Escape, Page 2

  Chapter 2

  “You’re going to be home schooled this year,” Mom announces while we’re at the kitchen table. I raise a brow at her.

  “Home schooled?” I ask in confusion as I shove a piece of syrup drenched French toast in my mouth. She sighs.

  “Your grandmother insisted on it. After what happened, she feels that it is best,” my mother says before sipping from her cup of coffee. Dad is also at the table, but he’s ignoring the both of us in favor of the morning paper. Mom glances at him for help, but he doesn’t even notice.

  “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I whine. I’m not particularly angry about being home schooled. But Mom can’t know that. Then, she will always make important decisions about my life without consulting me. The prospect is exciting... Being in front of a computer and completing work. Finishing assignments on my own time. The flexibility is overwhelming. And the best part is that I would never have to see Teresa or Ivy ever again. My scars tingle at the mention of their names.

  “Mom, when were you going to tell me about this?” I demand.

  “With everything that happened this year, I didn’t want to overwhelm you with new changes,” she slowly explains. So she thinks that I’m going to combust because of a few changes? It pisses me off that Mom thinks that I’m that weak. I can’t truly be upset with her because she doesn’t know what happened in that bathroom. And she will never know because Mom would only blame Adam. I’m sick of her thinking I’m fragile. I see the worry in her light brown eyes and how frown lines have appeared around her mouth. This year has aged mom in ways I blame myself for. The mugging three weeks ago couldn’t have helped matters.

  “What’s the other part of this?” She flinches. I glare at her. Dad stands, stretches, then announces that he has to go to work.

  “Ian, you don’t want to stay for this?” Mom’s golden brown eyes are pleading. But my father shrugs.

  “You’ll be fine,” He mutters before leaving the house. It’s silent for a moment. I continue eating the delicious breakfast Mom cooked for this occasion. Mom twirls a strand of her caramel- colored hair around her finger. She doesn’t want to tell me what the other part of this is.

  “Chelsea, you know we have been having a hard time paying bills, especially since I got laid off,” she begins. Mom used to be a secretary for an accounting firm. When business began to suffer, cuts had to be made. For the last few months, the family has been under a tremendous amount of stress. That's why I got the job at O'Malley's.

  “I know.” A fat tear rolls down her cheek and she looks wistfully at the door, as if wishing that Dad could come back and lend her some support.

  “Your grandmother has insisted on taking you in for a few months so we can focus on relocating. Your father and I think we can get jobs in a metropolis, like Boston or Minneapolis. Until then, we need someone to keep an eye on you,” Mom says. I'm frozen. After being attacked, and pursued by my cheating ex, June was the worst month ever. But thinking of being trapped with the grandmother from hell makes me think this summer has just gotten a lot worse. Mom and Dad are pawning me off on Grandmother, despite the horrible things she said. Not only that, I'm going to be stuck in an unfamiliar mansion with the Grinch. And I won't have school as an escape. No, this woman will nag me all day. She'll pick at everything I do.

  “No. I’m staying with you guys. I’m not going to spend a day with her,” I shout.

  “I'm sorry Chelsea. You have to pack quickly. Your Grandmother's driver will be coming in three hours.” I'm sore from the beating, and I haven't gotten much sleep. That doesn't stop me from sprinting up the stairs and running into my room. I carefully strip out of my pink ankle length night gown and wince at the fading bruises on my skin. They bring back memories of being helpless. The officers says the thug, names Albert Green, is a career criminal. He dishonored his probation terms with the attack and is currently back in prison. He pled guilty to assault, so there was no trial. I didn't bother showing up to the court hearing. Forgetting about the attack is probably the best thing to do. Luckily, the monster hadn't broken any ribs. The cut on the back of my head is healing nicely. The part that they had to shave is covered by my hair. My stitches have been removed. But I know running isn't safe right now. Although the bruises are healing nicely, it still hurts to move. I'm not going to sit by idly while a driver comes to collect me. I'm going to run from this. Maybe if the driver is left waiting too long, he will simply turn his car around and drive back to Gately. Mom walks into my room and stares at the fading marks. Her eyes are filled with sympathy. Her expression makes me furious with her. If she's so sorry, why send me to live with Grandmother? Suddenly, her presence is irritating.

  “Get out!” I scream, but she just stands there. It is as if an invisible force is holding her in place. The woman doesn’t even blink. Thankfully, the phone rings and she rushes away to pick it up. Moving through the pain, I change into a t-shirt, blue jean shorts and sneakers and rush from the house.

