I arch a brow at Hazel. She smirks at me, piling her fork full of potatoes. “Yeah, Kaia. You should at least try, even if we all know you’ll fail. You can’t help the fact that you suck.”
“Don’t says suck at the table,” my mother corrects Hazel stiffly. “Kaia hardly ever comes home. Why don’t we all change the subject to something more upbeat?”
My father, ever the drama queen, stands up to make his point. “I’ll talk about whatever I damn well please, Serena. I put food on the table and clothes on the backs of everyone present.”
My mom gives him a soft smile. “Of course you do, honey. Thank you for all that you do for us.”
Hazel and I mumble thank you as one.
My father sits down. “You’re welcome. Just the other day, I was telling the guys in my foursome at the golf course about how much I do for my family. I said that you had all found me and thanked me within the last few days. Doug called bullshit, and I had to set him straight.”
He shovels food in his mouth, talking anyway. “I said Doug, just because no one is thankful for what you provide doesn’t mean that the same can be said about yours truly. Maybe my family is just better at showing gratitude than yours is.”
I school my expression into one of interest. But underneath, my guts churn. This is exactly why I don’t come home if I can help it. It always plays out the same way.
My father makes crude remarks. My sister eggs him on. And my mother supports it in the most non-confrontational way she can.
I do the best I can for the rest of the visit. That means I nod when I’m supposed to agree and only fill in details when asked. I revert to the person I was years ago, back when I still lived here full time.
I try to blend in with the wallpaper and not draw attention to myself. My father and Hazel shoot spiteful comments at me. I try to dodge them and not let the barbs hurt me.
That’s the only way I know of to get by in this house.
At last, as the sun starts to set, I get ready to leave. My mom hugs me hard. Hazel makes some snide comment about how I’m putting on weight.
It just makes me really, really tired.
At last, I go over to hug my father. It’s important that he see me as a doting daughter; anything more than that is considered rebellious.
“Bye, Daddy,” I say, kissing him on the cheek.
He grabs me by the shoulders, staring down into my face. “You had better ace your audition with New York Ballet, Kaia. I haven’t supported you for this long just to have you falter when the goal is within reach.”
My eyes widen. I blink convulsively. “Yes, sir.”
“I mean it,” he says, giving me a sharp shake. “I won’t have you taking some position with some far away place. You have trained for too long and cost me too much money to just blow it. You had better be the best damn ballerina they have ever seen. Or else.”
The menace in his tone gets heavier the longer his sentence goes on. My eyes fill with tears, but I won’t let them fall.
“Yes, sir.”
He waves me off like I’ve displeased him. I grab my backpack and I’m out of the front door like a rocket. I’m almost out of the yard before I hear my mother’s voice.
“Kaia!”
I slow, then turn back. She stands in the doorway, wringing her hands. There seems to be something that she wants to say.
There always seems to be something left unsaid with her. Several seconds pass as she tries to make up her mind about what she wants to say.
“Mom, I have to catch my bus,” I say.
Her lips twist with a hint of bitterness. She looks down and shrugs. “Good luck on your audition, sweetheart.”
I suck in a deep breath, my eyes filling with tears again. “Thanks, Mom.”
She waves, looking so desolate and sad. I’ve long since learned that I can’t help her; she loves this life that has her ensnared, keeps her shackled to this godawful house.
Turning, I start walking toward the bus stop, my tears just now beginning to fall.
8
Calum
“Sir, please. Be still so I can work on this knot.” Hugo, my extremely patient physical therapist, pushes his hands flat against my bare back.
I open my eyes a slit. I can see myself reflected back in the mirrors that line that walls of my private gym. Lying on my stomach, I have a pained expression.
“Go on,” I grunt, closing my eyes once more.
Hugo presses his hands against my flesh, rubbing small circles with his fingers. He comes to the knot again and his massaging only intensifies.
It hurts like a bitch as he works his hands over the knot, trying to loosen it.
“I can tell you’re thinking about the knot,” Hugo chides. “Remember, you should think calming thoughts.”
I sigh and turn my head away. Hugo has been my physical therapist for almost six years, ever since I tore the anterior cruciate ligament in my right knee.
That’s an injury that no dancer ever comes back from; one that saw me, at age twenty two and half, hurt and unsure of my future. With the help of hindsight, I’m glad that I got injured. It spurred me on, made me figure out how I was going to feed myself and keep Lucas in ballet academy.
But at the time, I thought my life was over.
Hugo finally finishes torturing me, patting me on the shoulder. “Okay. You can get up.”
I turn myself over, grimacing and rotating my shoulder in its socket a few times. I glance up and see my reflection again.
Painted across the flesh and muscle of my chest, just to the left of my heart, are two tight white clusters. Once upon a time they were bullet marks, each entering my chest just shy of piercing my heart.
Now they are healed, the skin gone from pink and tinkered to white and shiny.
I hop up off the table and grab a black t-shirt, pulling it over my head. Hugo is already folding the table up and moving it back to its out of the way spot.
I bob my head. “See you on Tuesday, Hugo.”
Hugo smiles. “I look forward to it.”
He vanishes out the swinging doors to my gym. I roll my neck and rotate my shoulder again, still feeling stiff. Then I walk over to a rack of free weights, picking up a twenty pounder.
As I begin doing curls, the doors behind me swing open again. This time it’s not Hugo but my brother Lucas.
And he has a displeased look on his face.
“Where were you?” he asks, annoyed.
I roll my eyes and focus on the weight. “You’ll have to be more specific than that if you actually want an answer.
His fists tighten. “You know what I mean, Calum. You said that you would be at the Indica Tech board meeting this morning. I was counting on your vote.”
Setting the weight down, I turn my head toward him. “Just do whatever you want to do, Lucas. The world isn’t waiting around for you to get approval. The sooner you learn that, the better.”
A muscle flexes in his cheek. “If you were just going to say that, why didn’t you do it earlier? This project has been moving at a fucking snail’s pace for months.”
I suck in a breath. “You’re supposed to be my second in charge. That means that you can do anything you want with the company. I’m the only person with the power to veto you. What more could you possibly want?”