The BlackBurne Legacy (The Bloodlines Legacy Series Book 1) (12 page)

God, how I
hate
her.

It has been nine years since I’d seen her. Thirteen years since she left us. Pain turned to anger, anger to hate, and hate to rage.

I’m supposed to cry over the woman who so callously abandoned her family, her children? Not in this lifetime.

Micah is out of the Jeep the second he sees me. “What’s wrong?”

“My uncle’s here.”

“Okay?”

“My mom died a few days ago. He came to tell us.” The hollowness in my voice should concern me, but it doesn’t. I think I’m in shock.

“Oh my God. I’m so sorry.”

“I need to find Emma…my dad needs her.” I turn blindly and start to walk down the street, Micah right behind me. I know Marion lives three doors down. It’s easy to find. She’s eight months pregnant, and Emma goes over and helps out with the heavy lifting and the chores it’s hard for Marion to do.

“Emma?”

“I’m in the kitchen, Alex!”

She’s standing on a chair, pulling everything out of the kitchen cabinets. The table is covered in a mixture of plates and papers. Marion is nowhere to be seen. She’s probably resting.

“What are you doing?”

“Mark didn’t have time to deposit his paycheck yesterday. Why he doesn’t use direct deposit, I’ll never understand. He said he tossed it in the cabinet. He failed to tell Marion which cabinet. This is the second time I’ve gone through them and I still can’t…aha! The little rascal was hiding behind a bowl.” She steps down off the stool and gets a good look at me.

I wonder what my expression looks like as I watch the concern start to grow on her face.

“What’s wrong, honey?”

“I’m fine. It’s Dad who needs you.” My voice is cold, empty. “Why would your father need me?” Fear floods her expression. Does she think I did something to him? She has to, the way she’s slowly backing up. I guess it doesn’t matter what I do. No one will ever truly trust me after what happened. Her first thought is that I hurt my father.

“I didn’t do anything, Emma. Uncle Sabien’s up at the house. He came to tell us Mom died. There was a car accident or something.”

“Sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” A hint of relief flickers in her eyes. I knew she thought the worst of me. I think her apology is both due to my mother’s death and her assumption of my wrong-doing.

I shrug. It doesn’t matter what people think of me anyway, even my family.

“It’s okay to be upset,” she tells me in a gentle tone.

“Upset?” I cock my head. “Why would you think I’m upset?”

“Because your mother just died, sweetheart.” She frowns, unsure of what I am thinking. She sees Micah behind me. “Oh, hello.”

“Hey.” He steps up to shake her hand. “I’m Micah, Alex’s friend. It’s nice to meet you.”

She doesn’t take her eyes off me. “You too, honey. Alex…”

“Don’t.” I shake my head, holding my hand up to stop whatever she is about to say. “I don’t want to hear it. She left us, Emma.
She left us
. We didn’t leave her. She made her choice a long time ago. So why should I care now, when she didn’t care about what happened to any of us?”

“That’s not true, Alex. Your mother loved you.”

“No, she didn’t.”

“Yes, she did. No matter what choices she had to make in her life, she loved you.”

I sigh. I can see from the look on her face that she will never understand.

“Don’t worry about me, Emma. I’m okay. I always am. It’s Dad I’m worried about.”

“Of course I’m worried about you. You’re standing here telling me your mother is dead and acting as if nothing’s wrong. Something
is
wrong. Don’t you feel anything?”

Oh, yeah, I feel something. My voice burns with the force of my rage. “Yeah, I’m disappointed I’ll never get the chance to tell her how much I hate her.”

Emma steps back, responding to the anger in my voice and on my face. I don’t think she’s ever realized the full extent of my feelings toward my mother, but she’s seeing it now.

“You’re wrong,” she says at last. “You don’t hate her. If you did, you wouldn’t be so angry.”

I turn, seeing my reflection in the shiny silver of the toaster. My face wears a harsh expression and my eyes flare with that strange color. I watch, fascinated, as they almost glow.

