Page 115 of Bend
Without breaking their staring contest, Dad said, “Don’t bet on getting out.”
“But—”
“She’s getting out, Declan,” Mom said. “I’m calling Franco. And if it all goes wrong, you can look in the mirror for who’s to blame.”
“You won’t. She doesn’t need the kind of help you’re offering.”
I didn’t know what they were talking about, but I knew that if Mom wanted to call Franco, whoever that was, she was calling Franco. My part in the conversation was pretty much over. “Thanks, guys. Nice visit. Merry fucking Christmas.”
I turned on my soft, suede heel and strode out. Halfway down the hall, Dad caught up to me.
“Thanks for defending me,” I said. “I think.”
“Hold up.” He stepped in front of me, blocking my path.
The security guard stood from his station. My father looked at the two-hundred-pound refrigerator of a man, who carried a gun, and with just a look, made him sit the fuck back down.
Dad turned his blue eyes to me. “This pleases you? What you’re doing?”
“I’m not here to shame you.”
“The effect is the same, but I know that was never much of a concern for you.”
“Just tell me what you want.”
He held his hand up before I could finish. “Your life is out of control. You’ve wrecked more cars than I’ve bought. You’ve used your body shamelessly. I can only imagine what your blood is actually made of. And you’ve never faced a single consequence. You have a classic case of affluenza.”
I crossed my arms. I didn’t know if he was making a joke or not. “You’re saying I’m a bad person.”
“You’re dissolute, and you don’t care.”
“And you do?” I stiffened, and my extremities tingled. You didn’t challenge Daddy. You just didn’t. If I never faced any consequences in the outside world, inside his fiefdom, I certainly did. Yet there I was, feeling safe enough to do just that.
“I do. This family, Fiona, this ten-person unit, is all that matters. How we’re perceived is important. How we act is important. And if you don’t get control of yourself, I’m taking control.”
That was close, too close. I heard his words in Deacon’s voice, and I squirmed.
He continued, poking at my core insecurity. “Whether or not you ever leave here can very easily be up to me.”
“I’m of age,” I whispered, but I knew I had no way of enforcing my emancipation.
“Indeed you are. Something to think about. The dew is off the petal, and you’ve gone from wild child to aged curiosity. There are younger and wilder taking your place as we speak.”
Maybe my medication was wearing off or maybe I was raw from recalling my first meeting with Deacon, but something about him calling me old and washed up frightened me. Something about the look on his face, as if he’d stepped in a hot mess on the sidewalk. I respected my father, respected his opinions and beliefs even if I didn’t follow them. I had consistently thwarted his will, and he’d consistently bailed me out because I had such respect for him. What would happen if that respect went away? Would he stop protecting me?
“What about you?” I shouted, though he never flinched. “What about what you did? You shamed this family with Mom.”
“I married her. No one’s marrying you.” He didn’t bat a fucking eyelash.
The only reason I didn’t lunge for him was he was telling me the truth.
Instead, I walked toward the hall. Like a cat, he moved so quickly and silently, I was surprised when I felt a yank at the back of my collar. The security guard did exactly nothing when Daddy took my jaw in his hands.
He whispered in my ear, “When are we going to stop playing at this same drama, Fiona? It’s tiresome. And I don’t like disruption.”
There was only one answer.
“Yes, Daddy.”
