Rage to Live Read online

  Taken aback by my anger, Jo’s smile disappeared. “I’m just saying you don’t have to be afraid and hide your true self. Things will be different here. You’ll see.”

  I bent over my knees and locked my hands behind my head. I wanted to scream. I had hidden the truth about myself for so long I didn’t know who I was. The problem wasn’t my sexual orientation. I’d found that side of me as soon as I hit puberty. But I’d lost myself the moment I started crushing on Larissa, letting her shape me into the type of person she wanted down to my hair and clothes. She would have fit in with Jo’s easy-breezy summer style, making me dress the same. But her influence didn’t matter any longer. I would find the true self I had lost so long ago, even if it meant wearing boring shirts and jeans in order to discover those missing parts of myself.

  Jo set her hand on my back. I flinched but didn’t jerk away. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  I ran my palms down my face, easing back the tension in my jaw. I also took a few deep breaths to calm the storm inside me. “You didn’t upset me. Sometimes things set me off. It’s a repercussion of what happened last year. But you don’t have to worry about finding me in some corner rocking and babbling. I’m past that.” I took her hand. “I’m sick of being a victim.”

  She turned over my hand and traced the lines on my palm with her finger. “You staying here and going back to school proves you’re no one’s victim.”

  “I have nightmares, really bad ones. Just a warning,” I said, now not minding her soft touch.

  She nodded and twisted my hand from left to right. “I’ve been learning to read palms. I can read yours if you want.”

  I pulled my hand away and stuck it under my leg. She laughed.

  “I can’t figure out your secrets from reading your palm.” She checked the alarm clock near her bed. “We should go downstairs. Dinner’s probably ready.”

  I didn’t have much of an appetite, but I would eat. The least I could do was sit there with the family and act normal. “Sounds good.”

  Jo rose and stretched, giving me a strange look.

  “What?”

  She took one of her curls and brushed it over her mouth. “There’s one thing about you I don’t have to read your palm to figure out.”

  “What’s that?” I crossed my arms over my chest.

  “Your hair color is all wrong. You should go back to your original color.” She flicked away her curl.

  I rolled my eyes. I wasn’t going through another makeover because someone else wanted to improve me. Never again.

  If she expected a response from me, she never got one. Aunt Eloise called us down for dinner, saving me from commenting.

  THE RAIN stopped during dinner, so most of the family trooped outside as they finished eating while I stayed at the table. I had a view of the backyard through the bay windows, where Dad, Uncle Abe, and Beau played football. Jo talked on her cell while standing on the deck.

  The one edible thing left on the table was the coconut cake Aunt Eloise had baked. She didn’t know I hated coconut. I stared at the thick white frosting on top and the cream poking out. The smell was cloying. I covered my nose to stop from gagging.

  Aunt Eloise came back out of the kitchen with a carafe of coffee and some mugs. She sat down across from me and poured coffee, then cut a slice of cake for herself.

  “Piece too big?” She pointed to my piece and then jabbed her fork into her own.

  I pushed aside the plate. “I’m not a fan of coconut.”

  “You’re not?”

  I shrugged. “I’m a freak.”

  She lowered her fork to her plate. “You’re not a freak. We all have different tastes. I hate cherries, so there.”

  I sniffed instead of laughing, and my lips jerked into a smile, although a bogus one.

  She took my plate away and set it near her. While she drank her coffee, I looked back outside at the two men and small boy playing catch with the football. They all smiled and laughed, including Jo.

  The clatter of a utensil hitting a plate made me face Aunt Eloise again. I couldn’t tell if she’d made the noise on purpose, but it worked getting my attention.

  Although a few years older than Dad, she didn’t look stressed out or tired, even though she was a mother of four working full-time as a high school guidance counselor. She met my gaze without blinking. Dad barely looked me in the eyes when he talked to me.

  “Want something else for dessert?” She sipped her coffee.