“Alex?”

Emma distracts me from my reflection. She can’t understand. It’s too hard a concept for her to grasp because she’s such a good mother. I’m not going to try to explain it to her. No way am I up for that.

“I just wanted to come and get you. Like I said, Dad needs you. He’s a mess.”

Emma’s lips thin into a straight line. “But what if you’re wrong, honey? What if she really had no choice? What if leaving broke her as badly as it did you?”

I frown. What is she getting at?

Emma forces me to sit down, and she takes a seat opposite me. Micah’s hand is on my shoulder, squeezing it for support. What I would do without him right now, I don’t know. It’s all I can do not to scream. The rage building inside is roaring to get out.

“I knew Alesha was leaving even before she told John.”

Well, now, what is this? I’d forgotten Emma and my mother were friends.

“She’d asked me to come over to help plan your father’s birthday party. It was supposed to be a surprise. I found her in the kitchen crying hysterically and thought at first something had happened to John or you kids. She wasn’t making much sense. Once I’d gotten her calmed down, she told me she had to leave. I didn’t understand and tried to make her explain. She wouldn’t tell me very much, only that her past caught up with her. She said she had no choice but to leave.”

“No choice?” I laugh bitterly. “There’s always a choice.”

“Yes, Alex, there is always a choice, but sometimes the right choice isn’t the easy one. In your mother’s case, the right choice cost her everything, including her family. She told me it tore her apart, but she had to go. Leaving would keep her family safe.”

“Safe? Safe from what?”

“I don’t know. She wouldn’t explain it, but she was terrified. That much I could see. She made me promise never to say anything about it, that it might put everyone in danger. I’ve kept that promise all these years, but now it’s time you knew the truth. It wasn’t easy for her. She loved all of you so much and knew her decision would hurt her children and that not being able to explain would make it worse. I know how deeply it hurt her to go. I saw the pain in her eyes and held her while she cried. Hate her if you must, Alex, but never doubt for a moment that she didn’t love you or that she wanted to leave.”

I look at her uncertainly. If all of this is true, why had Emma never said anything before? I am confused. I had thought for so long that she’d left us because it was something she’d wanted to do. Now, Emma is painting a different picture. Can it be true?

“Alex, you’ve been angry with her for so long. Don’t you remember anything besides the anger?”

I remember
everything
. That’s the problem. It’s why I’d hurt so much in the beginning. Compton helped me realize that. My mother had been wonderful. She was kind and loving, with never a harsh word for her children, even when she scolded us. She would read to me every night and listen with patience as I told her of all the grand adventures I was going to go on. She always knew exactly what to say when I was afraid or hurt to make everything better.

I had felt like the most loved little girl in the world until the day she left me crying and broken in the middle of the street.

Tears prick my eyes at the remembered pain. It washes over me with a force I don’t expect. It crashes into me as fresh and real as the day it happened.

It’s too much.

It hurts too much, and I can’t stop the tears once they start.

“Shh, honey.” Emma pulls me up and wraps her arms around me. “It’s okay. You can let yourself feel grief and pain and still be angry.”

“Why did she leave me?” The words tumble out, unbidden. “Why?”

“Shh,” she croons, crying herself.

I don’t know how long we stand there like that. It doesn’t matter. She accomplished what she’d set out to do—making me remember my mother as she used to be.

“Let’s get you home, honey.”

“No.” I shake my head. I’m not going to my dad’s. If I see him like that, it’ll break me. I can’t. I just can’t.

“Alex, you shouldn’t be by yourself.” Worry flares in her voice. She’s afraid I’ll snap. I know it’s what she’s thinking. It’s another reason I don’t want to go with her. If she or Dad starts to constantly watch me for signs of flipping out, I might flip out.

“I’ll stay with her.” Micah pulls me up and wraps an arm around me. I lean into him for support. “I promise I won’t leave her alone.”

