"

          For a brief moment, Adam's eyes meet mine when he dares to look away from Michelle, his hand pressed threateningly against her hip bone to keep her anchored next to him, and the rush of adrenaline that goes through my body shocks me like an electrical current.

          Knowing I possess information he doesn't want to be out there and will go through great lengths to ensure it stays that way only makes me feel powerful for a brief moment. Even if I opened my mouth and aired our dirty laundry, we'd just fall back into the people we were at nineteen, and his lawyers would, once again, make it all go away in the blink of an eye, no notch in his immaculate record. Once the panic subsides and he remembers this, there's defiance in the way he looks at me, daring me to open my mouth like I'm not standing on the losing side.

          Do it. I dare you.

          Who would believe you, anyway?

          The validation is something I don't know how to stop chasing. No one can convince me that my version of events is incorrect or invalid, not anymore, so I'm certain of what happened, how it made me feel, and how I feel about it now, but I've always wanted other people to believe me. My therapist never doubted me and, to my sheer shock, Sadie didn't question any of my decisions or blame me; in fact, she even took some of the guilt off my shoulders and swung it around hers, like it's her cross to bear.

          Two people in the whole world believe me, out of the four who know exactly what happened. Even if Adam has gone around and ran his mouth to explain why I was suddenly gone and spreading rumors about him, it's always easier to believe the golden boy over the girl who has been nothing but trouble.