  “I’m okay. Dinner was enough.” I ate enough to please Dad and Aunt Eloise. She’d made lasagna, one of my favorite meals. Maybe he’d told her that, knowing I’d eat it.

  “If you want anything special, just tell me, and I’ll stock it. My kitchen is yours now.” Her face lit up as she smiled.

  Her smile was contagious. I responded as any normal person would. “Whose idea was it for me to stay here? Yours or my dad’s?”

  She lowered her cup, the lines in her forehead more noticeable as her eyes widened. “When your dad told me about his work transfer to the Toronto office, I recommended you stay here, at least for your final year of high school. Abe and the kids agreed. Your dad accepted my offer because he wanted you to be comfortable and with family.”

  It stung, the mention of Dad skipping out on me. I know she hadn’t meant it that way, but I understood why he was relieved handing me off to relatives. As bad as it had been for me this past year, I had also made his life hell. He had lost so much too.

  “Maybe with this new job he won’t work seventy-hour weeks.” I glanced back out the window at Dad, who seemed to be having a blast with my uncle and Beau.

  “Your father has always been a workaholic.” Aunt Eloise twisted the hoop earring in her ear, and her shoulders lifted—a sign, at least to me, that she wanted to say or ask something that would ruin this easy mood.

  “At least he had work to lose himself in while I ended up a basket case,” I said, adding to the sudden tension in the room.

  The woman across from me didn’t even bat an eyelash or ask for clarification. She finished her coffee, tapping the side of the mug. A trait she shared with her brother.

  “Your dad isn’t rejecting you. He thinks you’ll recover faster if you’re around people you love, who support you,” she said.

  I had people back at home who loved me, mainly my best friend Matilda. She acted okay with me moving three hours away, but I could tell she was upset. I missed her more than I’d thought I would. It had taken me too long to realize how important she was to me. I’d always taken for granted she would be there. She accepted me for who I was, no question. Why hadn’t I fallen in love with her instead of Larissa?

  The air in the room became stifling, the pressure in my head always lurking below the surface threatening to make me scream or lose myself in a bottle of diazepam. I dug my fingers into my leg to stop panicking.

  Aunt Eloise must have known something was off, but she didn’t ask if I was okay or act nervous like Dad sometimes did when I was close to having an episode.

  Instead she slowly rose from the table. “It’s starting to get dark out. I better call everyone in.” She came over to my side, setting her hand gently on my shoulder. My breath stuck in my throat. She gave me a squeeze and released me.

  “It will be all right. Why don’t you finish unpacking before your dad leaves?”

  She left the room without any type of confirmation from me. I shoved back my chair and jumped up, rushing to the front of the house, unable to catch my breath.

  Outside on the front porch I could relax. Not caring if the porch swing was damp with rain, I sat down and hunched over my knees, staring at the floor until the black spots in front of my eyes vanished.

  Chapter TWO

  I STAYED out on the porch longer than necessary. The sky was clear enough that some stars twinkled above. I lifted my hand, pretending to grab one between my fingers. I also shot off text messages to Matilda, even though she wouldn’t answer until later. Every third
Saturday night she volunteered at the Asian American Youth Center. Her mother was Vietnamese, and she wanted Matilda to understand her heritage better—even though she was also Swedish, Italian, and Portuguese because of her father. My Matilda was a strange combination of cultures, but fascinating.

  The screen door opened, and Dad came out with his car keys in his hand.

  “May I join you?” he asked, as though I was a stranger and not his daughter.

  “Sure.” I shifted to give him room, finishing off my text. He sat down, but closer to the far side.

  “Texting Matilda?” he asked.

  “Yup.” She was the only one I would text.

  “You can always text me if you want instead of calling.”

  “You don’t want me to call you?” I cleared my throat. What he suggested shouldn’t have stung.

  “You’re not big for talking on the phone. Texting may be easier for you.”

  Most communication between us was awkward, even now. Frustrated, I ended up fisting my phone, much like he did with his keys.

