Garden of Sins

12. Am I losing it, Caden?

Alayna

We finally arrive in front of the Rush family house and I can’t escape Carter’s BMW fast enough. I don’t wait for him to open the trunk either, but do it myself. Your parents and Ava are already here. Their car is in the driveway and the kitchen window is open. It is such a hot summer day, but I am freezing inside. Just thinking about the last two days gives me goose bumps and not the pleasant kind.

“What are you doing, baby girl?” Your voice comes from behind me and I flinch because you sneaked up on me. With a jerk, I pull out my suitcase and shoulder my purse.

I can’t even look at you. When Carter gets out too, I feel constricted, small, and helpless between you two. You cast a shadow on me, blocking out the sun. And I can’t shake the feeling, after everything that has happened over the last few days, that this is exactly your nature.

“You seem pale,” Carter remarks with his head tilted. “Do you have to puke?” He takes a step back and I pick up my suitcase.

“Everything is fine,” I say crisply. “I received a message from my mom and I have to go home.”

“Really?” you ask and slam the trunk loudly after Carter removes your bags. He grazes my arm and I recoil. An uncomfortable feeling floods me and I have to pull myself together so I don’t back away from him. Instead, I hesitantly step towards you as if I am approaching a hungry lion. My alarm bells are ringing like never before.

I stand on my toes and kiss the corner of your mouth. “I’ll be in touch, baby.”

I try to get loose again, but you put an arm around my waist and press me against you like a steel trap. “How will you get home, Alayna?” you ask almost menacingly. I feel my heartbeat accelerate. Shit, I really need to get out of here. Take a few days to collect myself and think.

“Everything okay down there?” Mason Rush’s voice thunders through the front yard and you release me, allowing me to create some distance between us. That’s what I need right now.

You appear angry. I hate it when you’re angry.

“It’s okay, Dad,” Carter replies easily.

“Well, I’m ready for you to take me home now, Mr. Rush, if the offer still stands.” I gamble, hoping he plays along. Obviously, I didn’t ask or discuss anything with him, but I’m certain he’ll figure it out.

Mason Rush doesn’t make a face as his indefinable eyes wander to you and you stare back emotionlessly. Then he glances at Carter, who grins at him.

“Sure, kiddo. Come on,” Mason replies.

I’m so relieved he played along and didn’t let me down. Without giving you two another glance, I follow him. Mr. Rush glances over his shoulder again.

“Tell your mom I’ll be back in half an hour.” His voice is strained as if he’d rather say, I’m going to kill you, you motherfuckers!

He lifts my suitcase into the back. I get into his car on shaky legs and only feel safe when he starts the engine. We roll past you. Both of you.

You casually lean against Carter’s car with your arms crossed and raise an eyebrow. Carter stands behind you, elbow loosely supporting him on the trunk, hand around the wrist of the other arm, appearing as confident and fucked up as you do. I know I’m in deep shit.

But how deep?

No idea.

* * *

When we arrive at my home, I swallow. Actually, I didn’t want anyone from this family to see where I live and where I come from.

“Thanks for the ride,” I mutter, but Mr. Rush maintains a straight face. He doesn’t let on how he feels about the house we are in front of. I am grateful that he does not show any pity because I couldn’t handle it. He didn’t try to talk to me or find out anything while driving either — he simply left me alone. I needed that.

“If anything happens, call me or Emilia. Anytime. You have our numbers,” he says.

“Thanks,” I reply with a lump in my throat because no one has ever been so honestly nice to me. All the others are only ever nice to me when they expect something from me. But Mason Rush? What could he expect from me? I have nothing to give him and yet he’s so kind.

I remove my suitcase from the car and Mason stays until I get to the door. He’s still waiting there when my mom opens the door, which I don’t like at all.

Everything here is so terribly run-down. The lawn in front of the old house that my parents bought in better times is overgrown and weathered. We don’t have a pretty weeping willow, a cute Hollywood swing, or a white picket fence. The porch has been neglected and you have to skip the third step because it rotted and collapsed. There is nothing left of the former paint on the parapet. In places, the wooden slats have broken and hang down or found their way into the garden. Nobody in our family has ever picked one up. The house used to be white, now it is gray, black, and yellow. In some places, smelly mold has spread. It is disgusting.

In front of me, the screen door hangs on one hinge and cardboard is taped over the busted glass pane in the front door.

My mom stands in front of me. Her dark brown hair is shoulder-length, loosely and untidily gathered with a clip, with split ends because she hasn’t cared for it for years. She has dark eyes with deep shadows underneath. Her skin is sallow and pale because she does not spend much time outdoors. With her, it always feels as if she has something to hide and is fleeing from something. At times, she has done some crazy things, for example, when we were in the supermarket, she left the shopping cart in the middle of it and dragged me out of the store.

She wears a shapeless shirt that used to be white and is now stained and washed out. Our washing machine has been broken for what feels like an eternity and if I want something washed I have to drag it four blocks to the nearest laundromat. That’s why I sometimes wash a load when your parents are at work. I always feel bad about it, like I’m stealing, but you said I could do whatever I want in that house, that you just want me to be okay. Is that what you want, Caden? Really? You want that, Caden? Can a person like you really be as bad as I thought you were yesterday?

Mom holds a cigarette between her fingers while leaning in the front door.

She stares past me, straight at Mason’s white Mustang, and I whisper, “He’s married, Mom, with three kids!” God knows if she wants to hit on him. I trust her to do anything, given how she goes through men.

She looks at me again. I want Mr. Rush to go away. I’m so embarrassed. Then Mom blows the cigarette smoke in my face, which I forgive. She always does that and I hate it, that’s why inwardly, I freaked out when Carter did it in the club.

“So? You’re obviously spreading your legs for him too, aren’t you?” Her voice is hoarse and tired. Always tired, always on the lookout, and her gaze always so haunted.

“No, Mom. He is my boyfriend’s father. Can I come in now?” Mason is still waiting, I can feel his eyes on my back.

“Why? You seem to have a new family now and you’re all set. Well done, Alayna. You are a lot smarter than me.” She says all this so emotionlessly, only with a slight hint of aggression in her voice, which always accompanies her. She freaks out so quickly and then hits me. Obviously, she doesn’t have the necessary strength to hurt me seriously, at least, since I am older. But, if she uses anything, it can be dangerous. For example, a month ago, she grabbed the poker next to the fireplace even though the latter hasn’t been lit for a good five years.