Page 38 of Muse (The Forbidden Hearts #1)

SOPHIE

I brace myself, ready to face the wrath of my parents when I step through the front door. I’d wanted to spend the whole day at Theo’s, but the longer I’m there, the higher the likelihood of my parents having heard from Mrs. Crenshaw and then coming to look for me.

That’s the last thing I need.

I square my shoulders and take one last deep breath before walking through the entrance and into the house that feels more like a prison than a home.

The familiar silence stretches too far, pressing on my ears.

I hear my parents in the kitchen, discussing something work-related, and just a bit of the weight falls off of my shoulders.

At least they weren’t sitting there waiting for me, ready to pounce.

I walk into the kitchen, my stomach a knot in my belly, my whole body tense like a live wire. They both glance at me quickly, then away again, clearly disinterested in me at the moment. My whole body relaxes, shoulders dropping just slightly. They haven’t heard anything.

Maybe Mrs. Crenshaw didn’t realize it was me. Maybe I got really damn lucky last night. Thank the stars, or whatever is out there, for that fact. I slip by them, grabbing a water bottle from the fridge, the cold plastic grounding me, and then turn to head up to my room.

“Sophie, where were you last night?” My father calls out, his voice devoid of any emotion.

My blood runs cold, pooling in my stomach. I refuse to turn around, afraid to see the expression on his face. “The fair and then Sal’s,” I say, hating how smooth the lie rolls off of my tongue. “Why?”

“Hm,” he grunts out.

I hesitate, waiting for anything more, bracing for it, but it doesn’t come. Relief rushes through my whole being. I rush up to my room before he changes his mind about ending the conversation there.

When I shut the bedroom door behind me, I sigh in relief, letting myself lean against it for a moment. My body stays tense, as if it’s coiled and waiting for a bomb to drop. The feeling of impending doom sits heavily in my chest, pressing on my lungs.

I am so close to graduation, so close to not having to worry anymore.

We just have to make it a little bit longer.

I pull out my phone, sending Theo and Sal both texts, letting them know I’m home. The two people I love most in the world. My safety nets. Sal hearts my message, her typical response, short and sweet.

Theo: Wish you didn’t have to leave. Now what am I supposed to do all day?

I chuckle, rolling my eyes.

Sophie: I’m sure you’ll find some way to keep yourself entertained.

Theo: Sure, but nothing is as entertaining as you.

A smile stretches across my face, my heart fluttering in my chest. Warmth spreads through me like sunlight. How in the hell did I get so lucky?

Theo: Also, don’t think I didn’t know your birthday is coming up.

I groan, laying back on my bed. My muscles sink into the mattress. I don’t enjoy my birthday and hadn’t planned on mentioning it to him at all. For my entire life, my mother has made birthdays so incredibly stressful, along with holidays and pretty much any and every special occasion.

It’s never really about me. It’s always about her .

In fact, she’s told me many times that I’ve ruined my birthday for everyone else.

For not having the attitude she’d like, or some other imagined offense.

Now that I’ve gotten older, I’ve become someone who minimizes them and pretends they don’t exist.

I’d rather just go on about my day than be under the pressure of ensuring everyone else enjoys themselves on a day that’s supposed to be celebrating me. I can do without all the stress. I can do without the fake smiles and the guilt trips.

Sophie: It’s not a big deal, I’d rather not celebrate.

Theo: Well, it’s a big deal to me. You deserve to be celebrated. We can do anything you’d like.

Theo: Within reason.

I smirk at that, imagining asking for something totally outlandish just to get a rise out of him.

Sophie: That’s alright. If I get to choose, I’ll just spend the day in bed with you.

Theo: You don’t have to tell me twice.

I rummage around my bedspread, searching for the damn remote.

It goes missing almost every time I need it.

I swear it moves itself around the room just to mess with me.

I finally find it tucked between the pillows and scroll through Netflix, searching for something to watch, not planning to leave my room unless I absolutely have to.

Hours later, I’m half asleep, The Office playing on my TV, when a sharp knock sounds at my door before it goes flying open.

My mother stands there, an angry expression twisting her features. Eyes cold and sharp as they narrow on my face.

“What…?” I ask, sitting up and rubbing sleep from my eyes.

“I just got a call from Clara.” Mrs. Crenshaw. Her eyes narrow in on me, her voice hard and accusing, and my body goes tense instantly at her words. “Who were you with last night?”

“Sal and Jace…” I say, dragging out the last word, forcing it out through a dry throat. My mouth feels like sandpaper. My eyes flick around the room, hunting for an escape I know doesn’t exist.

“STOP LYING!” she screams, her voice high-pitched and shrill. I wince, fear flooding through me in a crashing wave.

“I… I’m not,” I choke out. My voice sounds so small in comparison. Useless.

She stalks toward me, towering over me as I sit on the edge of my bed.

Her presence looms, a shadow blotting out the light.

“Clara told me you were there with some man,” she practically spits the last word.

“That he punched Cole in the face. That you were all over him. What do you think you’re doing?

Do you have any idea the rumors that this will start?

Our family is going to be the talk of the town, and it’s all your fault. It always is. You’re an embarrassment.”

