Page 5 of Hate So Deep (Hate #4)

NOW

Lauren

Thank fuck I was able to avoid any further interaction after the wretched thanksgiving meal but I’m now dreading the next event because god help me, I’m not sure I have the patience to decorate their fucking Christmas tree.

I think I feel the flu coming on.

When I come downstairs for breakfast the next day, Mom is gone of course, and since I’m hungry, I grab a snack from the kitchen before hiding in my room.

Although the last thing I want to see is my brother die, I can’t help but wonder if it isn’t cruel to keep him here when per the doctors, he will never truly live again.

It’s even worse for Mom who sits by his bedside, slowly losing another piece of herself.

Meanwhile, I spend my days alone in this achingly quiet house wishing that the woman would come home and acknowledge that I too, am hurting.

Of course, when I try to reach out, she rebuffs me and after staring at her text for twenty minutes trying to figure out what the fuck, I did wrong in my life to deserve this shit, I finally set it aside.

Later, it’s past midnight when my stomach grumbles and I head downstairs to grab a snack. Darkness greets me as I move down the hall and a trickle of awareness slides down my spine.

Bypassing the living room, I peek around the wall, but Mom’s room is dark. She could be asleep but something about the vibration in the air sends me toward the kitchen.

It’s equally dark and quiet and since I’m no longer hungry, I turn back to the stairs, but every step up pulls at my chest and as soon as I reach the top, I lean against the wall and close my eyes.

I’ve been avoiding reality but now walking down this stark, cold hall, I acknowledge that I was so incredibly stupid that night.

I put myself in danger and for what? Dirk doesn’t give a shit about me.

This is real life shit. Look what happened to my damn brother.

If I hadn’t gotten drunk and insisted on going to another party when the only place I should have been going was home, I wouldn’t be wondering what the fuck happened that night.

Clearly, I was roughed up but when and why? Who’s blood stained that freaking shirt and my freshly washed sheets?

“Fuck,” I mumble before continuing down the hall.

At Buck’s room, I pause to glance inside. Strangely, his room is cleaner than I’ve ever seen it and I assume this means Mom came through and tidied it up.

Knowing her, she couldn’t stand the covers on the bed still lying halfway across the floor or the drawers of the dresser standing open.

Buck would be so pissed. He hates it when anyone comes into his room, but I guess it doesn’t matter now, does it?

Still, I feel a kernel of unease as I pass through the threshold before sitting down on the bed.

Buck’s favorite cologne assails my nose and my stomach churns because anymore, I can’t stand the cloying scent that always preceded his angry presence.

Setting aside the disturbing thoughts, I turn to his nightstand and move around the discarded coins and an unused condom before opening the top drawer.

A bong, lighter and two tickets to a concert coming up at the end of the month sit inside.

Across the room, I glance into his closet, eyeing the clothes hung neatly within.

Yeah, Mom definitely cleaned shit up.

“What are you doing?”

Spinning to the door, I drop the lighter from my boneless fingers and whisper, “Mom?”

“What are you doing in here, Lauren?” she barks, and I shrug helplessly.

“I just wanted…”

Her glittering eyes bite into mine when she says, “Get out.”

“Mom–”

“Out. Get . Out.”

She points to the door, and I step toward it with my heart in my throat. At the threshold, I pause though when she says, “It should have been you.”

Frozen, I stare at the wall as a brutal burn starts in my chest and flows down my limbs.

“Whatever happens, just remember it should have been you,” she spits, and I stumble forward.

It should have been you.

How do I pack that shit away?

Christmas break rolls around with a whimper. Buck is still hooked up to machines keeping him alive despite the fact that he’s brain dead.

I’ve avoided my mom as much as possible which means, fuck my life, I’m at Dad’s for their annual tree decorating shit.

Last week at school, I found out through fucking gossip that Buck’s girlfriend Aimee is now considered missing.

Apparently, everyone thought she left with her parents for Europe but when they finally tracked them down, the parents informed the police that she had been left behind.

Of course, no one bothered to tell me and I’m still trying to process what that might mean.

Did someone take Aimee after they beat up my brother? Is she even now somewhere alone and scared and possibly hurt?

I don’t know and it’s this that keeps me constantly on edge. I’m exhausted and feeling downright bitchy when to my dismay, Dirk shows up right after I do, following me into the living room.

Asshole.

The tree, a beautiful, lush fir with sweeping boughs, sits in the corner, ready for the final steps, with the lights carefully situated.

Colt glares at me from the other corner, his arm around Finn. I feel my right eye twitch when Cat slides under Dirk’s arm and snuggles against his chest.

I need a fucking moment to process everything but of course, no one cares about my feelings when Celia says, “Lala dear, your dad set aside some of your ornaments. Do you want to put them on the tree?”

Turning away from where I was glaring out the window, I stare at her fingers, clutching a flat box which I recognize from home. How did she get that?

Reluctantly, I take the box from her hand and open the lid, spying two of the completely hideous ornaments I made for Dad, carefully constructed from papier maché and glue but the one in the middle is what catches my eye.

It’s not mine. One Christmas a bazillion years ago, Buck saw it in a shop. He begged and begged until Mom finally gave in, buying the ornament.

