Only, fine is such a bullshit thing.
“Come on, Mom. You know I’m mature and responsible, and—”
“You’re turning sixteen in two weeks. You’ve been having driver’s license lessons for a car. You know your father is going to get you a car.”
“I don’t want a car. All I want—”
“Erika, why can’t you be happy with what your father wants for you?”
I huff a sigh. “Mom, when will you and Father realize that I’m me? I’m Erika? I’m not just your daughter.”
My mom stiffens, and I know I hurt her. I hate myself for having hurt her. I hadn’t meant to, but she hasn’t been listening to me.
She thinks she is doing what she can to keep me safe. She thinks staying is better than leaving.
It isn’t until later that things get worse, so much worse. I have no idea the full extent of the nightmare my mom lived through, but what I do know is terrible enough. My imagination runs wild, wondering the possibilities she faced.
All for the sake of keeping the surname Slade.
Not fucking worth it.
“I’m my own person,” I continue. “I want—”
“I know your birthday is coming up,” my mom says, her tone aloof.
It is the tone she often used with my father.
A tone she has never before used with me.
It wounds me, but it also serves to alert me to how hurt she herself is.
“But maybe you should be happy with your life, with everything your father provides.”
“So it’s wrong for little kids to write letters to Santa asking for a specific toy? What about the kids who need clothes that don’t have holes in them?”
“Erika! How can you dare to compare yourself to the less fortunate?”
“I’m not! I was trying to make a point!”
“You have almost everything you could wish for. Of course you would want the one thing I don’t want you to have.”
“Mom, I’m a good kid. I don’t do drugs. I don’t drink.”
She lifts her eyebrows.
“Nothing except the occasional sip of wine Father allows me at dinner,” I amend.
“You’re fifteen. You shouldn’t—”
“You were there the first time he offered me a sip. I couldn’t turn him down.”
“Maybe your father would think higher of you if you stood up to him every now or then.”
I just stare at her.
She winces. “You—”
“My teachers only have glowing reports for me. I get mostly As. I don’t party too much. I don’t stay out all hours of the night. I’m a good girl, Mom.”