“That’s very nice of you,” Emma says, her teeth worrying her bottom lip, “but there are things you don’t know…”

“She told me about Compton.”

The shock on Emma’s face is enough to be comical in any other situation.

“Trust me, Mrs. Reed, I’ll take care of her.”

I don’t hear much of anything after that. Micah puts me in the car, and the last thing I remember is seeing the clock on the dash flashing 1:45.

Chapter

Thirteen

I blink at the clock with bleary eyes, surprised to see it’s nine fifteen. I’d slept for hours, and Lord, how I hurt. I feel like that same little girl again, and all I want to do is crawl under my covers with my teddy bear and cry.

I hate feeling like this. Anger flares hot and hard. My mother—how, how could she leave us? How could she leave me? I’ll never get the chance to confront her now, to scream and yell. That is what my therapist at Compton was adamant about, that I need to confront her to deal with some of my abandonment issues. She’s gone, and that chance is gone with her.

Do I love her? Yeah, I guess I do, but it doesn’t change the fact that I still hate her. Letting myself feel the pain I’ve bottled up for years doesn’t change that. I can’t forgive all the pain she’s caused. Maybe I never will.

I clean myself up in the bathroom. The girl in the mirror shocks me. I’m a mess—my face pale and tired. Black, hollow eyes stare back at me. I pull out my phone, feeling it vibrate—Luka. It shuts off before I can answer it. There are three more text messages from him demanding to know what is wrong. I usually answer him within a few minutes. I bet he’s freaking out.

Micah is asleep on the couch, a pizza box on the coffee table and a two liter of Dr. Pepper beside him. I smile softly. He must have carried me inside. I don’t remember anything after I got in the car. Jason’s door is open, so I go in. He isn’t home yet. He must be at Dad’s. He still has a picture of Mom. I dig it out of a shoebox in the top of his closet and sit down in the floor, the picture held in my hands.

I have the insane urge to rip it up, to destroy her smile like she had mine. I still want to, despite everything Emma told me. She is the reason I’m crazy, the reason for my going to Compton.

Everything bad that has ever happened to me centers around the day my mom left us. The nightmares started the night she left and gradually got worse, and then when I cracked, I remember seeing her face flash in and out of the glimpses of snarling, snapping teeth. When I first checked into Compton, they put me in the “infirmary.” It’s the smell that stays with me. It smells of antiseptic and sterile cleaning fluids. I almost choked on that smell for the first few days. The doctors couldn’t understand it. The scent overpowered everything else. They had to move me to a room that was free of the cloying scents. I started to breathe normally after that. It’s one of the few things I remember before my mind checked out for a while.

They strapped me to the bed, to keep me from hurting myself, they said, but it was more to keep them safe from me. I was only twelve, and apparently I’d done some kind of damage to a few orderlies when they’d tried to help the nurses calm me down during my night terrors my first night there. I’d been strapped down every night for the first two years I was there. It wasn’t until they’d found the proper blend of meds to keep the nightmares away that they’d stopped with the restraints.

That is one of the most horrible feelings in the world, to wake up immobile, to not be able to move. It’s terrifying in and of itself, but if you added my fear into the equation, it was almost debilitating. I was so scared all the time. I couldn’t sleep, couldn’t concentrate, I felt abandoned by everyone. They hadn’t allowed me visitors for over a year. The doctors decided I needed time for my therapy to work.

It was during therapy that the doctor had determined all my issues stemmed from what happened to me that day in the park, and my mother leaving me the next day only compounded the issue. I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to remember what happened, and she is…was the only person who can tell me what happened. Now, I will never know, so does that mean I’ll never get better? Will I always live with this constant fear, this feeling of the walls closing in on me? Will I ever really be normal?

My worst fear is that I’ll end up back in the mental hospital. The kids I met, the ones I got to know, the few I’d called friends, shared the same fear. We used to talk about it outside of group. We knew we were messed up, and the real question always was, can we be fixed? I still have no answer to that one, but deep down, I don’t think we can. Once you break as badly as we did, I’m not sure anyone can put the pieces back together.

