Page 23 of Craving Consequences

Every crumb hid razorblades. Every touch was punishment.

Everything I begged for was dipped in poison before being stuffed into my mouth.

I was so desperate for human contact, I let him strip away everything I was until I’m the girl sitting on the bathroom floor, curled up a in ball, sobbing for yet another thing I’ve lost.

I don’t blame Bron for what I did last night. That was my reckless mistake. My fault.

I blame him for taking the last person I had in my life.

The only person I considered family. I blame Lauren for letting him.

For caring so little about me when she meant everything to me.

Bron was a mistake I was learning from, but Lauren was my rock.

My true salvation. Her betrayal is the thing that crippled me.

And I don’t understand.

I don’t understand what I did to deserve it. How had I failed her? What unspeakable crime had I committed against her that was worthy of this pain?

Even as I choke on my wails and drown in my tears, I have no answers.

I have nothing but this cold void swallowing me up from the inside.

The agony is unmatched, brutal and merciless until there’s nothing.

Until the absence is ice filling my veins.

My heart. I absorb it. Let it fill me. I cling to it and let it coat me like a new skin.

A new Everly.

I don’t know this version, but she slips in with a different fire. A vengeful and angry inferno that scorches up my throat and pools in my belly .

My fist slams into the ceramic side of the tub. The hollow thud echoes in the silence. The pain distracts me.

They thought I was weak. That I would continue to kneel while they laughed at my back. How many nights had Bron rejected me only to crawl into her arms and mock how pathetic and desperate I was for their attention?

Never again.

I push to my feet and glower at the mirror.

My reflection stares back, foreign and familiar all at once.

Hazel eyes rimmed red and swollen stare back from a face lined with jagged rivers of mascara down pale cheeks. Auburn curls hang in tangled knots around my shoulders, a snarled mess.

I look wrecked, but the cold in my stomach keeps me comforted as I grip the edge of the sink, the porcelain biting into my palms. I push away and reach for the hem of my shirt.

It’s yanked up over my head and tossed onto the counter.

I step into the tub and turn the knob until the scorching spray of water sears my skin.

I scrub like I can erase what they did. I ignore the slight smear of blood between my thighs.

It barely registers that I fulfilled my fantasy of letting Van and Lachlan be my first. I keep my mind focused on the list of everything I need to do when I get out, because I am no longer letting people walk all over me.

Sweet, delicate Everly with the kind, loving heart is dead. She is never coming back .

My skin is pink and raw by the time I step out. Naked, I stalk into my bedroom. My strides wide and purposeful all the way to my closet.

I hate everything inside.

Every article of clothing was chosen by or for Bron. To appease him. To make him look good in public. Clothes that were never too revealing, too loud, too crazy. Bland colors that washed me into the background.

No more.

The crack of the door slamming shut reverberates through the silence. It follows me down the hall to my old room. The one I had before my parents died. The one that used to hold my crib but is now filled with all the things I gave up when I lost myself.

I choose a white, lace dress with a peasant top and a loose, flowy skirt.

The square neckline barely contains my breasts and the hem on the skirt is shorter than Jefferson will like, but it’s still modest. Still cute.

I top it with white flats with tiny, white bows at the back of the heels before returning to my parents’ bedroom.

I never had any intention of moving into their room but being in there had smelled so much like them in the beginning. It was filled with all their things, and wrapping myself up in my mom’s shawls made me feel like she was there, holding me .

Over the years, the smell has gone, but the space still belongs to them, and it’s the only place I can sleep.

At Mom’s vanity, I blow dry and curl my hair. Bron hates curls. Said they make me look like I’m a stripper. Pin straight was the only suitable style for a woman. I spray the strands with extra-hold hairspray just to keep all those ringlets in place.

I swap my nude lipstick for a deep burgundy. Whorish, Bron would say, but I grin at my reflection as I set to work on the rest of my face.

Dressed and ready for the day, I move to the table next to the bed.

My phone lies exactly where I left it still on the charger.

I stare at the bit of dark plastic that led to the bottom of my life falling out.

If I hadn’t forgotten it yesterday, I never would have come back and I never would have seen what I saw.

I wouldn’t have let my intrusive thoughts win and gone to find Van and Lachlan.

I let the thought go before I spiral again. I don’t have time for self-pity anymore. There is a progression of tasks that need me to keep myself together.

But first order of business...

I pluck up the phone and find Bron’s number.

I do take note of the fact that our last message was from me yesterday morning telling him I was heading to work and that I would call him on my break.

There isn’t a single response from him. Not even when I never made that call on my break.

Not even later yesterday evening when I should have been home.

Just flipping up through our messages, the majority of them are from me begging for his time, begging for a response.

