Caleb's POV
After dropping off Lena, I unwillingly drive away from her house.
There's a part of me that wishes she'd invited me in. It's an unfamiliar part of me, a part that drove me to befriend her in the first place.
But she doesn't even know me. She doesn't know anything about my past, about my life before this new life. And maybe it's best if I keep it that way. If she knew, she could get hurt.
So why did I expect her to invite me inside?
She opened up to me about her past despite not knowing anything about me. She must trust me on some level, or want to trust me, even if she doesn't realise it herself.
I moved here for something new. A fresh start. And the minute I saw her, I knew that Lena is it.
Lena is my fresh start.
I get to my house about ten minutes later, pulling into the long, winding, gravel drive.
The house is wide, like it's welcoming me home with open arms, but it is also tall, three or four stories.
It's easily the biggest house in town, which is another reason for me to hate it. It's too big for two people. Too many places for the secrets it holds there to hide.
It is surrounded by trees, many of which have been trimmed to perfection, and shrubs line the drive.
There are rose plants underneath the windows of the rooms on the bottom floor, and the windows themselves are framed by dark shutters. The door is in the centre, with steps leading up to it, and smoke is spiralling out of the chimney.
Michael's in.
Great.
I round the drive where it loops around in front of the house, parking behind Michael's other car - a black Mercedes.
Stepping out slowly, I ease the door shut, and make my way up the steps, fiddling with the strap of my bag at the same time. I approach the door, and slip through, making as little sound as possible.
The foyer is dark and shadows loom in the furthest corners. A curving staircase curls up to the second floor, which only seems darker than the first floor.
As I advance carefully, my foot is greeted by the creak of a wooden floorboard.
Michael calls from in the living room, "Caleb? Are you home?"
I gulp. Voice faltering, I reply, "Uh-yeah, Dad."
"Come in here, would you?" He makes it sound like a question but both of us know it's not. It's an order.
I wander into the living room through the door to my right. An orange fire is burning in the fireplace, and there are seats surrounding it, some velvet and sleek, others tall and littered with cushions. The drapes are drawn, but a slit of light spills through, illuminating dust fragments in the air.
I grip the strap of my bag harder when I see Michael.
He turns around from his seat, placing down his book onto the chair beside him. His hair is the same dark, malicious grey, and his eyes are still sharp and blue. Like his irises have been iced over.
He grins a tight grin. "How was school?"
I reply in an forced-steady voice, "Good."
He begins to stand up, and I take a subtle step back. My hands start to shake so I shove them into my pant pockets to calm them.
He meets my on-edge gaze with his watchful one. "So, where did you go after school?" He checks his watch on his bony wrist. "You're sixteen minutes late."
"I-I had to take my friend home," I explain in a rushed tone, words tripping up on themselves. "I'm s-sorry, Mich-Dad."
Shit.
"You were about to call me Michael," he surmises, unimpressed.
"No, no, I-I didn't say that," I almost plead, eyebrows raising.
His expression turns angry. No, infuriated. "You know what I said I'd do if you called me Michael."
"Y-yes, I remember, but it was an accident, I swear," I exclaim, taking more steps back and putting my hands up in surrender.
He shakes his head disappointedly, beginning to slip off his belt and wrap it around his hands. "After everything I've done for you..."
"Please!" I release, a rock building in my throat.
"Arms out, Caleb," he instructs.
"Please..."
He takes an aggressive stance, teeth almost baring. Defeated, I lift up my arms, and he raises back his own arm, belt in hand.
He lashes it across my arms too many times to count, but the pain has no end. Michael continues to swing it against my arms, ignoring my agonising cries, all the while yelling, "I'm your dad now!"
He stops when I fall to the floor, the agony being too much to handle, and then storms out the house. I hear him drive away, tyres skidding across the gravel.
I lie there for a long while, staring at nothing. I knew that moving here wouldn't be any different than when we lived in California. People like Michael can't change.
As darkness descends upon me, I think of her. She's the only thing that makes the hurting subside.
I think of the girl with the pretty name.
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Okay, so I wanted to give you a glimpse of Caleb's POV. I think I'm going to dedicate a few chapters every now and then to Caleb, as his home life is important to the story.
Child abuse is a serious matter, if you know anybody, or are somebody, who is dealing with child abuse, you MUST tell somebody. Don't keep quiet.
Tell your friends about this book, and remember to vote and comment.
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