These Vicious Games (Seattle Undeground)

Chapter 24

"Give sorrow words; the grief that does not speak whispers the o'er-fraught heart and bids it break."

-William Shakespeare

Past

Atticus messes up the song after school. We go to the abandoned church every day and he sits on the piano while I play my music. Today he wanted to learn, but he was no good. His fingers were entirely too big and he had little to no patience. So, piano is not in his future, unfortunately.

It’s hot this afternoon, sweat drips down the back of my shirt as Atticus and I walk home.

Honestly, I wasn’t excited at all when mom moved us in with some guy and his son, but now, I hope I never have to live without Atticus. He protects me more than my own siblings have.

He doesn’t talk much, always quiet as we take our slow stroll home until he locks me up in my room for the night. Of course, he brings me whatever he can find for dinner. He waits outside the bathroom for me. Which is not ideal but he refuses to reason with me.

Mom’s car is not home when we get there, only Atticus’ dad’s truck. I can feel the stiffness of Atticus' mood. Atticus and his dad do not see eye to eye. I’m not exactly sure why, and I’m far too scared to ask.

Atticus opens the door, pausing and pushing me behind him. I try to look around him, but with one hand on my waist he keeps me back. He’s stronger than I thought.

“Dad. What is this?”

His dad laughs and my stomach sours at the sick sound of it. “You know what this is, son. It’s what we do, and I’ve waited long enough.” I hear the floor creek beneath the heavyweight. “Don’t be stingy. Bring her in. Show her who you are.”

“No.” Lethal.

“What did you say?”

My hands find their way into Atticus’ shirt. His warm skin on my fingers giving me a false sense of security.

I feel Atticus stiffen, his whole body taut and hand squeezing my side.

“Get her on the couch now or I’ll fuck her and make you watch. How about that, huh?”

“What?” I whisper. My brain is not processing what is being said. I’m so scared I don’t fight as Atticus takes me to the couch. His jaw hard, eyes pleading as he pushes my skirt up. I look over, a tear falling from my eye as I make eye contact with his dad. Who is…. He has his hand down his pants, eyes focused on us as a recorder blinks beside him.

Quickly, I look away. Back up at Atticus. I didn’t even notice my panties are at my knees.

“Please.” I croak. “Don’t do this.”

I can feel him there. Down there.

This is wrong. This is not him, he wouldn’t do this to me. He protects me, he doesn’t…

Atticus leans closer, pushing up against me. He’s perched on his elbow, leaning over me and…

Present

I blink, staring into the same green eyes from my memory. “You…” my voice trembles. “You…you.” I push him off me. Stumbling out of the bed and grabbing my bag as I go.

“Little Bird, where are you going? I didn’t fuck anyone else while I was gone, come back.”

I hear a sound crash behind me, but I don’t turn around. I press on the elevator button until it finally opens. Blurry eyes have me missing the lobby button, my fingers slipping over it. My body trembles as I try and fail to press the button, until finally, finally, I push it.

I take a chance, looking up and finding Atticus had fallen over the coffee table, struggling to get up. But I won't stop. I race out of the building, running straight into Joseph.

He grips my arms, keeping me from tumbling into him. I was in such a hurry to leave, I wasn’t even paying attention.

I have no phone, no money, nothing. I’m on the streets of Seattle, one of America's murder capitals, currently in the arms of a man who sold me like livestock.

“Babe?” He smiles. “Came falling back into my arms, I see.”

I roll my eyes, distancing myself from him. “As if.”

I step back, looking down the busy street. I know how to get to my aunt and uncle's house, but the walk will be brutal. I open my mouth to ask the asshole in front of me to pay for a cab, it’s the least he can do, but a town car pulls up instead.

Atticus’s driver steps out, “Miss. He’s told me to take you wherever you need.”

I sigh a breath of relief. I’d rather take my chances on Atticus’ driver versus Joseph.

“I’ll see you around, babe.” Joseph steps back, hands tucked into his pockets as he gives me a lazy grin.

My stomach twists, foreboding causing chills to crawl up my skin as I slip inside the cab. He said it calmly but I took it for the threat it is.

“Where to, Miss?”

I rattle off my Aunt Martha and Uncle John’s address. I sit back, watching the city pass from glamorous to middle class. The air is a bit stale here, which makes me sick to my stomach. I’m so used to the fresh air of the island I forgot how potent it is here in the city.

My door opens and I step out, adjusting my bag.

The house hasn’t changed a whole lot. Maybe some new paint on the door but the rest is just like I remember when I left and never looked back. My aunt and uncle didn’t deserve that, honestly.

I knock on the door, shifting uncomfortably.

Aunt Martha opens the door, her eyes squinting and then widening, “Oh my gosh, Constance?”

I smile sadly, “Hi, Aunt Martha.”

“John, Constance is here! Come in, darling. Hurry, it’s cold out there.” She leads me in, shutting the door behind me.

Once I’m settled in, I join them both for some warm tea at the table. They both stare, waiting, as if knowing I’d come back someday with questions.

“What brings you by, Constance? We haven't seen you in years and now you appear out of nowhere,” Uncle John says.

I deserve my uncle's cold shoulder. I have completely abandoned them.

“I’m starting to remember certain things, but not fully. I was hoping you could help me?”

Aunt Martha sighs, “We only know as much as you know. They found you wandering the streets of Seattle confused. You didn't even know who you were. Only after a couple of days did they finally get your name out of you. They went to your house, but it was abandoned, and it looked like it had been left in a hurry. No signs of your mom or younger brother. It’s as if they never existed. For some reason, I was your mother’s emergency contact even though I haven't talked to her in over a decade. The police contacted us, and we decided to adopt you.”

She sighs, “We sent you to therapy, but we never could figure out what happened…. The only one who knows is your mom.”

Wait.

“My mom is alive?”

“Yes, she’s doing time in prison.”

Oh. Why did I think she was dead?

“Here,” Aunt Martha slides a paper over with an address. “You can visit her there and ask her yourself. I never could get anything out of her,” she shrugs.

I tuck the paper in my hand, wanting to crush it beneath my palm. “Is it okay if I stay the night tonight? I promise I’ll be out of your hair tomorrow.”

“Constance, darling. You can stay as long as you need.”