Ethan’s hand covers mine, his voice gentle. “Let me.”
I don’t argue, stepping back to give him room. He unlocks the door and opens it for me with ease.
“Thanks.” I feel like I can breathe again once inside the safety of my home. “You can just put the bag on the kitchen table. Straight through, on the right.”
I switch on the lights and close the door behind him, leaning against it for a moment.
As he heads towards the kitchen, I know it would be easier to just have him leave now, but he looks tired as well, and I don’t know how safe it is for him to be driving when he’sexhausted. Against my better judgment, I ask, “Do you want some coffee?”
He turns to look at me from the doorway of the kitchen, something unreadable in his expression.
“Sure.”
As a matter of habit, I set down my purse and check the answering machine on the side table.
“You have one new message.”
I’m reaching for my wallet inside the bag when my mother’s voice fills the room. That familiar voice, filled with distinctive loathing, makes me freeze completely.
“You went to Hawaii? You little bitch! I told you I needed more money, and you said you had none. But you have enough money to go on a trip? What the hell do you need in Hawaii? You’re such an ungrateful slut of a daughter!” Her voice is slurred from alcohol, no doubt. “What is it? You’ve whored yourself out to all the men in New York and went looking for?—”
My blood pounding between my ears, I scramble forward to unplug the machine with shaking hands.
But it’s too late.
Ethan has already heard it.
He’s standing in the kitchen doorway, his expression twisted with something I can’t identify.
Why? Why did he have to be here to hear that? Why did I play the message when I know she’s the only one who calls?
“I—” I can’t breathe properly. “Please, leave.”
I can’t draw in air. I can feel the panic attack drawing closer like a familiar enemy. Of all the people, it had to be him. God, he must be enjoying this—seeing me broken down, humiliated.
“Natalie—” He approaches me, and I turn my head away, not wanting to see the pity in his eyes, or the disgust—or worse, the satisfaction.
“Please,leave.”
My lungs are trying to draw in oxygen, but they’re failing me. Familiar despair is consuming me like a tide.
“Nat—”
“Go!” I scream, my voice broken and raw, hating myself in this moment, hating him, my mother, everyone.
I hear the door open a second later. Then he’s gone.
Trembling like a leaf, I stumble toward the door, locking and then sinking to the ground against it. Wrapping my arms around my legs, I hold myself the same way I used to do as a child—the only comfort I’ve ever known.
“It’s okay,” I breathe, staring blankly at the hardwood floor. “I’m not a whore. It’s okay. I’m okay. I don’t care what he thinks, what anyone thinks.”
The shocked look on Ethan’s features swims into my memory, and I bury my face in my arms, trying not to cry.
Why couldn’t I have a family like his? Why couldn’t my mother worry about me the way his does?
The tears that spill from my eyes are those of an anguished child and a broken adult.
Why can’t I have somebody love me for once?
