9: Promise

CW: Abuse

☆ Evan ☆

"Ellie," I whisper, knocking on her door as quietly as I can manage. "Ellie, Ellie—"

The door swings open. Elaine's face pops out from behind the doorframe to scowl at me, her eyebrows raised. "What do you want now?"

"Can I come in?"

"Fine!" She collapses onto her bedsheets in a heap. I keep the door slightly ajar; Carolyn absolutely loses her mind about respect if I close it. There's likely a Randall-related reasoning to it—if I had to guess, it's something about the four-year difference between Elaine and me.

"Give me the money tin. I need it," I say.

"Again?" She doesn't reach for her mattress, where we've hidden the plastic container. She just watches me attempt to form an excuse.

At least this time I'm not wasting it on purpose. "Yes, for the gas to fill the tank of your father's goddamned car. Gimme."

Elaine kicks her legs off the bedside and reaches through the gap between her mattress and the headboard. The plastic tin full of bills and loose change makes the softest noise when she moves them, leaving it for me to take what I need.

Once finished, I put it back where it belongs, safe under the pink bedsheets. The colour of her walls is the same shade, a direct contrast from my room across the hall. Blue and pink. Perfectly regular colours for two perfectly regular children. The illusion of a perfect family; the sweet, artistic daughter and the tough, sporty son.

In actuality, it couldn't be further from the truth. The truth is that Elaine's room is plastered with drawings; watercolour skies and fields filled with flowers line the walls, sitting next to pencil drawings of our family. I can't help but smile when I look at them, because even though some of my drawings are years old, they're all signed the same way. E. V. Elaine Vincent, or maybe Evan McKenna. It's our shared secret.

"Okay, I have to go. I have a date with Claire."

Elaine laughs. "Is she really Miss fake girlfriend anymore, or is it more like Missus?"

"You don't have to call her that, you know. And it's none of your business!" I groan, slipping the money in my pocket and bolting out of the room before she can corner me about it.

When I reach the kitchen, Carolyn is sitting at the table. Her fingernails rap against the wooden surface. And as soon as I enter, she stands and waddles to the sink. The water turns on, drowning out the possibility of conversation for a while.

"You're awake late," she says.

No sense in denying it. "I slept in."

Carolyn stops, placing the plate she's washing on the drying rack. With her free hand, she grabs a tea towel. "What about practice?"

Outside my room, Soccer practice is written on the whiteboard, as plain as day. She's pretending like she doesn't know, but Carolyn has my schedule memorized. If I skip out on soccer games, she calls me, and sometimes the school, to figure out where I am. I wonder if she's caught on to my plans to quit—I don't know how she'd figure it out, but I have my suspicions.

Normally, I would just claim I forgot. But today, I don't care anymore. "I didn't go. Coach banned me from playing in tonight's game. I'm planning on watching Claire play. She's the—"

Before I can finish, Carolyn interrupts me. Her voice is harsh, low enough to prevent Elaine from overhearing it. And I don't want her to intervene. "What did you say to me? You didn't go to practice? Why the fuck not?"

She isn't facing me, but the veins in her neck are bulging. Her stance is closed off, and both hands are clutching the basin of water. She dumps it into the sink and refills it, this time letting the pause extend between us.

"I didn't want to," I say.

"Come here," she murmurs. I take a step closer to the sink. Carolyn's hand grasps my shirt, her grip strong as she shoves me against the countertop. My stomach presses into the edge, and I breathe a little deeper. I could break out of it, but that would be useless. It would accomplish nothing. It would be a mistake.

I've already made a mistake bringing this up, haven't I?

"You are not getting kicked off the team, do you understand me?" she asks. When I don't answer, her anger brews. I know what's coming—it's unavoidable—and I try not to prolong it any more than necessary. "Do you?"

Taking a step back, Carolyn forces my body to stand against the sink. One hand grips my neck, pushing my face into the freezing cold water. I barely have the time to take a gulp of air before my senses are plunged into the basin.

The sounds sink into a murky abyss. It stings my eyes; the soap isn't fully washed out, and I can hear it cracking softly, like the distant buzz of thunder. Like every other time before it, I don't move.

I count. When I reach a minute and a half, Carolyn pulls me back out. The droplets invade my vision, making the patch of black paint on the wall wobble. It bleeds into the rest of my surroundings, tarring the living room the same shade. Water runs down the countertop, dripping through my shirt and running down my spine. It seems a lot colder now that I'm out of it. She loosens her iron grip on me and asks again, "Do you get it?"

"I'm not getting kicked off the team." I have to promise her. This is only partially a lie. I'm not going to get kicked off. At least, not unless Coach decides I'm not worth the effort, and somehow I don't think it'll ever come to that.

"Don't forget it. Everything I have sacrificed for you. Everything I gave up to afford all that equipment. You would be nowhere without that." She stumbles back into the hallway, fading from my sight.

I wipe the water from my face. I don't know how long I stand there. Elaine creeps out of the room, approaching me like I'm a frightened animal. Wordlessly, her arms wrap around me from the side.