My heart feels like it’s going to beat out of my chest. My breathing is quick and shallow. I can hardly take a full breath. I’m frozen, terrified. Of her, of Cole, of what he could say, and of what this could mean.

“You don’t have anything to say for yourself?

” Her voice is calm again, low and controlled, which is a thousand times more terrifying than the yelling.

The calm before the storm. That calculating glint in her eyes has me ready to run and hide, though I know better.

There’s nowhere to run in the world when she’s on the warpath.

I shake my head, keeping my mouth shut. I feel so small under her gaze, so insignificant. So unwanted. I’m never good enough for her. I know any excuse I give would only earn me a sharp slap. I see her hand twitching, itching for it.

I’m no stranger to physical punishment.

“Who. Was. That. Man. That put his filthy hands on you, and on Cole?” Every word is laced with venom, like she’s spitting poison.

I clear my throat, my mind racing as I try to come up with what to say. “Aren’t you wondering why he punched Cole?” I squeak out, surprised I manage to say anything at all.

She laughs, a bitter sound that cuts me to the bone. “I’m sure whoever he is, he was just jealous of everything Cole is. That young man is going places, not that it matters to you. You messed that all up.” She sneers at me, and the disgust in her gaze sends tears rushing to my eyes.

I sink back into my bed, trying to put some distance between the two of us. She steps forward, not allowing me even that small comfort.

“Are you stupid? What part of my question did you not understand? Tell me who it was.”

I cower, eyes dropping to the bed in front of me. “He was just a guy I met at the fair. We hit it off… he’s nobody.” The lie leaves a sour taste in my mouth. I pray like hell it doesn’t sound like one.

“So you are just a dirty whore,” she says, stepping back like I’ve infected the air. I don’t dare move. Don’t even think about looking her in the eye. One wrong move and I’ll feel her wrath. I can feel the tension rolling off of her like a coming storm.

“Your father will be disgusted with you, just as I am.”

I shake, knowing damn well she’s right. Terrified of what he’ll say when he finds out. Her hand reaches out, and I flinch, expecting the sting of her palm.

“Give me your phone. Now.”

Fuck. No.

My chest tightens up, fear exploding through me like a bomb. My hand, still under the sheet where my phone rests, inches over as smoothly as I can manage. I find it, press and hold the buttons on the side, forcing it to power down.

“I said NOW,” she bellows. I flinch again.

I make a show of looking for it, giving it a few more precious seconds to shut off. Then I retrieve it and hand it over.

I have a lock code and my notifications don’t show names, but still, if it lit up while she held it, if Theo tries to call, it will set off alarm bells. I can’t risk that.

She snatches it from my grasp, one of her nails dragging a line down my palm. Then she storms from the room, leaving the door wide open behind her.

I grasp my blanket and pull it over my head. And I cry.

I must’ve fallen asleep, because when I wake, the room is dark except for the soft glow of the TV. The house is quiet and dark beyond my open bedroom door. I move to find my phone, hand reaching for my bedside table, before I remember.

She took it.

My mind goes straight to Theo. Has he texted? Does he think I’m ignoring him? I’d usually have called him by now, even for just a few whispered words. I’d give anything just to hear his voice.

I slide out of bed and creep into the hallway, pausing at the top of the stairs to listen. Nothing. I make my way to the kitchen, the tile cold under my feet. The soft green glow of the oven clock reads just after eleven. I slept the whole damn day away .

I check the counter for my phone, where she usually leaves it. It’s not there, it’s nowhere in sight.

Guess she’s angrier than usual. And honestly, so am I.

Every time she does this, my immediate reaction is fear. But after that, after the panic and the tears, comes the anger. The pure rage at the way she treats me. Like I’m less than, like I’m broken.

Like she’s better than me.

Slut. Whore. Bitch. The words don’t even sting anymore. I’ve become so accustomed to hearing them, they might as well be my name.

Never in public, of course. Outside these walls, she’s the perfect mom. But inside?

Inside, there’s nothing perfect. Not for me, anyway.

I worry about my sister. Right now, I get it all. The yelling, the blame, the hate. But when I’m gone, when I finally escape, I wonder if she’ll become the new punching bag. Because that’s what I am. Her outlet.

I wish I could take her with me when I go off to college. The only comfort I have is that Mom seems to love her more. She’s better at pretending, at submitting, at smiling when she wants to scream.

She’s already fifteen, just a few more years until she leaves home. Maybe she’ll make it out intact.

One day, I hope, we’ll look back on all this and laugh. Or cry. Or sit somewhere safe and talk about it over coffee. One day.

But today is not that day. Nothing happy to be found here.

I retreat upstairs and quietly shut myself in the bathroom. My reflection in the mirror almost makes me jump. My eyes are red and swollen, the bags under them dark and heavy. I look like a ghost.

Not a good look.

I take my hair down from the bun I’d thrown it up in. The tangled mess is going to take a whole bottle of conditioner to fix. I sigh and turn on the shower.

When I’m done, I pad back to my room as quietly as I can. I sift through my drawer, find the T-shirt I stole from Theo’s house weeks ago, and pull it over my head. The comfort it brings me is ridiculous.

It’s just a shirt, but to me, it’s more. It’s being wrapped up in him, as close as I can get. And right now, it’s the only thing keeping me from completely falling apart.