I scoff, disgusted with myself.

Lauren, on the other hand, has sent me no less than fifty messages and three missed calls. They range from: Hey, you busy? To, where are you? I need to talk to you.

It does dawn on me that I could tell them both that I know. That I saw what they did. But why make this easy for him? For them?

All I’ve done is make things easy for everyone. Been the good girl desperate to be accepted and loved.

Not this time.

Tossing my phone down on the bed, I yank open the nightstand, drag out the pen, and pad Mom kept inside.

Perching on the edge of the bed, I set to work putting my list to paper.

I have always been an immaculate note taker and I put it all to the test drawing out the next two weeks — starting with my first phone call of the day to Martin’s Tackle & Bait.

An hour later, I’m holding the door open for Martin Parker.

The sixty-year-old grandfather of six stands on my porch with his toolbox and stained overalls. His thick, gray mustache twitches under the twinkling blue of his eyes. Deep folds curl around his mouth .

“Good morning, Miss Cavanaugh. I wasn’t sure you were home. Your car is usually in the driveway.”

I return his smile but ignore his subtle prodding. “Good morning, Mr. Parker. Thank you for coming so early.”

He inclines his balding head. “Always happy to be the knight in shining armor for a damsel in distress.”

With a chuckle, I step back to let him over the threshold.

He doesn’t go far. He pauses at the door and eyeballs the brass knob with the latch that has been part of the house since my grandparents owned the property.

“And you looked everywhere for your keys?”

“I did,” I lie.

He clicks his tongue. “Such a shame. They don’t make them like this anymore.”

I know.

My grandfather built this house with his own hands. Every inch of it was carved with love for the family he wanted living here. The fact that I have to destroy even a tiny piece of it because I trusted the wrong people only fuels the fiery rage bubbling in my chest.

Martin turns to me. “Are you sure you don’t want to just leave it? You might find them in a few days.”

I considered telling Bron to return my keys, but I know he won’t and if I ask Lauren for hers, she’ll ask why. And while they will find out eventually that I know about them, my plan requires sacrifice.

“I’m sure,” I mumble, biting back the weighted sigh lodged in my ribs.

Martin rolls a shoulder in a shrug and sets to work dismantling every lock in the house.

I leave him to take bleach and a rag to every inch of my kitchen counters. I even scrub the floors, just in case, and strip every piece of linen off every sofa, love seat and bed in the house. It’s all dumped in the laundry room.

“Spring cleaning?” Martin teases watching me tear the covers off the ottoman.

I huff a stray lock of hair out of my eyes and offer him a grin. “Something like that.”

Withered paw fisted tight around a screwdriver, Martin waves it at me. “Louise did the same thing just last week. Tore the whole house apart dusting and polishing. She wanted everything all clean for when Alana has her baby in a couple of weeks.”

I pause with the bundle of fabric clutched to my abdomen. “How is Alana?”

Martin beams. “Real good. Excited. She’s got the nursery all set up in the basement.

She and Samuel are hoping to find their own place by next year.

Sooner if they can, but I keep telling them not to rush it.

No one wants to move with a new baby. Take your time and find something decent.

” He pauses to glance around my living room.

“Like this. It’s a good bit of space. Good bones. ”

I smile and nod. “Thank you. Well, I hope they find something.”

Without waiting for further conversation, I hurry away with my armload of laundry.

I stuff the first load into the washer.

Martin is just finishing up the backdoor when I return. First thing I notice is the generic, silver knobs and let the rage add to my wall.

“That’s the last of ‘em.” He grunts as he pushes off his knees to stand. “I got the side and garage door. You might want to freshen up the paint, but otherwise, you’re all good.”

“Thank you, Mr. Parker,” I murmur.

He tosses his screwdriver into the box at his feet and dusts his hands across his thighs. Martin snaps his toolbox shut with a clank, the sound echoing too loud in the quiet house.

He straightens, squinting at me beneath the brim of his cap. “I left your old knobs in the garage just in case you find your keys. It would be a shame to throw them out.”

I thank him again and watch as he crosses to the front door, drops my new set of keys on the hallway table, and disappears without another word.

And just like that, it’s quiet again .

Just me and the echo of my heart thumping in my chest.

One task complete now that I can ensure that no one else will be slipping into my house to contaminate my counters.

Next, finish preparations for Lauren’s party.

Mind set, I grab my purse, swipe my new set of keys, and storm into the garage.

I climb into my car, poke the garage door open, and slide my belt across my lap.

I throw the car into reverse and start to back out, only to slam on the brakes the moment I see the white truck in my driveway with the words, Shaw’s Construction emblazoned across the side.

Lachlan .