A Bird in Flight | ✔︎

Chapter twenty-one: Bad choices

Ensely

"JESUS, COULD YOU GUYS have kept it down?" Maddox whines with a cheeky grin as he throws our suitcases and bags into the boot. "Some of us are trying to sleep."

I laugh and lift my middle finger up to him. "Do you ever shut up, Maddox?"

"Nope." He fishes his car keys out from his pocket and slides into the front seat, Sam already in shotgun. I turn my head, searching for Callan and find him standing a few feet away, his eyes glued to his phone.

Despite some light has returned to his eyes after our incredible experience last night, the darkness still pulses from beneath the surface of his eyes.

He looks upset.

I watch over carefully, not wanting to startle him. "Hey. You okay?"

"My dad fucking lied to me!" he blurts out with so much contempt it's a wonder his never pounded his dads skull in.

I frown, gently resting my hand on his forearm to try and calm him down. "What?"

"He told me James and Mom were going on holidays and they asked for him to look after me or some shit. Turns out the bastard is just fucking bankrupt after some loss at gambling. Lost his house, his money, everything and of course my mom willingly lets her in." His cheeks are flushed and his eyes are wild.

I chew my lip. "Just think about it. Soon you'll be eighteen and you can get the hell away from him."

"I want him dead, Ensley," he chokes out. "I want to be the one to kill him. I hate him so fucking much."

I don't have a response to that and apparently I don't need one because he pulls me into a tight embrace, his whole body shaking.

"It'll be okay," I tell him, knowing those words might just come back to bite me in the ass.

* * * *

Callan

A month has passed since our week-long trip at the hut and I don't understand how I lived without Ensley there to built me up when I'm down. But then again, before Ensley, I wasn't really living.

I enter the house, biting my lip between my teeth and freeze at the doorstep at the sound of my mother's terrified screams. "Please! No! Peter, stop it! Stop it!" Her wailing and begging grows progressively louder as each second passes.

I charge into the kitchen to find my mother pressed up against the cupboards, her wrists pinned above her head by one of my dad's firm hands.

Her lip is split and bleeding, her cheek doubled its size and I can see bruises creeping above the collar of her dress. Each bruise marking each of my dad's fingers.

Her eyes widen as they meet mine but thankfully my dad doesn't notice and continues to chastise and smack her around the face.

"You're my wife!" he roars, gripping her hair in his hand as he slams her head back against the cupboards. "How dare you kiss him in front of me like a slut!"
"Peter, we're divorced!" my mom shrills, panic blazing her eyes a darker blue. "Stop it! Stop hurting me!"