  I nodded enough to satisfy him. He settled back and crossed his ankles, his pants riding up to show the argyle socks he always wore. Even now, he dressed for the office, complete with his button-down Oxford shirt and dress shoes.

  “When do you fly out?” I turned the conversation to something simple without any hidden meanings.

  “Thursday. I have the three days to get settled in and start work on Monday. The condo I’m renting is already furnished, so unpacking will be easy,” he said without any real excitement.

  “You’ll have time to check out the city.” I would leave it open for him to tell me his plans.

  “Perhaps. I should find some restaurants nearby.”

  He wasn’t the best cook. I’d always done the food shopping and cooked dinner when he was home early enough to eat. Now that he wouldn’t have me to fall back on, he would have to fend for himself.

  “You could always cook, maybe take lessons, because you won’t be working so much, right?” I didn’t know much about his new job except it would be less hours, or so he’d told me. I had a sinking feeling it wasn’t the case.

  “I like to keep busy, so maybe I’ll take your advice.” He braced his elbows on his knees. “How about I make you a deal? If I end up taking some type of adult class, you have to agree to see a therapist by October.”

  Not this again. I smoothed my palms on my knees instead of digging my fingers into them. “I’m not agreeing to that. You know what happened to the one I—”

  “You only had three sessions and didn’t give it a chance.” He folded his hands and lifted them up to his mouth. “Maybe if you’d stuck with Doctor—”

  “His concentration on me being gay and how it was one of the reasons for my rape is the reason I stopped going.” I hugged my waist, rubbing my hip near the spot Byron had punched to stop me from fighting him. The pain kept flaring even though it was a phantom one.

  Dad noticed my agitation because I always ended up rubbing one of the places Byron had struck during my assault. It had become a bad habit I couldn’t break. Therapy a few weeks after my rape hadn’t helped because the therapist had been a bigot. Or maybe I just saw him that way as an excuse to get out of going. Even if I’d stuck with it, revealing my secrets and fears, it wouldn’t have done anything. I still would have chopped off my hair and dyed it, broken the bathroom mirror, and slashed my wrist after I signed the settlement papers that had freed Byron from any responsibility in ruining my life.

  Dad sat up straight, his breath deepening as he exhaled through his nose. “I wish you would talk to a professional, because I….” He ran his fingers through his hair. “Want you to get better.”

  I would get better, but it would take time. Unfortunately he wanted a quick fix. How I wished he could snap his fingers and make everything go back to the way it had once been between us. There would never be enough snapping in the world to make that happen.

  “Staying with Aunt Eloise and Uncle Abe is a great start,” I said, hoping to ease his frustration.

  He settled back with his arm hanging over the edge of the swing, just close enough to touch my shoulder. I could shift toward him for it to happen. I didn’t, but I lowered my arms and relaxed my hands on my lap.

  “Can you at least do me one favor?” he asked, not waiting for me to answer. “Your aunt is a great sounding board. She has experience in these matters. You can be open and honest with her, and she won’t judge.”

  “Experience in what? Rape? She’s only a guidance counselor,” I muttered almost under my breath but loud enough for him to hear.

  He didn’t get huffy or fidget as he’d been doing since he sat down. “Eloise is a volunteer advocate for a rape crisis group. Every Sunday night she goes to a support group. You should ask her about it.”

  “You want me to go to a support group? Is it like AA where you get up in front of people and talk about your feelings?” It would be a cold day in hell before I told strangers in graphic detail what had been done to me.

  “Just ask her about it. What’s the harm if you go to one meeting?”

  I couldn’t be around others like me: victims who relived their assaults, making me in turn relive mine. I didn’t have to talk about it, or the aftermath and my scars, to help me get over it. I wanted to stop constantly checking over my shoulder and flinching around men. I wanted to sleep at night and not wake up in a cold sweat or screaming from a nightmare.

  “Maybe I will, but I’m not promising anything,” I said, hoping he would drop the conversation. “I’m eighteen now, so I don’t have to listen you,” I added for good measure.

