Celeste's childhood wasn't something she loved talking about. It was filled with nothing but painful memories. Whether they were the ones from when her father, along with her brothers, left, or the ones from her mother's death and her stepfather's a...
tw: brief mentions of sexual assault and suicidal thoughts. please be careful while reading.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
MY MIND CONTINUED to spin, and my stomach continued to churn as my thumb traced over my mother's handwriting. Minutes had blended into hours in a haze, and I hadn't stopped reading ever since I started.
Lorenzo remained by my side, holding me close as I read. His hand rubbed my arm when my tears grew heavy, and he comforted me when my heart began to ache. With every page I read, I realized that whatever had happened with Mom after she'd left my father was no more than history repeating itself.
She'd known Jack. She had known him too well. She'd hung out with him after school, and she'd even liked him at one point in time. She'd written that. She'd written about how much he cared for her and how much she liked him. She'd mentioned every deceiving trait of his, yet none of them overshadowed the fact that he had been much older than her when they'd first met.
She'd been sixteen. She'd been too young, too delicate, for she'd been grieving the loss of her mother. Jack had been twenty. Too old for her. Too old.
A minor and an adult. An adult and a minor. There was no way around the reality. Not a single thing justified Jack's actions, for it was so, so evident that he'd used my mom and taken advantage of her. He'd manipulated her as if she were no more than an object for him. A toy that he could buy and throw away as he wanted. He'd isolated her from her friends. He'd insulted her. Over and over again. And every single time, she'd written that he'd wanted the best for her.
I knew there was more, but I couldn't bring myself to continue reading. My stomach continued to swirl and churn as the acidic taste of bile lingered at the back of my throat. Swallowing harshly, I closed the notebook and put it away, my hands trembling and my head pounding.
I didn't say a word. I rather closed my eyes and let a shaky breath out, telling myself to forget, persuading myself that I hadn't read anything and that I hadn't known a single fragment about Mom's past. I could feel my heart pounding regardless, and I could hear my ears ringing. I blinked a couple of times, getting off the couch and forcing my feet to carry me toward the bathroom.
There, I washed my face, splashing the cold droplets across its surface multiple times as I let them dissolve into my tears and carry them away from sight. Although he was awfully quiet, I could sense Lorenzo's presence by my side. He didn't leave, even as I washed my face again and wiped it dry. He stayed by my side, even as I made it to the kitchen and chugged an entire bottle of water at once.
A fit of coughs brushed past my lips, choking me along with the secrets my mother had carried. Invisible hands clawed at my throat, forcing its walls to constrict. My knees almost buckled underneath my figure. Almost. But Lorenzo was there. He didn't let me collapse as I wanted to. He held me tightly. His arms wrapped around me, and his grip remained firm around my body, supporting me—keeping me upright.