  My legs have a mind of their own. The day is muggy and the sun is beating angry rays down on me. I’ve been jogging for about a half a mile. Exhaustion pleads for me to rest, but I don’t care. I keep running. The goal is to get as far away from home as possible. Unlike the walk back from the grocery store, I stare at everything and everyone. Suspicion clouds my hazel eyes. Every time someone walks too close to me, it takes everything for me not to recoil. Albert Green is behind bars, but that’s not reassuring. Danger is still around. Someone else could take his place. The thought that he has gotten to me makes me feel angry, weak, and vulnerable. As if I can out run my feelings, I increase my pace. I’m turning onto a familiar street with small one story houses, a playground, and a house with a rusty mail box when I see it. A blue house with an overgrown lawn. Adam’s house. I’m an idiot. This is a bad idea. But I can’t help it. There’s no car in the driveway meaning that his father isn’t home. Adam’s mother ran out on the family five years ago and Adam doesn’t drive. It’s Thursday, which means that Adam isn’t working at the hardware store. School in Elmview doesn’t start for another two months. That means long hard hours for Adam. His goal is to save up to get the hell out of town. I walk up the gravel drive, onto his porch and ring the bell. The blare of the television informs me that someone’s home. Moments later, the door flies open and a shocked Adam is staring back at me. He pushes open the screen door and ushers me inside. The front door leads into a small hallway. On the left is the tiny kitchen and on the right is the living room. He leads me to the right and we walk through the living room and into his small neat bedroom. I sit on the bed and take off my sneakers and socks. Adam chuckles as he sits beside me.

  “So you’re ready to talk?” he asks.

  “I’m moving,” I announce, and surprise slips across Adam’s face. It takes a few moments for him to gather his thoughts. As the silence stretches on, I revel in the fact that I’m in his room. Adam’s room smells like a mixture of sugar cookies and Axe cologne. His walls are a deep blue and his furniture is old and rickety. His father is a heavy drinker and the rest of the house reeks of booze.

  But, sitting here In Adam’s room, I can forget all of that.

  “When are you leaving?” he asks, his face going blank. Adam Smith is always expressionless. He’s always hiding secrets that everyone tries to find.

  “In a couple of hours. Mom just sprang the move on me during breakfast,” I say. Adam sighs and runs his fingers through his hair.

  “Aren’t you glad you’re leaving?” he asks. “It means you can get away from me.” Something about his tone makes me realize that Adam is bitter about the way that our relationship ended.

  “Adam, that’s not fair,” I spit back. He has no right to be bitter when he ruined everything between us.

  “I love you Chelsea. Despite it all, I still love you.” He says the words in a tone that people use when they curse out of frustration. I clench the black comforter to prevent myself from slapping him. Adam makes it seem
as though loving me is a bad thing.

  “I’m sorry about that,” I snap. Adam’s face grows soft and he holds his head in his hands and groans.

  “Chelsea, it’s frustrating because I can never have you. I know you don’t forgive me. But I miss you. I made a mistake and I’ve been paying for it ever since,” he whines. “I’m sorry.” Me too. This whole thing has been a soap opera nightmare. That’s one good thing about moving. At least I can have a break from all of this. I will most likely never see Adam again. He will move on with his life and date someone else. By this time next year, I will be a distant memory. And that’s when I have the craziest idea. I unsteadily climb into his lap and wrap my legs around his waist. Adam is taken aback but his eyes darken. “Chelsea,’ he whispers. It sounds like a warning but I’m not thinking. I just want to forget, escape from all of the problems in my life. This week has been a terrible, emotional, frightening, roller-coaster. No, not a roller-coaster. A roller-coaster is actually pleasant. This week has been nothing but crap. And before I leave the only home I’ve ever known, I want to remember something good.

  “Adam… I….” He never gives me the chance to respond. His lips are on mine in an instant. His kiss is hungry, demanding, and downright bruising. I don’t care that he’s holding me too tight, causing momentary pain. His kisses are deep and worth the suffering. His tongue slips into my mouth and it battles with mine for the upper hand. His hands leave my waist and are beginning to travel under my shirt. I should protest. But I don’t. Instead, I drown in his scent as my hands tangle in his hair. His hands have reached my chest and a shudder runs through me at his touch. I clutch his head as passion fills me. That’s when he decides to pull back. We both breathe heavily.

  “That was unexpected,” Adam whispers as he traces my stomach.

  “Adam, I don’t want you to forget about me.” He abruptly stops exploring my skin with his hands. Instead, he holds me tightly to him.

