Page 25 of Sac-rifice (RBMC: Cleveland, Ohio Chapter #7)

SHE’S SIXTEEN

COR

Past

“H appy birthday, baby girl. Blow out your candles,” Mom said, proud that she had baked and decorated the cake. I didn’t have the heart to tell her she was about ninety days late. My birthday had taken place three months prior.

I obliged her, blowing over the cake, watching the flames flicker, and then go out.

One, two, three, I began counting the number of candles on the cake.

There didn’t seem to be quiet sixteen, some were missing.

Okay. Not some. Three were missing, which shouldn’t bother me but piled on top of the fact that she had forgotten and missed my actual birthday, it hurt.

Saying something to her about it was pointless, she had been the same person ever since Dad left us, more or less.

Over time, holidays lost their importance to her and were celebrated fewer times with each passing year.

Eventually, they were completely forgotten all together.

So, I kept my mouth closed even though it hurt.

She might be late, but this was the first holiday Mom seemed genuinely happy to be present for in a long while.

My eyes were transfixed on the cake as I sat there deep in thought.

“Do you like it?” Mom beamed, bouncing from one foot to the other with excitement.

“Yes, thank you,” I said with very little enthusiasm, finding it more than difficult to feign happiness for Mom’s benefit.

By now, I figured I would be immune to feeling pain over little things like the incorrect number of candles on top of a cake, but I guess I was only human.

It cut a little deeper that out of all the people around me, my mom was the one who hadn’t taken the time to grab a few more candles and shove them beside the others.

They came in packs of twenty or twenty-four I think, so even if we didn’t have enough lying around in a drawer somewhere in the house, a quick trip two minutes down the road to the store would have fixed the problem.

The more I thought about it, I questioned if any of the negative parts of today were really at the root of me being upset.

The smaller number of flames hadn’t jumped out at me before I blew them out, so why did they matter to me now?

Although this day was two pages away from my birthday on a calendar, Mom was at least putting forth the effort.

I kept reminding myself of that, but in the back of my mind, there was a gnawing voice telling me I wasn’t important enough for her to care whether I had been safe all of these years that Davey was in our lives, much less for her to remember the little things to make me happy.

I propped my elbows on the table, resting my chin on my palms, finding the scratches on our worn table more interesting than celebrating a day that meant absolutely nothing to anyone other than Mom.

Shane, Isaac, and Tate had surprised me as soon as the clock struck midnight on my actual birthday with a cupcake and random gifts.

None of the presents hidden beneath wrapping paper were expensive, but they meant the world to me.

I was disappointed with myself for letting this get me down and wanted to scream until my lungs gave out.

Maybe then I would know what it felt like to be heard.

If I thought it would have done any good, I would shout at Mom.

But after ten years of forgotten holidays and continuous neglect, I was more than aware saying anything was pointless.

It wouldn’t make anyone feel better. In fact, it would probably make everyone feel as badly as I did.

I didn’t want anyone to experience what I did, so I remained silent.

“What’s wrong, Corinne Lacey?” she asked, plucking the candles from the cake one at a time and dropped four in front of me. “C’mon, I left the icing on the bottom of them for you to lick off.”

“No thanks,” I quietly mumbled, fighting back tears. My throat burned, and I sniffed. I disliked crying as a general rule of thumb, but I hated it even more if anyone saw me doing it.

Something looped through my pinky beneath the table, and I jumped, my head jolting up, and immediately I found a set of concerned blue-green eyes carefully watching me from across the table.

I shyly smiled at Shane, but my brain had gone into panic mode.

Isaac was seated to my right, and Tate was on his left.

I was the first to break eye contact, quickly glancing at Isaac and then back to Shane.

What was he doing? We were going to get caught.

We had been extra cautious, but with each day that passed, our resolve slipped a little more.

At first, it was stolen glances and inside jokes, and now it was not-so-public displays of affection.

It was only a matter of time before someone figured out what was going on between us.

When that day came, I prayed whoever spotted us was understanding because I couldn’t go back to being only friends with Shane. It would kill me.

“Mom worked really hard on this cake for you, Cor,” Isaac said through gritted teeth, and I had to bite my tongue to stop myself from completely losing it on him.

My nostrils flared as I glared at him briefly, and I felt the tears slipping down the bridge of my nose.

I quickly rubbed my face against my shoulder, getting rid of the evidence.

Mom forgetting my birthday hurt, but Isaac standing up for her instead of having my back blindsided me.

Sure, we weren’t as close as we were a few years ago, but he had always protected me from the things he knew were happening.

He literally threw a knife at Davey for hitting me, all the while Mom was screaming at Isaac to drop the weapon.

I expected Mom to put me second but not my brother.

“Thank you for noticing, Isaac. I did. Corinne is just being an ungrateful brat. Ignore her,” Mom spat out in a sour tone, snatching the cake from the table, walking to her chair, dropping the cake tin in front of her once she was seated. “She doesn’t have to eat it. More for me.”

“For fucks sake, are you both going to sit there and pretend that this is her birthday?” Shane abruptly shouted, roughly jabbing his straightened hand in their direction.

When neither Tate nor Isaac opened their mouths to reply, Shane continued to spiral, smacking his palms against the table, the wooden chair grating against the floor as he stood.

“Shane, that’s silly. Why would we pretend anything? Today is her birthday.” Mom batted her eyelashes.

“No, the fuck it isn’t! Her birthday is June twenty-fourth and has been for sixteen damned years! Not thirteen!” Shane shot back at her hatefully.

“Just drop it, Shane. It’s not worth it,” I admitted, hating that he was upset. There was no need to cause a scene. Why did he care when everyone else clearly didn’t?

