JODIE
I roll over, my stomach growling with its need for food and my mouth dry.
The scent of coffee permeates from downstairs where I’m sure Mum is sitting, wringing her hands together with worry. Just as she should be, when I finally find the strength to walk out of this room and start talking.
If it turns out that she knew about any of this—if I discover she hid the truth about my life, about who my father was from me all these years—then I don’t know how I’m going to react.
I understand her need to protect me. But I’m nineteen. I’m an adult. I’m able to make informed choices about my life, drive a car, get married, every-fucking-thing. If she decided that I wasn’t old enough, wise enough, or strong enough to handle the truth, then I’m not sure that this is even where I should be right now.
The betrayal and the lies are what sting the most. Or at least that’s what I’m focusing on, because the pain in my chest is just too agonising to even attempt to address.
Just thinking about him makes a lump of emotion clog my throat and red-hot tears burn my eyes. I knew I was falling hard, and I knew it was wrong.
I wasn’t in any kind of place to be falling in love while I was still drowning in grief. But that didn’t stop me. And it sure didn’t help that Toby seemed to be my perfect guy, the perfect boyfriend.
I knew it was too good to be true. I just wanted to believe that after all the shit that had been thrown my way, I was finally getting some good karma for once.
How fucking wrong was I?
There was nothing good about what we had. Hell, at this point, I’m not even sure there’s anything good about the guy I let into my heart.
My fingers curl around the duvet covering me as pain lashes at my insides.
For the past four days, I’ve locked myself inside my dark room, only leaving for a quick trip to the bathroom. Bri has kept me stocked up with junk food, coffee, and alcohol. But aside from her visits, I’ve allowed myself to finally be drawn under by the grief and devastation that is my life.
I don’t feel good about it, but I haven’t had the strength or brain power to do anything else.
Bri told Courtney that I was sick and was going to have to put back starting at the club, for which I think I’m grateful.
The thought of getting dressed up and shaking my arse for some sleazeball men right now makes my stomach turn. But the reality is that while I’m hiding in here, the world is still turning outside and we’re still going to be evicted.
And even if Mum has hidden all this from me for all of my life, can I really see her out on the street all because she quite clearly fell in love with the wrong man?
No, I can’t.
With a sigh, I try to muster up as much strength as I can and throw the sheets back.
Bri isn’t going to be here today. She’s at school and is busy tonight. I think she might be lying about that though to force me back to life, something I can hardly be annoyed about. She’s spent days being my shoulder to cry on, allowing me to wallow, but it doesn’t stop the frustration bubbling up beneath my skin that she’s pulling some tough love bullshit on me to get me moving.
My body is stiff from days of zero exercise as I make my way to the bathroom. The sound of Mum’s voice downstairs hits my ears and I pause for a beat with my heart in my throat that someone else might be here. When I don’t hear a response, I assume she must be on the phone and continue forward.
I’m gross. My hair is greasy, my skin is… ugh. I’ve been sitting around in my own filth for days. I really don’t want to even think about it let alone see the evidence.
I brush my teeth as I have the past few times, without looking in the mirror in front of me. I dread what I might find staring back.
Standing under the stream of water, I try to force myself to let go of everything that happened in Toby’s flat the other night. I try to forget that the man I’ve been mourning all these weeks isn’t actually dead, because it’s not like he’s going to come back to us any time soon. And even if he did, he’d never be the same man to me.
Our connection might have shifted, our link stronger than ever, but it won’t change anything.
Toby might be a liar, a master manipulator, and a sick and twisted fucking bastard, but there’s one thing I believe him about, and that’s how the man I’ve called my father all these years treated him and his mum. The pain that was in his eyes, etched into his every feature couldn’t have been faked. It just couldn’t. There’s no doubt in my mind that both of them suffered at his hands.
Something twists at my insides, but I have no idea if it’s relief or guilt.
My dad never laid a finger on me, and as far as I know he always treated Mum with the respect she deserved. He was only ever the perfect father, although I can’t help wondering if he was just too good. Did he go over and above with us, knowing how he was treating his real wife, his other son?
But Toby isn’t his son. Just like I thought I wasn’t his daughter.
I drop my head into my hands as a loud groan rips from my lips.