Back then, he wanted so badly to learn how to play the guitar, but Mom said no, and Dad said nothing.

Pulling the guitar from the box, I hold it up to the light. This is a testament to just how little Dad knew about us because he must have picked this from the dozens of others now packed away somewhere, assuming it was mine.

My veins heat with my rage, and fighting off a surge of lightheadedness, I clench the ornament between my fingers, smiling when the orb bursts in my hand.

“Oh my,” Celia says, as I give in to the wicked burn circling my soul and hang the now broken ornament on the tree.

A hush falls across the room when I step back to admire my handiwork before Dad barks, “Lauren! What is wrong with you?”

Curling my bloody fingers into my palm I meet his stern gaze and raise my chin. His sigh does nothing but ratchet my rage as I glance around, meeting Finn’s wide-eyed stare before moving to Colt’s scowl.

Cat merely drops her gaze and when I turn to Dirk, he raises his brows.

Sensing the censure behind his gaze, I walk from the room and down the hall before stepping into the bathroom and locking the door behind me.

After which, I stare at my reflection and the hard pools of loathing, staring back at me.

I’m angry, but at whom? Them or me?

After the fiasco in the living room, I sit out the rest of the tree decorating but concede when Dad encourages me to watch a movie after dinner.

Dirk is still here, and I can’t figure out why, but I’ve given him and everyone else in this fucking place the cold shoulder since I sat down on the couch.

What was once one of my favorite movies is lost on me while I stare at the screen blindly.

Eventually, Dad leaves with his other wife and my eyes burn when he wraps his hand around her waist and kisses her forehead.

Celia smiles at him before they’re gone from my view, and I turn back to the television.

Does he miss Buck? Is any part of him sad about leaving my mom? Or are they erased? Like me?

The images emblazoned on my brain evaporate when Colt presses pause on the remote and turns to me with a wintry gaze.

I recognize the same damn look from my dad’s stern lectures and wrap my arms around my middle, bracing myself for the onslaught.

Of course, he doesn’t disappoint and drilling me with his stare, he barks, “What’s your problem?”

“Colt,” Finn says but he shrugs her off while Cat sinks into her seat.

I don’t move though because I can’t afford to show weakness. Not with him…not with any of them.

“Well?” he growls, and I suck in a breath.

“Colt,” Dirk says but Colt waves his hand.

Frozen, I can only stare while Colt sneers, “Listen you little brat, my mom has gone out of her way to make this right for you–”

“Right?” I sneer, shoving the blanket from my shoulders. “How is any of this right ?”

When he stands, Finn grabs his arm and says, “Colt…”

My heart clenches when he glances at her and the coldness evaporates before he meets my gaze and says, stiffly, “Look, this is weird for all of us. Maybe you could stop being a bitch.”

Backed into a corner, the only thing I know to do is attack and pushing to my feet, I say, “ I’m being a bitch? I don’t even want to be here.”

“Then go,” he says, and I turn away, meeting Dirk’s dark stare.

When his brows flicker, I walk stiffly from the room and slam my hand on the back door, before exiting into the darkness.

Stupid move, I suppose because the ache in my palm which finally died down surges back in full force after I spent twenty minutes picking glass out of my hand.

Whatever, I welcome the fucking pain because this I understand. What happened in there…not so much.

Tipping my head to the stars, I admire the brilliance so at odds with my rage and sigh before sitting down on the steps.

The cool wood sends a shiver up my ass, but I have no intention of going back inside anytime soon. I’d rather freeze to fucking death.

This isn’t how I envisioned my life. Of course, who would?

My brother is a fucking vegetable, and I’m supposed to accept the kick to the face that is my dad’s new life knowing he moved on easily enough.

I don’t fit here. I don’t fit anywhere.

I know I’m being an angry bitch but seeing their peace brings out my ugly because I have none. It’s gone.

When the air displaces behind me, I glance up and roll my eyes to the sky, muttering, “Let me guess. I’m being a spoiled brat.”

Dirk sits beside me and tips his head to the moon. He’s quiet long enough that I begin to squirm before he says, “You’re only making it worse.”

“How can it be worse?” I mumble.

“If the goal is to make them all hate you, you’re doing an awesome job.”

Turning to him, I say, “As opposed to what? One big happy family?”

Raising a brow, he touches my wet cheek and says, “Is that so bad?”

Wiping away the evidence of my tears, I shake my head. He doesn’t get it. None of them do.

“They’re not my family,” I whisper. “My family is gone and my dad’s in there playing house.”

“He is baby girl. You know why? Because that’s what you do. You think your mom wants you to spend your life angry?”

Although my skin warms under the caress, I stand with a bitter laugh and rub my face before saying, “Yes, actually she does.”

There’s a pregnant pause before Dirk too stands. His dark eyes glitter when they search mine. Finally, he says, “Is that what you want? To be like your mother?”

“What are you, my therapist?” I spit and his brows drop over his eyes.

“Here’s the spoiled brat,” he growls. “Newsflash Lauren, you’re not the only one whose family broke apart. You just refuse to fix it.”

The brutal burn of resentment fills my veins, and I step back, saying, “Fix what? Everyone has already left me behind.”