Secrets and Skin

Chapter 28

She shakes her head and looks at me like she's appalled, even though I've said the same thing on other occasions. "Well, I hope you don't have to die alone knowing the child you love can't even be bothered to say goodbye."

"Bothered!? You never called me back!" There is so much I want to say, so much I want to express, but the pain and anger are blinding.

"Because I knew what you'd say anyway and I was too tired to fight with you. Too upset to see you turn your back on your family again."

"I didn't turn my back on my family!" I'm shouting now and I don't care. I'm not saying my choices were flawless, but I refuse to be vilified over a half-truth. "I told you that I wanted to you to be a part of my life. I told you I'd do whatever I could for you, even if that meant getting you help..."

"You were suicidal and I'm the one that needed help?" Her voice is quiet, her tone deadly. I feel stunned, as if she has physically struck me.

"I wasn't suicidal..."

"You were cutting yourself with knives," she counters.

"To cope. Not to kill myself. And that's not the point. I got help." I can feel this argument slipping through my fingers, going in directions that I can't control. I can see a few dark figures slipping into the room now, staying as far away from us as possible.

She lowers her voice, aware that others are listening in: "That's good, but you're still in no position to tell me how to live my life."

"I never tried to, but Dad was abusive. It wasn't healthy for either of us to be in that situation. I just wanted to let you know that you had options. You chose to stay, fine, but I couldn't make the same choice!" I feel calmer now. She's retreating because she doesn't want anyone else to hear – she's always been adamant about keeping everyone out of her personal life. For a moment it feels like maybe I'm getting the conversation back on track.

"You were the one who was abusive."

The ground drops out from beneath me.

She's my mom, of course she knows my weaknesses. It's something my dad always said whenever I would accuse him of hurting us. He would find some twisted way to bring it back on me. Like if I had done something differently, then he wouldn't have hurt us. At the time it made sense and it took a lot of therapy to see that I wasn't the one responsible for him lashing out. But sometimes... I still feel guilty... like maybe if I could have just been better, maybe he wouldn't have hurt my mom so much.

"You can't blame me for the way he treated you, Mom. Even if I upset him. Even if I didn't do what he wanted. He was still the one that decided to take it out on you," I'm practically pleading at this point, but I already know that I've lost. She doesn't want to listen. She never did.

"Get out," she whispers.

I don't argue, just turn and walk to the door. A number of people have milled in during our conversation and the once bright room is now filled with darkness. I try to put on an air of confidence in front of these people, most I've known since I was a child. I try not to wonder about what they think of me: the estranged daughter starting a fight at her father's funeral. I want to scream the truth at all of them, but that would only be fitting myself into the mould they've cast for me.

I step out onto the sidewalk and choose a direction at random, trusting that Hunter is still somewhere behind me. Eventually he catches up and I glimpse his hands in his stupid pockets. It only adds to my fury and frustration.

"I'm sorry," he says, hurrying to keep up, "I guess I should have tried to intervene back there."

Cold air stings my lungs as I inhale deeply and begin to slow my pace. I give him a quick glance. "No. I could have stopped at any point. I am not going to blame you for my actions, Hunter. That's something she would do."

"Where are we going?" he turns his head back and forth, trying to catch his bearings in an unfamiliar city.

"I don't know," I force myself to stop walking and take in my surroundings. I grew up here in this small city and, though it's changed a little over the past few years, I still know it by heart. At first I consider taking the next bus home, but then I'm overcome with an intense sense of nostalgia. Until now, this city has always reminded of the years spent under my father's rule. Now that he's gone, a strange sort of longing has stolen into my heart.

"Do you mind if we stay here a while?" I ask, wondering if there are any pressing matters I'm keeping him from. "I... sort of miss this place."

He smiles and any misgivings I had about inconveniencing him are washed away. How are his expressions always so easy and sincere? "Not at all. Where to?"

**Author's Note**

A huge thank you to everyone reading Secrets and Skin so far! It means the world to me. Please feel free to leave some feedback in the comments below if you feel so inclined. I'd love to hear from you!

Also, I'm planning an extra release on my WordPress for next week and I'm hosting a poll to determine what it should be. One of the options is an extra chapter of Secrets (which would mean three chapters instead of two next week). If you'd like to vote, check out my blog at https://amynotdorft.wordpress.com and read the post: "Hallowe'en Contest and What Next?"