Page 13 of The Oath We Give

None of that matters, of course. Quite frankly, he could be a member of the communist party, and they wouldn’t mind. As long as I marry rich, keep the gene pool overflowing with blood-soaked money and prestige.

That way, when they speak about me, they can list out all of my accomplishments on a bulleted list to their peers. As if, somehow, what I accomplish in my life is a reflection of their stellar parenting.

My molars shift together, and I give a tight-lipped smile.

“You’ll have to give my condolences. I have a class to teach that evening.”

Regina scoffs. “I’m sure you can cancel. It’s not like it’s mandatory. You’re already spending so much time with them, not to mention the charity art gala coming up. I’m sure they’ll understand if you miss this one day.”

The petulant tone makes the urge to stab her with this fork well up inside of me again, leaving a metallic taste in the back of my throat. I get these impulses to scream until glass shatters or break everything in my line of sight, just so they all can see what really lives inside of me.

To show them and this entire rotting town how rabid and vile I am beneath the surface. That I am not plastic but a force of self-loathing and misery that would terrify their sleepy lives.

My very being would scare them so badly no one would utter my name aloud again.

There is a gentle hand from my left that lies on top of mine. I hadn’t noticed I was clenching the material of my dress at my thigh until soft fingers give mine a squeeze.I release the midnight-blue fabric, giving a reassuring smile in her direction.

She is a constant reminder of why I sit at these dinners quietly, a puppet with society’s hands shoved up my ass, and swallow every wretched word. Bite my tongue and eat their pompous bullshit by the mouthful.

My little sister.

“They wouldn’t mind,” I correct, “but this class is one of the only healthy outlets these girls have. That seems more important than rubbing elbows, doesn’t it?”

I jab a piece of fish, bringing it to my mouth and chewing slowly whilewaiting for their reply, silently hoping they give me a reason to snap. My jaw stays locked to protect Lilac, but there is only so much I’m willing to put up with.

“I think what you’re doing is incredible, Cora.” Lilac’s gentle voice is a balm across my heating skin. I look over at her soft blonde curls, thankful that despite everything, she turned into a kind person. “The girls there adore you.”

I’d be an entire map away from this fucked-up place if it wasn’t for her. I don’t resent her for her age or that Ponderosa Springs has Lilac in her chains for another year. One more year and I can take her far, far away, where she is free to become whatever she chooses, on her terms.

She’s done nothing wrong and has loved me every moment of her seventeen years. I’ve never been cursed in her eyes, only her older sister. Lilac doesn’t deserve to be abandoned by the only person who truly loves her because I can’t handle the pressure.

I will suffer in silence for one more year, and then we’ll both be free.

This time, for good.

“Such a humanitarian,” Regina coos, picking up her wineglass by the stem, swirling the red liquid around, “How do you expect to find a husband when you’re so dedicated to philanthropy? You’re not getting any younger.”

I open my mouth, but my father is quick to interrupt.

“Honey, you know we support you, especially your art. What you do for those girls is admirable, but—”

“But?” I bite out, snapping my head toward him.

My eyes dare him to finish that sentence, and because James is incapable of being submissive to anyone, he does.

“You shouldn’t be spending so much of your time surrounded by people like that. It’s not healthy for you.”

There it is.

Finally, some truth to this conversation.

Telling people I won the Future Generation Art Prize is a title achievement. People writing articles about my future work possibly changing the art world is impressive. The fact I teach art classes to Halo survivors is something that makes me look kind, but the thing is, I can’tactuallygive a shit about these things.

You have to pretend to be human, to have a heart. Here in Ponderosa Springs, it’s so vital to reputations that it’s almost believable. But on the inside, you must be cold and care only about how you look and the staggering amount of money in your bank account.

It doesn’t matter to them or anyone else that the piece that won that stupid fucking award was one I created in the days following my failed suicide attempt. That a voice and the will to create something bigger than me was all that kept me from dying.

I can’t care about the handful of women who come in twice a week for classes.