I let her stay like that for a minute and thirty-three seconds. Longer than Carolyn held me under the water.

"Why do you let her do that?" Elaine whispers.

She knows why. "I guess I'm not getting my permission form signed," I say, avoiding the question.

"Don't joke. I don't want to laugh about it."

I'm holding onto the counter for dear life. Falling seems inevitable. Maybe my legs will give out on me, and I won't have to worry about this anymore. "It's the only thing I've got."

Sighing, I wrangle myself out of Elaine's hug. She follows me to the door, slinging her backpack over her shoulder. The unspoken agreement to drive her to school hangs in the air. I nod, motioning for her to come with me.

The drive to the Junior High is quieter than the last. If I strain my ears, I hear the car's engine rumbling and the squeak of the breaks when I hit the pedals too hard. At least the heat is fixed. Elaine currently has it on full blast, and I can't help but feel like she's not doing it because she wants to. She just wants to force my hair to dry before someone notices. I have to grit my teeth to prevent myself from asking her to stop. I would really rather we never acknowledge it; never let it affect us.

We reach the school parking lot. I want to assure her that everything will be okay, in the end. That I can endure Carolyn for however long it takes, and yet the words never leave my throat. I can risk lying to Claire, to myself. But I don't like lying to Elaine.

"Have a good day." My voice comes out as a barely managed croak. Elaine stares at me for a while. Her eyes are sympathetic; the same shape as Carolyn's eyes. It's the only trait we have in common, at least that I can see. And it's the only trait I wish I could take away.

"Don't give me that fake stuff. It's pointless," she says in a mocking tone. The same word I used to avoid saying bullshit, but in this scenario, I think I'd allow it. "Mom is like an actor sometimes, you know? She says everything she's supposed to say, and then she clocks out. Don't be like that. Don't fall into the same trap that she can't escape. Either tell me everything, or don't tell me anything at all."

She pops the door open. I reach to stop her. "Elaine, wait. I'm not trying to be—"

"I know you're not." Her fingers curl around the door handle. "Maybe, just this once, I don't want faux normalcy. I want real normal."

And she shuts the door.

As do I. I would kill for actual, honest-to-God normal.

In the silence, I drive to school. I could choose, like every other morning, to ditch practice. Instead, partly because I don't feel like defying my mother would be the best decision, I choose to go.

The field outside the school is wet with dew from the morning; only a few scattered soccer players are standing near the net, pretending to kick the ball while they talk. I scan the group in search of Claire, finding her with the girls from the track team.

"Good morning!" Claire spots me and breaks away from her friends to meet me halfway, the chipper note to her voice breaks the sound barrier with its eagerness, and she promptly looks me over. "Your hair is wet."

"Yeah, I just woke up." I lift a finger to scrape a fallen strand of hair back over to the left side of my face. It's less frizzy than it would be in the summer, making it easier to force into place.

Claire rolls her eyes. "At least you showed up. It's boring when you aren't here."

"I am so glad that I make life interesting, Cee. That is my only duty in this world, princess—"

"Don't call me princess," she says and lifts her eyebrows at me. "You do realize how arrogant that sounds."

I stick my hands up in mock surrender. "Okay, okay, kidding. It was a joke."

Jogging over to the field, Claire plucks a soccer ball from the field and aims it at me, launching it across the space between us. It misses my shoulder by a fair distance, landing softly in the grass.

"Go and get it," she tells me.

I groan, running over to fetch it. I kick it in her direction; as the ball reaches her, Claire pivots and sends it directly into the net. The group around the net back up a couple of steps.

"Hey, Jasmine, pass it back!" Claire shouts at the girl closest to the soccer ball.

Before she can get in position, Coach's whistle blows, signalling the start of practice. Claire and I depart to walk towards him, huddling in a circle.

"All right!" Hayes claps his hands together. "We have a game tonight. Everyone who isn't playing, I want you to try a few strategies. Everyone who is, take it easy for an hour. That's it! Lethbridge and McKenna, please stay here for a moment."

As the group disperses, I meet Claire's gaze. She sighs, her shoulders slumping. "Yes?" she asks Coach.

"Both of you skipped my practice, for which you know the punishment. I want Lethbridge to do three laps around the school. Go on, now."

Claire sulks, kicking the grass before strolling off in the opposite direction. Clearly, she's trying to eavesdrop, and maybe waiting for me to catch up to her.

"And you, McKenna," Coach continues, "you were two minutes late this morning. Although... I am glad you decided to show up for once. Keep it up, and I might consider putting you on the team during our next game. Give me five laps, and we'll call it even. Got it?"

I nod, dashing off to gain speed on Claire. She's turning the corner in the distance, heading counterclockwise for the back pathways of the school. "Cee!"

Claire slows down to match my pace. "I didn't even see you there." Her hands untangle her earbuds, holding one of them out to me. I take it, and the newest song from her favourite local band blasts in my ears.

I focus on the music, on the path ahead of me. And I wonder about what happens when we reach the inevitable finish line.