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“And everything about me screams elegance,” I muttered.

My mother sighed again. “You talk like you’re not twenty-one years old, with your whole life in front of you to decide what you are, what kind of person you want to be.” She jerked her head to the assistant lingering beside us.

They scurried off to ring up the clothes she was forcing on me.

My mother went to leave but paused when I spoke.

“I don’t get to decide what kind of person I want to be anymore. Someone else decided for me.”

A victim. A survivor? Damaged goods, either way.

I met her eyes, the hurt burning in my chest forming into something pointed and hard. A precious stone to encase my heart. It was much more useful than tears. It was lethal.

“They decided, and now, I’m just what’s left. Stop hoping for more than that. You’ll be disappointed.”

“Oh, Selena.”

My mother really looked at me for the first time in as long as I could remember. Her eyes searched my face, and then she shook her head.

“I wish you could forgive?—”

“Forgive them?” My rage was a razor-sharp sword, poised above her head.

She just had to say the word, and I’d be done with her. I’d been homeless briefly in California, after I’d annoyed my aunt too much with my erratic behavior and she’d kicked me out. I could do it again. What did it matter anyway?

Then she spoke again, and my grip faltered.

“Yourself.”

Just like that, she turned around and stalked toward the cash register, leaving me bleeding in her wake.

Selena

My sister had been attendingthe special residential school located near Portland for years. She was so happy here, I hadn’t minded one bit when my mother had sold off our mansion, and cars, to fund it—no easy feat after paying off the massive debts my dad had left behind. If the remaining money should’ve gone to anyone, it should’ve gone to making sure Cici was happy.

We found her in the gardens. They were doing art therapy, and I could objectively say, Cici’s art was the best.

“Selena!” she yelled when I got close.

“Cricket.” I smiled at her, scooping her up into a hug. I couldn’t lift her anymore, those days were long gone, but extra-long hugs with her were the highlight of my life.

“Can I show you my picture? It’s pretty lame, but…” She was already walking toward an easel.

They were painting the fountain in the middle of a courtyard. I loved this place. It was peaceful and serene, and the scenery was beautiful. The students here deserved this safe haven from thecruel world beyond the gates. I wanted to make sure that Cici kept going here as long as she wanted to. That was one of the only reasons I was playing along with my mom, going back to college, staying in the new McMansion. John Sinclair was paying for this school, and that made me appreciate at least one thing about him.

Cici was brilliant at art. Gifted. It was her talent and her special interest. She had dipped in and out of mainstream school when she was young but had been happier and healthier here. She had autism spectrum disorder and generally functioned very well, but her anxiety had been unmanageable in regular school. Her past stint, when our father had just died, had left her with a crippling eating disorder. That worried me more than anything lately.

“It’s amazing, which you already know.” I smiled at her. “Just keep drawing these beautiful creations, and I’ll keep learning how to sell them and run your business.”

Cici nodded. She looked tired, but then, she was so thin, it was hard to know how she’d look without her hollowed-out eyes and dark circles.

Mom bustled off to catch up with Cici’s eating disorder therapist.

We sat on a bench in the late afternoon sun together. I took my coat off and rolled it into a cushion to put under her. She’d confessed that it sometimes hurt to sit on any hard surface.

“So, what are they like? The evil stepbrothers…”

Cici had met John. At least he’d made time to come and meet his new stepdaughter. It wasn’t much, the bar was low, but it was something.