  He actually chuckled. “I don’t care if you’re technically legal. You could be thirty-eight and I would still tell you what to do.” He rubbed his palms on his thighs. “Would it be too much to ask for a hug before I go?”

  We always hugged goodbye. We hadn’t in over a year because of my touch phobia. But I would grin and bear it since we wouldn’t see each other again until November.

  I nodded, and he carefully drew his arms around me. My heartbeat ramped up and drummed in my chest.

  “I love you, Charlotte Gabriella.” He dropped a soft kiss on my cheek.

  I inhaled his scent, a combination of cedar and English Leather cologne, the only one he’d worn since I’d been born, mainly in memory of Mom. Since the moment she’d given it to him as a gift for their first Valentine’s Day together as a couple, he hadn’t worn anything else.

  He broke off before I squirmed. Then he stood and juggled his keys. “I’ll call or text you when I get to Toronto.”

  “Sure.” I stood also, slipping my hands in my jean pockets.

  He sent me a small smile and walked down the steps. He lifted his hand in goodbye again. I blinked away the sting in my eyes. Dad blinked also, but it didn’t stop his eyes from becoming red and too bright from a damp shine. He got in the car, wiping under his eyes while he started the car.

  I didn’t watch him leave. I wouldn’t witness my father breaking down in tears.

  Chapter THREE

  I CHOKED on my breath as something heavy dropped on my chest. I swallowed a scream when I found a purring tan cat lying on top of me.

  Meow, the bulging cat said in hello and licked its paw.

  Blinking away the sleep in my eyes, I focused on the ceiling. Suddenly the door opened, and I jerked hard, pushing the cat off me.

  “Rise and shine, bitches!”

  Tris stood in the doorway of the bedroom, looking way too energetic. She had the dressed-down look going on with her hair clipped back and the combination of a paint-splattered black T-shirt and faded, ripped jeans.

  “What time is it?” Rubbing my eyes, I sat up.

  She sat down on the end of my bed and grabbed a pillow, then threw it at Jo, who groaned and rolled over. Her middle finger shot up in the air. Tris laughed and picked up the cat.

  “Looks like you met Ziggy. She’s used to sleeping with me,” she announ
ced as she rubbed in between her pet’s ears.

  “I woke up as she jumped on my chest.” I sat up now, more aware of my surroundings, and caught the time on the alarm clock next to Jo. It was a little after ten. I was usually up and out of bed hours before then, but Jo had ended up talking past midnight about all the things we would do together and what it would be like for me in Albee. I’d fallen asleep to her chatter. For once I hadn’t woken up panicked in the middle of the night. “Ziggy is a great alarm. I wish I could keep her in my room at the sorority house, but pets aren’t allowed.” Tris pouted and nuzzled the Abyssinian.

  “The reason you’re here a few times a week is to see your cat?” I tugged on the cat’s tail.

  “I actually like seeing my family, especially my lazy-ass sister who needs to get out of bed,” she said in a loud voice.

  “Gimme ten more minutes,” Jo said from under the cocoon of her comforter.

  “You two have plans for today?” I threw aside my covers.

  “Jo volunteered to help me and the other AGP sisters clean up the house. We still need to paint, do yard work, and scrub the floors and walls.” Tris pushed the cat off her. “Why not join us? You can check out Greek Row.”

  “Greek Row?” Jo seemed to know everything about Maison. It had a big Greek life, with over a quarter of the students in a sorority or fraternity.

  “Greek Row is the street where most of the sorority and fraternity houses are. My sorority, Alpha Gamma Pi, is right smack in the middle, and Paul’s house, Lambda Rho, is on the corner,” Tris explained with a lot more patience than I’d given her credit for. From the tone of her voice, she was a proud member of her sorority. I didn’t have much of an opinion about the Greek system at colleges or universities, but the way Jo and Aunt Eloise raved about them made me curious.