Ice (Regulators MC 1)
No matter how hard I try to stay awake, I slowly start to feel my eyelids getting heavier and heavier. I get up and walk around my living room, hoping the physical activity will help, although I am so tired my legs feel like they are full of lead. Therefore, I head into my kitchen and make myself a pot of coffee. With each cup I consume, my anxiety increases. I would give anything, right now, simply to get a text message from Madyson, letting me know she is okay. Instead, my phone stays eerily silent. I pass out on the couch with my fourth cup of coffee still in my hand, and my last thought before oblivion is hoping my phone rings so my little sister can tell me she is okay.
The annoying beep on my cell phone’s alarm clock makes me jump up from the couch. Looking around, momentarily confused as to why I was sleeping on the couch, I see my spilled cup of coffee on the cushions, and it all rushes back to me. Madyson. Waiting for her to come home last night, hoping to get a call or a text from her.
Looking down at my phone, I see my hopes were for nothing. The screen is blank. The house is still silent, but I won’t let that dash my fleeting optimism that maybe she snuck in after I passed out and is sleeping in her room.
I race to her room and don’t bother to knock before I throw open the door while holding my breath. It escapes in a ragged exhale of unease when I see her empty bed. Not willing to give up hope just yet, I run throughout my place, calling her name, praying she is somewhere, anywhere in here. I would even be willing not to scream and yell at her for scaring me if she would only be safely inside our home.
My prayers go unanswered, though.
Maybe I should call the police? But then it occurs to me that Madyson is eighteen now. They won’t look for her under the guise that she is a runaway. Nor do I have any suspicious evidence that I can point to for foul play. All I have is an empty house and a missing teenager who is known to get into trouble.
The only place I can think she might be is with Brooke. Giving Madyson the benefit of the doubt that maybe her phone broke or she wasn’t thinking because Mom and Dad would never chase her down, I send a text to Brooke to check in. When the reply comes back that Madyson is not with her, my heart sinks. Asking her to have Madyson call me when she gets to school is my only hope to reach my sister today.
Having no choice, I get ready for the day and head off to work. The day is full of distraction to the point that I have to stop meeting clients.
Brooke sends me a text on her lunch break to say Madyson did not come to school. My instincts are screaming at me that something is wrong. After a text from Mallory that she hasn’t heard from Madyson, either, I am really on edge. She may be reckless, but this is far from her typical behavior.
Breaking down, I call the people I have never asked for help. I have spent my entire life fitting into the box they have created for me. Not once have I questioned anything or asked anything additional from them.
“Morgan, hello, dear.” My mother’s voice sends a chill down my spine.
I love my parents in the obligatory way, as in they gave me life; however, I am far from happy with them. Most girls are close with either their mother or their father, but I am not. There is a deeply rooted insecurity within me that I will fail them at every turn. I have no idea why I am so concerned with pleasing them, though. Honestly, I don’t know if therapy could even undo the brainwashing I have endured.
My life with my family has always been to stay within the boundaries and do not fail, until Madyson started rebelling that is. Mallory followed suit, and I watched jealously as my sisters found themselves while I continued to plaster on the fake smile and be the Morgan they all expected. If I am real with myself, until Madyson got into trouble and needed to live with me, my entire existence has been about my parents’ desires for a perfect child.
“Mom, have you heard from Madyson?” I ask, knowing I am possibly digging a hole for my sister, myself, or even both of us.
“I don’t know who that is or why she would call us.” My mother’s cold reply further infuriates me.
“Don’t be like this, please.”