  “Chelsea, you are unforgettable.” His words are gentle, soothing, and fill me with the reassurance I hadn’t known I needed. His words cause a second round of making out. Kissing him is like trying to find something that you’re desperately looking for. You are so close so you keep on traveling in the same direction. Just one more step can lead to you finding it.

  “Adam?” a male voice calls. Adam and I break apart and I instinctively jump up and see his father in the door way. My cheeks are red. Neither of us says a word. My grandmother pushes Mr. Smith out of the way and deftly pulls down my shirt. My heart is pounding from kissing Adam. I can’t seem to find anything to say. Embarrassment turns into mortification.

  “Nothing happened,” is the first thing that Adam manages to say as I frantically put on my shoes. “Not that it’s any of your business.” He’s angry. That’s obvious by the scowl that Adam is sending his father’s way. The Grinch is unimpressed by Adam’s statement. She just glares at him.

  “Chelsea, all he did was give you a bag of chips. Unbelievable! Have some dignity,” she hisses. Now, grandmother is thinking that I’m cheap. I’m about to mouth off to her when my mother pokes her head in. She looks disappointed, and that’s enough to make me feel extremely guilty.

  “Adam, I’ll call you,” I say before giving him a quick hug and shooting an apologetic look in Mr. Smith’s direction. I squeeze past grandmother and Mom and bolt out of the house. I’m thinking I’m home free when I hear someone call my name.

  “Chelsea!” Peter shouts from across the street. He’s waving and smiling at me. And, like our first meeting he doesn’t have a shirt on. He’s obviously been working because perspiration gleams on his chest and his hair is damp.

  “Hi,” I say as I ignore the black stretch limo and cross the street.

  “What brings you here without a shirt?” I ask. Peter chuckles.

  “I’m helping my uncle install a new septic tank,” he explains. I wrinkle my nose and he chuckles.

  “I just got caught making out with my ex-boyfriend,” I blurt out and his chuckle turns into outright laughter. I playfully punch him.

  “Who caught you?’ he asks, eying the stretch limo.

  “My grandmother, his father, and my mother. I have bad luck,” I groan. Peter smirks.

  “It seems like you do. I hope it changes,’ he says as my grandmother dramatically slams Adam’s front door and follows my mother to the limo. They haven’t noticed me across the street yet. I don’t have much time.

  “Hey Peter, thanks again for saving me.” Suddenly, a calculating expression slips across his face as he peers at me.

  “Next week, my church is doing a fundraiser for a girl who has cancer. If you come, consider us even.” I pull out my phone and we exchange numbers. He agrees to text me the info.

  “Chelsea, time to go,” the old woman nags. I shoot Peter one last smile and walk over to the stretch limo.

  “We’re going straight to Gately,” Mom announces as soon as the driver takes off down the street. I’m sitting between the two bitter enemies and make a point to frown at both of them.

  “What do you mean? I still have to pack,” I protest.

  “I did your packing for you. Everything is out of your room,” Mom says. She looks tired. Part of me hates that it’s all my fault. If only I were a better child. As if knowing my thoughts, Mom pats my knee.

  “Chelsea,” Grandmother Betty hisses in a disgusted tone, her eyes piercing me.

  “Yes Grandmother,” and the refrain begins again.

  “You are a child. That fact was made clear by your predictable reckless actions today,” Grandmother scolds. Mom nods, agreeing with her. “You have poor taste in boys.”

  “You don’t know Adam,’ I argue defensively.

  “I know his type. He’s brooding and mysterious. That’s why you were interested in him. Am I right?” There’s no way that I’m going to admit that she is. So instead, I sip the gingerale that I had gotten from the mini-fridge. “You aren’t very popular in school. Adam is a misfit who everyone stays clear of. You connect with him because you feel like you relate to him. But let me tell you something,” grandmother lectures, pausing long enough to take a sip from her water bottle. “There is a difference between the two of you. He chooses to be the way he is and you don’t. So don’t have any crazy ideas of seeing him. He isn’t worth it,” Grandmother says.

  “Just like mom wasn’t worth it for dad,’ I lash out. The Grinch’s eye ticks and she glares at me.

  “No, this situation is different. Your mother was a girl that married someone that she wasn’t supposed to. Adam is trash,” she argues before staring out of the window. I am about to throw this bottle at her head. Mom knows it because she steals my gingerale and drinks it all in one huge swig. She burps loudly and grandmother mutters something under her breath. I can’t help it. I burst out laughing. And Mom joins in.