We didn’t speak about that particular aspect of our time away from the high society of Baltimore, but when I noticed that she was intentionally avoiding the subject, I couldn’t help but feel bitter. She had embraced a darker side of life, and now decided that because it was inconvenient to her, she would shed it and leave it behind as though it had never happened.
Meanwhile, I was leaving behind three pieces of my heart, and although I kept promising myself I would see the Lost Boys as often as I could, panic rose in my chest every time I thought about leaving this squat little house.
But when the time came, and we were
all packed up, there was no going back.
Standing in the middle of my now bare room, I couldn’t help but look at the window that, just a few nights ago, Misael had crawled in through. I couldn’t help but think about that night, the way he’d held me, the way he’d made me feel—so safe and protected and cherished. I couldn’t help but remember Kace and Misael piled up on my bed with the two of us during Christmas break while my mom was gone on her winter time fling.
The four of us had spent every moment we could together since I’d found out the news, but it never seemed like enough. We went to Bishop’s house, or to the warehouse, our hands and mouths all over each other as soon as we were behind closed doors—and sometimes even before then—but the insatiable need inside me only grew.
My body was sore and wrung out, but even now, I craved them.
With a sigh, I reached over to flick off the light one final time. I would carry those memories with me forever. But more importantly, I would make new ones.
I wouldn’t let those moments be the last ones I ever had with the Lost Boys. My father, my mother, our high society world—none of those influences could do a damn thing to keep me away from them.
We met my father standing at the bottom steps of the home I’d grown up in. A driver had picked him up from the prison, and he must’ve arrived just a few minutes before we did.
As Mom and I ascended the stairs, my heart beat harder in my chest. It felt nothing like how I’d thought it would—how I’d once dreamed it would. It was familiar, and there was a level of comfort in being back. But the veneer of perfection had been worn away from its facade a long time ago. I saw it for what it was.
Empty.
Schooling my face, I didn’t let my emotions show. I stepped up to Dad and wrapped my arms around him, genuinely happy to be able to do that without a glass barrier between us. He wasn’t in prison anymore. He was a free man, and I was grateful we were all together again, for what it was worth.
His arms wrapped around me too. Tightly. It was a kind of grip I hadn’t expected and had never experienced from him before. Maybe he had truly believed at one point that he’d never be able to hug me again.
“It’s good to see you, Dad,” I said softly, looking up to him.
The months he’d spent in prison were visible in the new lines on his face and the grey hairs peeking through what had once been rich, dark hair. They would be gone by the end of the week, covered by an expert stylist no doubt, but in the moment, they aged my father.
“You as well, Cordelia,” he said, and looked as though he was about to say something else before he shook his head slightly.
He pulled away from me and looked to my mom. The stance between them was awkward, like they weren’t certain how they should interact with each other despite the fact it had been only months since they’d last seen each other. Then again, mom hadn’t visited him in prison, and hadn’t called him either. This was not only the first time they’d seen each other, but the first time they’d spoken.
I couldn’t help but wonder if a part of Dad was bitter about that fact.
Eventually, Mom stepped into my father’s arms, giving him a pat on the back before she stepped away again.
“I’m so relieved you’re out, dear,” she said, and I could tell that those words, at least, weren’t a lie.
“As am I.” He beamed down at me. “I missed my girls. And my house. A good night’s sleep in a prison cell is harder to come by than a red diamond.” He laughed, though it sounded forced. My father had always been extremely charismatic, but now it didn’t sound natural, and he didn’t look like he quite believed his own expressions.
Strange, how prison could change a man.
The staff hadn’t been reinstated in the house yet—a fact that had me in a mood. I missed Ava terribly, and couldn’t help but wonder where she’d gotten herself to in the months that I was at Slateview. I wished I’d been able to keep in touch with her. She would have found the events at Slateview thrilling, and maybe would’ve listened to me during times when I couldn’t talk to my mom about things.
Since there was no kitchen staff on hand, Dad ordered food, had it delivered, and we ate as a family for the first time in months, sitting together in the oppressively quiet dining hall. A few times, Dad attempted to start conversations with Mom, asking about how life was for us while he was in prison. Mom’s answers were brief, crisp, and clipped. After a few questions, my father simply gave up, not bothering to ask me about my experiences.
We finished our meal in silence, and I’d never been so grateful to escape a room as I was at that moment.
That night, I couldn’t sleep. Everything around me felt too big, too spacious. Even my own room felt like it was too big for one person to be sleeping in. Eventually, I got out of bed and rifled through my nearly bare closet, pulling out a sleep shirt I had worn often over Christmas break, when the boys had all slept with me in a tangle of limbs on the too-small bed.
It had been washed since then, but I swore I could still smell their distinctive scents, and I curled up in a ball, burying my nose in the soft fabric.
Only then did I drift off to sleep.
Returning to school wasn’t nearly as challenging as starting school at Slateview had been.