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“Go on,” I say. “Let rip. Tell me whatever you want to tell me.”
“I DON’T WANT TO TELL YOU ANYTHING! I WANT TO GET YOU OUT OF THIS AND GET YOU HOME!”
“I have a home. I love my home. I love my boyfriend.”
“HE’S NOT YOUR FUCKING BOYFRIEND, ELLA!”
I take a breath. “Like I said, let rip. Say whatever you want to say. Like you always used to. Everyone always fucking judging without giving a shit for what is really going on. Be judgemental, be scathing, I don’t blame you.” I look at him. “But once you’re done, at least give me the chance to speak for myself, will you?”
Mum breaks down again. “Ella, please. We want to take you home!”
“Then take me to Belgravia, Mum. SEE my home. Make up your mind for yourself when you get there.”
“AS IF WE’RE GOING ANYWHERE NEAR THAT SHIT HOLE!” Dad butts in, and I have to shake my head at that. Seriously. A shit hole? If only he knew what kind of shithole I really came from.
He launches into the rage I predicted, trying to shout reason into me, repeating the same bullshit Connor must have fed him, about how he left me because he needed to for our future, only to find out I’d resorted to selling myself, picked up by a sicko pimp called Josh. Josh the tosser. Right, yeah.
I let Dad rage, and I let Mum chime in, and every word jabs. Every. Single. One. But slowly, I feel myself hardening. Their assumptions are so off, it’s embarrassing. The way they think I’m such a naïve little idiot. The way they think I’m being exploited, even though the woman – their daughter – listening to them has pushed the broken shell of herself into the past, where it belongs.
“Finished?” I say, when Dad finally takes a breath, and he waves a hand. He’s out of insults. Monologue impressive, but over.
“You’re coming back with us,” he says. “No arguments. You’re coming home with us.”
It takes all of my strength to look him in the eye.
“No. I’m not.”
He takes a breath, shakes his head. “Of course you’re coming home with us. We need to keep you safe.”
“Sorry, Dad, but I’m not. I’m happier – and safer, than I’ve ever been, and if you’d just give me a single second to speak, maybe you’d get another side of the fucking bullshit story.”
“ELLA!”
I point to the chair next to Mum across the table.
“Sit down, please.”
“NO! LISTEN!”
I’m not having another rant, so I get up from my chair, and pick up my bag.
“WHERE THE FUCK ARE YOU GOING?” he yells, yet again.
“Home,” I say. “Call me when you’re ready to speak and I’ll come straight back, but I don’t want that jackass Connor anywhere in sight.”
The pair of them look horrified, and it breaks my heart, but I can’t play the shrinking violet game anymore. I’m not being dragged backwards while I’m striding ahead.
“Ella!” Mum says, and I wish I could give her a hug.
“I love you both so much,” I say to them. “And I’m sorry Connor did this to you. I was going to tell you myself. I hope you call.”
I’m on my way, praying my legs are able to carry me to the door before I break down. I ignore the shouts of ELLA and hold up a hand. I don’t want to hear it.
Dad tries to charge after me, but I hear Mum intervene, with a TED! NO!
“ELLA, WAIT!” she screams. “DON’T WALK OUT! PLEASE! WE’LL LISTEN!”
I turn and look her right in the eyes. “You’ll listen?”
