Breaking The Ice

Red Wine

TJ's POV

Nobody has tried to hurt you, right?

My father's words echoed through my mind, forcing images to dance around in my head like some kind of old home movie that I had no interest in watching, the reality of the conclusion I'd come to storming inside of me like a hurricane.

It took me one hour to make the trip that normally would have taken more than double the time, the rage inside me fuelling my journey, the time it took only letting me stew in it and become more angry than I knew I was capable of being. That moment I'd been dreading, the point where I finally snapped, where I was pushed so far to the point that there was no going back, had officially arrived.

I didn't know the whole story, I probably didn't even know half of it, but I knew enough. I knew she was responsible, I knew that my dad knew it, and I knew she wasn't about to get away with it. His words spun around in my mind, his worry for my well-being, and the image of the people who had in fact tried to hurt me on repeat as I sped toward the person I knew was responsible.

It had entered my mind the second he asked me, it all coming rushing back to me immediately like he'd practically shown me photographs of it. The feeling of laying on that cold pavement, the fear that rushed through me, the pain with every blow I'd endured. I suppose it was natural that when someone asks if anyone has tried to hurt you that your first thought would be about the time you were in fact hurt by someone, but I had no idea how I was able to connect her to it so quickly.

I think it was just that I'd always known, deep down, that it wasn't over. I knew that my mother wasn't about to just let things be that simple, that I wouldn't be able to walk out of her life and take my brothers with me that easily, that I hadn't heard the last of her. I never would have imagined she would have taken it to that level, but I can't say I was surprised by it either.

I knew she was spiteful, that she was capable of horrible things, but I never could have dreamt that she would not only wish harm upon her own daughter, but take the steps to make it happen. On top of that, I wasn't naïve to the fact that Harry had stood up to her and defended me, and I was pretty sure that his recent troubles weren't too far off from something she was also capable of.

By the time I pulled up to the house I was shaking with rage, the drive doing nothing to calm me down as I practically jumped out of the car and immediately stomped inside. I stormed in and out of every room, not even sure what I would do once I found her, before I finally came face to face with the woman I'd been searching for when I'd practically kicked down the door to her bedroom.

There she was, sitting on one of the large oversized couches in the corner of the room, a glass of red wine in her hand as she stared out the window like she hadn't orchestrated the attack of her only daughter. She was dressed in white silk pajamas, which I normally would have found odd for her being it was 1pm, but it was the last thing on my mind.

"You crazy bitch!" I snapped as I marched toward her, already breathless from the anger rushing through me at the sight of her. "What the fuck is wrong with you?!"

She turned her head to look at me, seemingly unfazed by my sudden presence, before she shifted her head to look back out the window.

"Well if it isn't my darling daughter." She sighed. "Nice to see you haven't lost your flare for dramatics, Tara."

I can't say that I was surprised by her reaction, but the casual way in which she responded just infuriated me. My entire life I'd been made out to be over dramatic, my feelings dismissed while she sat there like the one who had it together, like I was just going on about nothing and she just had to put up with me. How could she sit there and act like I was the crazy one? Like I was the one who'd tried to destroy the lives of innocent people? She was absolutely off her fucking rocker.