My fingers dance over a glass vase sitting on an old console television set. As I move around the room, I stumble across a porcelain music box. On the top, a boy and girl sit on the edge of a little pond with fishing poles in their hands. There’s a small duck in the center. I hug it to my chest and then lower myself to the floor, resting against the wall.
I wind the music box not expecting it to work. When it does, I let out a little laugh. The duck spins to life and twirls around the water as the small children watch from the shore.
My heart aches to go back to the days when my brother and I were allowed to stay at my grandmother’s house. It was the one place in the entire world that brought me peace. Mr. Johnson’s oddity shop was a close second.
We stayed at her house often when we were little. The older we got, the less it happened. It was usually when one of my mom’s boyfriends didn’t want us around, or when, a few times, she was promised a new life in another state. No matter how much I prayed she wouldn’t return, she always came back for us.
I’m not really sure why.
My mind returns to the smell of pine and dirt. To the sounds of birds singing in the trees and water lapping softly at the beach. I loved every minute there, but I learned quickly that it wassomething I had to hide away in my heart. The one time I told my mom I wanted to stay, she proceeded to question my love for her from that day forward.
It wasn’t that I didn’t love her. I did … do. It felt safe at my grandmother’s, and I could be myself. I didn’t have to walk on eggshells trying to avoid my mother’s big feelings at Grandma’s house. I could sleep without fear of who might come into my room at night.
I run my fingers through my hair, and my stomach falls. I can’t believe I slept so hard I didn’t hear Tiffany come into my room. Something tells me it was due to the exhaustion I felt after my outburst here at the Cage. I know I can’t fault Rage for how deeply I slept, but part of me wants to blame someone.
I also can’t hold him responsible for Tiffany’s bad behavior. He didn’t cut my hair, she did. The man even settled the score on my behalf. It brings a small smile to my face until I remember what else he did … he claimed me.
A shiver runs up my spine. Rage isn’t someone you want making such a bold declaration. He’s scary as fuck. He’s unpredictable. He’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met. His very name should be enough to send me packing.
My head falls back against the wall as the music box plays a happy little tune and the duck floats around. “You’re just like me, stuck to the world, getting pulled around by a magnet that won’t let go,” I whisper. But hecanleave his little pond with my help. “Do you want to stay?” I ask, wondering the same for myself.
Do I want to stay in chaos, or do I want to keep running from it without ever quite breaking free?
“Do you want to live in the same pond forever? Swimming the same paths?”
It wouldn’t matter if I did have the choice. I’ll never be free of my family’s karma.
When the door swings open, I quickly pull the duck from the music box, wrapping him in the palm of my hand.
Rage steps inside, his eyes roaming over my face like he’s trying to figure me out. “Why aren’t you using the room?” he asks, his brows pulled together and his tone harsh.
“Who says I’m not?”
“I do. Put your equipment back on and let out your rage. It’s the only way through.”
I look up at the ceiling following the ductwork as it winds above us. “Sorry, but I’m not feeling it.”
He walks over and picks up a glass bowl. “Here. Pretend this is Tiffany’s head. I know you’d like to take a little anger out on her.”
“Who are you to pretend to know anything about me?” I stand up slowly, unzipping the overalls I’m wearing.
We stare at each other as I step out of them. I’m telling him no. If he doesn’t accept my refusal to this, I know I’m screwed on declining anything. So far, I’ve been complacent. This is my first act of rebellion.
His jaw clenches, and I can tell he really wants to force me to pick up the bat like he did last night.
“Fine,” he finally spits out. “Go wait for me with Prospect.”
Do I want to push a little further and refuse his request?
It might cause more problems.
“Don’t make me throw you over my shoulder,” he warns.
“Fine,” I snap, but only because I’ve seen first-hand he doesn’t say things he’s not prepared to act on. I’d prefer not to be carried by this man.
When I get to the lobby, Prospect is nowhere to be found. I hurry to the glass door. There are no Bastards outside either, but what is out there is my car.
I glance behind me, biting my bottom lip.Do I stay?