My mother had caused me to end up the mess I am. I can’t forgive her for that. I can’t.

“Hey,” Jason says from behind me and then falls down beside me. “You okay?” His eyes are wary, concerned.

“I’m not wiggin’ out, if that’s what you’re afraid of.” My voice is quiet, hollow. “Did Emma tell you?”

“About why she left?” He nods. “Yeah, but…”

“It doesn’t matter,” I finish for him. “I do love her, Jase, but I can’t forgive her.”

“I know,” he whispers. “I love her too, but I can’t stop hating her either, and it hurts, Sis. It hurts so much. She’s our mama, and she’s gone.”

Tears trail wet paths down his cheeks, and I start crying myself. He pulls me close and we sit there for the longest time like that, wrapped up in our memories. My brother and I are close, made so by the mother who walked out and left us. It made us harder, more determined to protect each other. No matter what, we will always have each other. She can’t take that from us.

Some people’s memories of their loved ones fade as time goes by. Mine don’t. I can still remember the sound of her voice as she sang me to sleep or hear her laughter as she listened to a joke only a six-year-old would find funny. She always smelled like apples and cinnamon, claiming it was Dad’s fault for making her bake so many apple pies. The feel of her arms is imprinted into my skin. She used to get into bed with me when I’d had bad dreams and hold me until I went to sleep. She told me every day how much she loved me. It hurts to remember those things. I locked them away in a box for so long, but now that they’re out, they eat at me.

She’s my mama, and she’s gone. Just…gone. I’ll never hear her tell me she loves me or feel her hug me again. I’ll never get the chance to tell her goodbye. No matter what she’s done to us, I love her, and losing her hurts. I can’t seem to breathe past this crushing pain in my chest. It just hurts.

A few hours later, I crawl under my own covers. My bear, Gingi, is firmly grasped in my clutches. The poor little thing has seen so much wear and tear over the years. Dad said Uncle Sabien gave him to me for my third birthday. My ragtag little bear is my woobie. Always has been, always will be.

Jason and I talked for a long time. We both agreed on one thing. Even if she did leave because she thought she had no choice, how were we supposed to forgive her?

I don’t think it’s the leaving part that hurt so much. No, we could have lived with that, but she ignored us for years. Did we get so much as a birthday card or a phone call? No. Yet she found the time to talk to her own brother almost every day. What are we supposed to think? Parents put their children first, and Alesha hadn’t done that, whether she meant to or not. Forgiveness isn’t in the cards right now. The anger burns too hot, too fresh.

I pull Gingi close and go to sleep.

***

When tragedy strikes, it is swift, brutal, and leaves a trail of broken bodies in its wake. There is no mercy; it takes no prisoners. I came to understand that over the next few days—some of the hardest I’ve ever faced. Jason and I helped with the arrangements for our mother’s funeral just like I’d promised Dad, but neither of us realized how hard it would be. We’d done more than was expected of us, though. We owed Dad that much. At least Uncle Sabien, someone who’d known our mother, could make sure her wishes were honored.

I stand next to my brother and my father, listening to the minister, and tears gather in my eyes. Reality is catching up. She’s gone. My mother is being put to rest today, and I’ll never see her again. I still love her, no matter how much she hurt me. I always will.

Emma gives my shoulder a squeeze. God knows what we would have done without her. No one made it past her unless she deemed them necessary.

I feel my father stiffen and turn my attention back to the graveside service. They are beginning to lower the coffin into the ground.

“She’s afraid of the dark,” he whispers hoarsely, and Emma wraps her arms around him. My hand flies to my mouth. There is so much raw pain in his voice that it makes me hurt for him. Emma is standing strong. I don’t know how she can, but she is his strength.

