Page 5 of Beautiful Monster

My mother lets out a loud cackle. “Steal her spotlight? Honey, you couldn’t steal her shadow.” Her laughter is cruel and inhuman.

I try not to let her words sting, but they do. They lance at my heart regardless of how much I remind myself that she is not a real person when she’s like this. The human inside of her is gone.

Cadence tries to lead her out of the room.

“You were being an ungrateful little bitch, Sunny.”

“Come on, Mom,” Cadence says, desperately trying to keep the peace to protect us all. It’s far too much weight for one person’s shoulders.

My sister tries to see the good. She says our mother’s disdain for me is from jealousy. It’s because Mom’s beauty is plain, mass-produced, sugared, and canned, like peaches. Whereas mine is natural and unique, like an exotic fruit right off the tree. Not perfect, but authentic.

She might be right, but I think my mother hates me because I’m not like her. I don’t feel the need to smile all the time, just because a man shows me attention. I’m not hung up on things and money and status like she is. I’d rather be single forever than stuck in a loveless marriage like she was for twenty years.

I don’t care about men like Alexander Caldwell like she thinks I should.

If I say nothing, I’m being rude. If I say what’s on my mind, things get physical. We do this dance every night, where she stands there with her hatred and I stare back, silent and fighting tears.

But I do not cry. Ever.

“Come on, Mama. Sunny’s sorry. She’ll be nicer next time. Let’s go get a drink.” Cadence pulls her out of the room, glancing back at me as I shake my head at her.

My sister is the Bubble Wrap of this family, keeping everyone at a safe distance and avoiding the shattered mess that would inevitably result if she were not there.

I know the day will come when Cadence will leave, and I certainly won’t be around to see what happens when she does.

CHAPTER 2

ALEXANDER

“Have the movers delivered everything?”

“Yeah,” I answer, staring at the unopened boxes in my living room—all full of junk I can’t even remember now and don’t give a shit about. My sister’s voice carries through the house from the smart speaker set up in the kitchen.

“I’ll drive out next weekend and help you unpack,” she says, sounding a little too eager.

“Don’t bother. I can do this on my own.”

“I know you can. I just don’t think you will.”

I don’t answer her, and the room grows quiet except for the hum of white noise coming from her side of the call. She must be in the car. She always calls me on her long commutes.

“This is a good move, Alexander. Put down some roots. Try to just be alone for a while. Maybe think about getting back into business.”

I’m listening to her, but my mind tends to wander when my sister starts lecturing. That margarita wore off too fast, and my buzz is fading. One of these boxes has the booze, but I’m not about to start rifling through them. I need to go into town and stock up.

This is the part where she says all the things she thinks she needs to say—like I don’t already know. Like I care. Like it’ll make any fucking difference at all.

“Fine, don’t answer me, but I know you hear me.”

I rub the heel of my palm across my eyes. Same lecture as always—roots, responsibility, getting my shit together. Like saying it out loud will magically make me care.

I’m a fucking adult, and excuse me if I don’t want to listen to my big sister threaten me if I want to party my ass off until I’m dead. Who cares if I’m throwing my money and career away? What fucking business is it of hers? None.

She doesn’t know everything about what went down with Tyson. But no one does.

She knows enough to worry. Everyone does.

“Yes, Mom,” I groan, my forehead resting against the quartz countertop.