"I knew you were smarter than you let on." He laughs, taunting me.
I whip back around. "Liam, you're pathetic. Ithurtsme to let the houses go. They were my home, but they don't bring my parents or Natty back, and the money? Well, I'm not a slimeball piece of shit who gives a fuck about any of that. I want my family right now, not money. You can have it all. Take it all. It won't break me.Youwon't break me. Not anymore."
He laughs. It was not a chuckle but a full-on laugh. His eyes whip to mine, and there's nothing but evil behind them.
"I can't break you because you're already broken." His smile is sinister, and he picks the papers up to turn and walk away. Before he can leave the den doorway, he looks back over his shoulder. "Oh, and remember what I said about your little boyfriend. If I catch you two together, he's gone. You mayalready be broken, but I'll ensure it stays that way. Unlike the rest, you may still be alive, but it won't be a happy life. You'll feel every bit of pain. I'll make sure of it."
With that, he's gone.
"I fucking hate you, you goddamn asshole!" I scream at the top of my lungs, letting every ounce of pain ripple through me as the words seethe out. Before I knew it, Izzy and her entire family were at my side, trying to piece together what had just happened through my sobs. I don't tell them much; it isn't worth explaining.
It changes nothing.
PART TWO
NOW - 2023
Chapter eleven
Via
SIX YEARS LATER- 2023
"VIA!" Dr. Carr proclaims loudly.
I instantly emerge from the daze I was apparently just in, turning my attention away from the fingers I'm staring at as I twirl them around one another and put my attention solely on her. I raise my eyebrows and widen my eyes to show her I'm back mentally.
"Via, where were your thoughts just now?" Dr. Carr asks.
I'm not sure where my thoughts should be, but they were not listening to the probably helpful tips she gave me. I clear my throat before speaking.
"Do you want the lie I'm currently trying to construe, or do you want me to be honest?"
She stumbles around for a few seconds, relaxing her composure to show me she's easy to talk to, like she always does when I ask her this question.
"You can give your honesty here. This is therapy; nothing you say to me has to or should be for my benefit."
I like that response. That's a new one. Usually, when I throw these questions at her, she tells me to say whatever I feel most comfortable saying. So most of the time, I do, and it's usually something completely off the wall and insignificant to what's bothering me. I shouldn't do that here. I know she's easy to talk to. She's never once made me feel judged or less than. It's just… hard.
It's harder to say some things. My mind wanders off and thinks. It's not just hard to tell her, but it's hard to say them out loud, period. Saying my thoughts aloud adds a sting in a way that I can't explain. I've become so accustomed to putting on the facade that I'm perfectly fine. When I have to admit the truth, it's disappointing. I've failed and let myself down by not being as happy as I try to pretend to be.
"Well," I clear my throat and try to push down the knot that's found its way into it. "The truth is I'm not even sure where my head was. Or where my brain always tends to go and get lost in. I feel like I'm in limbo. I am not moving forward or backward; I am just floating idly. It's as if I've become so immune to suffering that my brain will go completely blank in an attempt to protect me, and every emotion gets drained from me completely. It's an odd stage, where I'm not 'feeling' anything, yet 'feeling' absolutely everything and way too much all at the same time."
She straightens in her chair, unwrapping her legs that were previously crossed.She doesn't break eye contact, then nods for me to continue. She must be thrilled that I'm actually speaking. She smiles casually, assuring me she's following along with the nonsense I attempted to explain.
I nod softly. I accept that this is the most vulnerable I've allowed myself to be here, and it's because I hate this feeling. I hate feeling transparent. I hate feeling like I'm on a display shelf for others to see and pick apart. Yet, here I am.
Trying.
I know that not much of what I just threw her way makes sense, but there's no way to make sense of anything I feel now.
"I can't 'not' think about it, think about them. The grief doesn't just consume me; it's become a part of who I am. Instead of crashing in like waves, the way people often tend to say that it does, it's made itself at home deep inside of my bones. I close my eyes, and I'm right back to that night. I push it down and try to pretend that I'm not that frail, broken, little eighteen-year-old girl anymore. I tell myself I am now a strong twenty-four-year-old woman who has taken a terrible situation and pushed forward. I've made the absolute best out of my life, but reality cannot help but creep in when things get quiet. I'm lying to myself because I will always be that broken little girl who feels guilty for her entire family's death. All the walls I've built to protect myself have done the opposite; All I've actually done is cage myself into my own version of purgatory."
"The worst part is that I'm angry with them—my parents. I can't even bring myself to visit their graves. Because I'm so angry." I scoff at my admission. "How broken does one have to be to admit that they're angry with the deceased?"
Dr. Carr leans in, crossing her hands over her lap. "You are far from broken, Olivia Foley." I try not to roll my eyes. I'm not sure what irritates me more: the fact that she said my full name or that she apparently doesn't seemeif she sees anything other than brokenness. Maybe I am completely wasting my time.
She apparently sees the irritation come over my face. "How do you not see your own strength? You have lost so much. You have been put through more than any human should be forced to endure..". She was able to get those words out before I cut her off.