Micah wraps his arms around me, staring grimly at the scene. I lean into him, grateful for his strength. I feel like I am going to collapse at any minute from sheer exhaustion.

Micah has become my lifeline. He’s been with me every day, always knowing exactly what I need. The weird thing is, the more time I spend with him, the more aware of him I become. Even now I can sense his growing worry.

The minister concludes his final prayer and everyone files up to the grave to throw in the customary flowers. My mother loved carnations, and that’s what accompanies her down into the cold, dark ground.

Jason has already fled the scene, no more able to bear Dad’s grief than I am. He stands at the bottom of the hill accepting condolences. Everyone thinks our tears were for our mother. They are, but only a little. Our tears are mostly for our father. We hate seeing him like this, watching him grieve, not knowing how to help him.

John stands above his ex-wife’s open grave, Emma’s hand clutched tight. It hurts to watch him. I turn away when Micah’s grandfather collects him, and then I start toward Jason.

Uncle Sabien spots me and waves me over. There are several people with him. I so do not want to hear any more condolences right now.

“Alex, I would like you to meet some very dear friends of your mother’s. This is George, Helen, and Phillip.”

The rage surfaces unexpectedly. Friends?

“Hello, honey.” Helen smiles at me. “I just wanted to let you know how sorry I am. Your mother was a special woman and close friend. We’ll miss her very much.”

My expression freezes and my eyes harden.
Good for you
, I think bitterly. “You were close?” I ask.

“Yes.”

I nod and tamp down the urge to scream.

Seriously major brownie points for that.

Sabien’s eyes narrow at my expression, but he says nothing.

Smart man.

We pile into the car and remain silent on the ride to Dad’s.

Mourners flood the house. Whispers banter back and forth while guests eat from the buffet Emma and I spent most of the morning on. It all seems too bizarre to me, and more than a little depressing.

Emma finds me standing by the window overlooking the back yard.

“Why don’t you go upstairs for a while, Alex? You look ready to drop.”

“Thanks, I think I will.”

Micah leans against the guest room door, waiting for me. He looks as worn out as I feel.

“Need some company?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

I follow him inside and curl up on the bed, staring at nothing. Micah stretches out in the big, plush, cushy chair by the window. We stay like that for the longest time, content to say nothing. It’s a comfortable silence, and neither of us has the need for idle chitchat. He surrounds me in the smell of crisp clean air and freshly turned dirt. I’ve gotten used to his woodsy scent over the last couple of weeks. It helps to keep me calm and steady somehow.

Not only that, but Micah understands me on a level that goes beyond simple friendship. It should be weird, but it doesn’t feel weird. It feels natural. He and I forged some kind of deep connection. Micah managed to ingrain himself so thoroughly in my life, he’s become a living, breathing part of me. The last few days have shown me that simple fact. I need him. He keeps me sane.

“Are you ready to scream yet?” he asks, finally breaking the silence.

My eyes flicker to him. He looks worried.

“Your eyes are burning with rage, Blue. What happened?”

“My uncle introduced me to some of my mother’s friends.”

“And?”

“Strangers, Micah, strangers knew her better than we did. She chose to spend her time with them instead of us, her family.”

He sighs.

I close my eyes in frustration. He’s another Emma in sheep’s clothing. He told me I needed to let go of the anger, that it couldn’t be healthy for me. He has a valid point, yeah, but I don’t care. Not now, maybe not ever.

“Blue, I’m not going to pretend to understand what you went through or what you’re going through, but I want to help.”

I do not want to have this conversation. Not right now.

“I know how much you hurt, Blue. You’ve been angry for a long time, but isn’t it time to start to let go of it? She’s the only mother you’ll ever have. You need to try to get past it, to at least think about forgiving her.”

“That’s not fair, Micah. You’re making me feel guilty, and I don’t…”

“You no have to do anything you no want to,
munya
,” Luka’s voice purrs, whisper soft.

Micah and I both look up. We hadn’t heard him come in.