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“I don’t want anything more to do with you,” I say and turn to go.
“You think you can just walk out like that?” I hear his chair scraping on the floor. “Your car, your apartment, you think you can keep them without my say so?”
“I’ll move out,” I shout at him, turning and walking backward. “Go on, show me how powerful you are. Take it all, take everything I own. You don’t own me, and you can’t sell me to the higher bidder. If Sean comes near me again, I’m asking for a restraining order.”
My father stares at me, his eyes narrow and cold, and I feel a small flare of pride at his obvious shock and discomfort.
But then he shakes his head and laughs again, loud and theatrical. “Let’s see how long this little rebellion will last.”
He doesn’t get it. “It’s over,” I say and leave, shaking with adrenaline and sorrow.
Your dominion over me is over.
***
An hour later, I’m sitting in a café on campus, waiting for Erin to meet me, and I’m still shaking. Indoors, hunched over in an armchair, I should feel warm. The heaters are on and everyone is down to their T-shirts—but I’m still wrapped in my long coat and scarf.
I don’t feel warm. I don’t feel good. Don’t know if I’ll ever feel good again. Right now it doesn’t seem like it, although I know time changes everything.
Almost everything.
Dylan…
I shake my head at myself, for still wanting and hoping.
Megan wanders by, Zane’s friend. He never told me how they met. She’s carrying a tray with dirty cups and glasses. She shoots me a smile, and I try to smile back, but my face feels numb.
She stops, puts the tray down, and sits across from me. “Tessa, right? Are you okay?”
I press my lips together and give a jerky nod.
“You look like you need something warm and sweet. Wait here.”
As if I have the energy to move. It seems only seconds before she returns with a tall, steaming mug and sets it in front of me.
“Try this,” she says.
It smells and looks like chocolate, and I’m a sucker for chocolate in any form, so I take a sip.
“Good?” she asks, and I give her the first real smile I’ve managed all day.
“Good.” It has spices in it and alcohol, and it warms my chest. “Delicious.”
Megan sits and observes me, as if waiting for me to say more. Her dark hair is long and glossy, falling in smooth waves over her shoulders. Her eyes are the same color as the hot chocolate I’m sipping, deep and shadowed. Pretty.
When it becomes obvious she won’t give up and go without me saying something first, I put down the mug.
“I’ve just had a really bad weekend,” I say, although parts of it were hot and amazing, and I should forget about them, “and a really bad morning.”
“Boy trouble?” she asks.
“Life trouble.” I think of my dad cheating on my mom and the fact she knows about it—is it considered cheating if both parties know what’s going on?—of the control they have over me, of what I want to do with my life. Of Dylan. “I think I lost my way.”
“We all have, at some point.” Her mouth twists, and she leans back, smoothing her hands over her black apron. Her hands are small and long-fingered, her skin like coffee with milk. “Hard to tell where you’re heading when you’re still walking down that road.”
That makes me smile again. “You sound like you’ve been there.”
She looks up, something flashing through her dark eyes. “I’m still there.”
