Torn Apart (Torn and Bound Duet 1)

I start to type out another text when my phone rings in my hand. I jump at the sound, almost dropping it. Not Ashton. My dad. Great.

“Hello.”

“There’s my Mama Mia,” Dad says, laughter in his voice. My heart clenches at his nickname for me. My dad’s side of the family is Italian and growing up I loved to cook pizza with my grandmother. Every time we could make it, my dad would yell out, “Mama Mia, bring me my pizzeria.”

It drove Mom nuts, which is probably why I loved it even more.

“How are you?” he asks. “How’s school?”

“I’m good. School’s keeping me busy. I love my English class, and I’m taking History of Film, which is really cool. I’m also working at the tutoring center.”

“So, you’re still set on becoming a screenwriter?” he asks, trying not to sound disappointed.

“I am. You know it’s my passion.”

Dad sighs in frustration. He hates the film industry, and I can’t blame him. But I refuse to let my mother ruin what I want for my future. I want to write screenplays—be the person who turns books into movies. Dad wants me to stay as far away from the film industry as possible, which is why the one and only time he stood up to my mom was to side with me wanting to go to Atlantic Pointe in Michigan. I think he was hoping if he could get me far enough away from Hollywood, I would change my mind. It’s not happening.

“Why couldn’t your passion be to save lives?” he half-jokes. I know a part of him was hoping I would follow in his footsteps, and many days I wish I could, but I love writing and I can’t imagine doing anything else. When I was in high school, in film class, I wrote a script and the students had to turn it into a mini-film. There’s no greater feeling than when your words come to life on the big screen.

“I’ll leave the lifesaving to you.”

There’s a pause of silence, and I take a deep breath, mentally preparing myself for what’s about to come next.

“I heard your mother called you,” he says, his tone turning apologetic. And there it is. The real reason for his call. “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”

A lump of emotion fills my throat. I hate that Dad feels he has to apologize for the way Mom acts. He’s been doing it for years. Cleaning up after her messes.

“She threatened to not pay my rent.”

Dad sighs. “Only if you don’t come home.”

Of course he defends her. Justifies her actions. God forbid he stand up for his own daughter. Tell his wife the way she’s acting is wrong. He has his own money. He doesn’t need my mom, yet he stays with her and lets her make all the decisions. When he offered to pay for my apartment, after I found out the dorms were full and I would have to be put on a waitlist, I was so grateful. The last thing I want is to graduate in debt, and apartments aren’t cheap. I should’ve known that nothing in life is free. Everything comes at a cost, one way or another. And my parents paying for my apartment means, even though I’m over twenty-two hundred miles away from them, I’m indebted to them, and in my mother’s eyes, that means she still owns me.

“I shouldn’t have to be threatened to come home,” I argue. “I have school and tutoring. I’m taking a writing workshop. I don’t have time to fly back and forth to attend some stupid charity functions and award shows, just to put on a fake front.”

Tears prick my eyes at the thought of having to go home and deal with my mom. I thought maybe with the distance between us, it would make her miss me, accept me the way I am. Maybe even love me. What’s that saying? Absence makes the heart grow fonder? Not in her case. I swear the distance has made her even meaner and nastier. The only difference is I can ignore her calls from here.

“Mia, please,” Dad pleads. “She’s very upset and has a movie she needs to finish. She can’t be stressed right now. I’ve booked your flight and will email you the itinerary. All you have to do is get on the plane.”

“What if I don’t want to?” I blurt out, shocking myself. I never go against my parents. I’ve managed to avoid going home these last few months, but I haven’t outright refused.

“You don’t have a choice,” Dad says matter-of-factly. “Not if you want to keep attending Atlantic Pointe.”

“I could take out a loan,” I boldly threaten.

“The apartment alone would cost you twenty-five thousand a year,” Dad says. “Plus electric and water and cable. And that’s if you get approved. Do you really hate your home that much?”