Lucy Lahey trusted the man she was dating, and it turned out to be her biggest mistake. Reeling in the aftermath of a rape that stole not only her virginity, but her confidence, her love for MMA, her clarity and more, Lucy now finds herself in Jerse...
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In the morning, I'm still angry. Anger seems to be my default mood most of the time, but it's mildly quashed when I walk into the kitchen and find my cell phone on the table. There are dozens of missed calls and texts from Nari and just one text from Gia.
Ha, dude, I just watched you get arrested. Should have run faster dick. Come and see us at the basement!
"Bitch," I murmur, dropping the phone with a clatter. My hair is knotted and difficult when I pull it into a bun. Mom said I was grounded but if she's sending me to live with dad, I don't give a shit about her grounding.
Frustration starts to bubble again. Who the hell sends their child to a different state for the last year of school? I'm not going to know a single person there. Not to mention I have to live with dad. He's not an absent father but we hardly have a thriving friendship. The thought of sitting at a dinner table, just the two of us in awkward silence, makes me cringe and I fold my arms, kicking the dining chair.
"Good night, good night!" Coen shouts, his pose dramatic where he stands in the kitchen doorway. "Parting is such sweet sorrow, That I shall say good night till it be morrow."
"Excuse me?"
He grins and shakes out his frazzled bed hair. We were both cursed with wicked curls. His happen to be more coiled than mine though. "It's Shakespeare."
Coen's a theatre nerd, obsessed with all things performance and stage. He spent most of the summer at an arts camp in San Francisco and he uses any situation he can, to put on a show. He's good, I'll give him that. Ever since he was little, he's landed big roles in the school productions, he uploads skits to YouTube and he busks outside the library on a Saturday morning where all the little old ladies go and fawn over how talented he is. Not only does he know how to perform, he knows how to hustle. I admire him for that.
"You should be nicer to mom," he says, getting milk out of the fridge. "She looks after you, puts a roof over your head, gives you money. You shouldn't swear at her."
"When did I swear at her?"
"Last night. You said 'bullshit'."
He pours himself a bowl of cereal while I glare, aware he has a good point.
"The situation was bullshit. I was swearing at the situation."
Coen raises his brow, unconvinced as he pulls out a seat at the table and sits down. There's no point explaining myself to him, I can't even explain it to myself half the time. Coen and I have never been best friends, not in the same sense other siblings are who are closer in age are.
Once upon a time, I was his whole world, he'd follow me around and want to do what I was doing, no matter what that happened to be. These days, he knows better than to admire a wreck. I hope it stays that way.
Mom will get up soon, she'll want to continue our conversation about New Jersey and I'm not in the mood. Looking down at my outfit, I decide a pair of cotton shorts and tank top are acceptable public attire, even if I did sleep in them last night.