“No, Dove, I won’t drop it! You are a good person and are worth so much fucking more than a pity cake three months after your actual birthday because your own mother can’t even keep the date straight in her head,” he growled, turning his attention to Mom.

“C’mon, lady, it’s not like you weren’t there in the fucking delivery room when she was born.

How hard is it to remember her birthday?

It’s one day, not a whole month. You know what?

Never mind. I’ll take care of her like I always have. ”

He walked around the table, hastily digging his finger into the corner of the cake as he yanked it into his arms and set it in front of my face.

He scooped three candles out of the ones Mom left out for me into his palm and shoved them smack dab into the center of the cake, relighting their tiny wicks before he stood still.

“There! At least now she can make her wish with the right number of candles.” He scowled at Mom.

“She’s not three, Shane,” Tate pointed out, scratching his temple with his finger.

“You’re right. She’s not three or thirteen. Which was how many candles her mom put on the cake in case you were wondering. Tate’s eyes widened, and his mouth formed an ‘O’.

“I’m sorry, Corinne Lacey. I’ve just been so busy that it slipped my mind.” Mom turned to me, feeding me an excuse. I tried to swallow it as I always had, but Shane standing up to her on my behalf made me feel some type of way.

“Busy doing what, Mom?” My silence finally broke, and I shot out of my chair, hearing the pitiful excuse that just came from her mouth.

I was over today. I spun on my heel and started to walk away.

I was so done with this! I didn’t care about their judgments anymore.

I grabbed Shane’s hand in mine, not bothering to notice if anyone had a problem with it or not.

“Come on.” I nodded toward the door.

“Don’t talk to your mother like that, you disrespectful little shit!

” Davey shouted, finishing off his beer while he walked into the kitchen, tossing the empty bottle toward my head.

My head bobbed sideways from the impact.

Shane’s hand tightened around mine, pulling me toward him, but when my side hit the table, I lost my footing.

My butt landed in the middle of the sheet cake.

Out of instinct, I yanked on Shane’s arm frantically as Davey stalked closer to us.

The room was spinning, and I fought the urge to vomit. My head throbbed, and the lights seemed to brighten with each painful pound.

“Don’t you dare fucking touch her!” Shane warned, protectively standing in front of me.

“I told you I would fucking kill you if you ever laid so much as a finger on my sister again!” Isaac yelled, swiping the butcher knife off the table where Mom had set it out to use on the cake.

“I’ll knock the shit out of you, too. There’s plenty more bottles where that one came from.” Davey squared his shoulders and ran his hands through his greasy hair.

“Make that three,” Tate growled. “I hope you have enough to go around, old man, because you fuck with one of us, you fuck with all four of us.” He lifted his fists in front of his face and was fast to reach his brother’s side. Isaac bolted around the table and stopped at Shane’s other side.

Mom slowly stood up and reached for me. Her fingertips trembled as she lightly touched where the beer bottle had hit me.

An ear-piercing scream soared out of her mouth when her eyes lifted to the blood slowly traveling down her fingers—my blood.

“Get the fuck out of my house! Now!” she roared and was in front of Davey in record time.

“Ang, don’t be like that. I didn’t mean to hurt the kid. The bottle slipped. I didn’t mean it. I just couldn’t take anyone talking about you like that. You deserve so much better than this. You deserve better than me.” His arms wrapped around her back, and he kissed the top of her head.

Her hand pushed against his stomach, and then her muscles froze in place.

She slowly turned around, addressing us, “Did you hear that, kids? He didn’t mean to do it.

You’re sorry. Aren’t you, Davey?” she said almost robotically as she let Davey pull her further into the kitchen.

He loosely held her waist with one hand, and he faked being sad—hanging his head over slumped shoulders—anytime her eyes lifted to his.

When she wasn’t looking at him, he smiled in our direction.

Mom suggested another beer to calm his nerves, and he nodded, releasing his hold. She leaned against the breakfast bar, digging through the junk draw in search of the bottle opener, humming a familiar song. I recognized it but didn’t care enough to figure out the title.

What was going on? I didn’t understand why she’d changed her mind so quickly.

She’d never forgiven him this fast. Usually, she’d been considerate enough to wait until my cut had scabbed over before she let him back into the house.

I guess she truly didn’t care about me anymore.

Nothing, and I meant absolutely nothing, would make me forgive her if she let him stay.

I couldn’t wrap my brain around her going from screaming less than ten minutes ago to nonchalantly humming as if all was right in the world as she easily served a cold one to this child-abusing monster.

Tears of pure unhinged anger and pain fell from my eyes, and I pushed between myself Shane and Tate.

If Mom really cared so little for me and couldn’t protect me this time, then there was no reason for me to pretend anymore.

I didn’t have a place in this house when my own mother chose my abuser time and time again over me.

She couldn’t even play like one of those parents who took the abusers word over her kid.

She’d seen him hurt me multiple times and did nothing to stop it apart from throwing him out of the house for a while.

But was it really protecting someone if you welcomed their abuser back, allowing them to fall into their old habits?

A parent was supposed to chase away all of the imaginary monsters for their children to make them feel better.

My monster was very real, and he slept a room away from me the majority of my life.

“I love you kids,” Mom vowed, holding back a sob long enough to complete her sentence. “Shane Poe, you protect my baby,” she cried out her demand.

“Ma’am, I always have and always will,” Shane replied with a nod as if he understood why she was acting like this.

“What are you talking about, Mom?” I somberly asked, not sure what was going on around me. Perhaps Davey had hurt me worse than I thought and this was a dream. It had to be because nothing made sense to me.

“I love you all,” she repeated, slipping her hands behind her back.

Davey shook his head, impatiently snatching the bottle off the counter, and popped the lid off using the edge of the counter.

Mom silently lifted a hammer above her head and swung the claw end with all of her might at Davey’s back.