The Oath We Give (The Hollow Boys Book 5)
The Oath We Give: Chapter 3

Coraline

Am I the only person in this restaurant that feels like a mannequin?

Posed, dressed, and placed for display. When they walk by me and glance, they can admire how well put together I am. How polished my outfit is, how shiny my hair is.

None of them suspect that I’m plastic, or maybe that’s their secret. The waitstaff that refills my water without asking, the Ponderosa Springs elite that walk by to speak to my father, they can all smell the plastic melting away from my flesh. They all know I’m a fake, a fraud, but they simply say nothing.

I’m a broken, sweet girl barely scraping by emotionally, trying her very best to merge back into this superficial world of sharks as a tiny minnow. I’m their favorite inside joke.

I use my fork to push away another piece of overpriced salmon. There is a fish that died to be overcooked and served to people who probably can’t taste anything due to the years of smoking and lies that burn their tongues.

“Stop playing with your food.”

My fingers tighten around the utensil in my hand. Do not stab her. Not in public.

I’ll be twenty-two in May, two months from now, and I’m sitting here muttering an apology under my breath to my stepmother to avoid causing a scene. Once I feel her critical gaze move away from me and back to her earlier conversation, my grip loosens on the fork.

For the longest time, I never understood why Regina disliked me so much. She’d known me since birth and had always preferred to buy into the evil stepmother archetype rather than love me like her own. It wasn’t until I was older that I understood what she saw when she looked at me.

I’m a road bump in her otherwise well-paved life. I’m the product of an affair, cold feet before the wedding of her dreams, and she spent my entire life making me pay for my father’s sin of falling in love with another woman.

“Have you picked out your dress for the fundraiser, Coraline?” My father’s deep voice practically rattles the fine china.

James Whittaker is a force. A demand in a room full of offers. The answer to all of his questions is always yes, and looking him in the eye is a risk.

I meet his gaze, the difference in our appearance growing more noticeable the older I get. Every day, I resemble my mother more and more, and it only fuels his hatred for me. I’m the constant reminder of the love he’d lost, the love he was planning on giving it all up for.

What kind of woman makes a generational wealthy man give up his future of success and notoriety for an unstable, mediocre one?

A cursed one.

We used to be close, when my eye color was more green instead of brown. He called me his pal until I was thirteen, and we’d spend every Sunday at the dock. I’d draw in my sketchbook while he fished. Then two pieces of my hair turned white, and us spending time together stopped.

I told myself we drifted apart because of my abduction, but it’s a comforting lie. His involvement with the Halo, which he claims was blackmail from college friends, only pressed harder on our strained bond.

We broke the pieces years ago and never bothered picking them up again. We instead decided to stand atop them as strangers, letting the shattered glass slice the bottoms of our heels.

Better to remain in pain than admit the truth.

I’m thankful for it though. His distaste for me.

It taught me the most important lesson when I made it out of that basement.

There isn’t a single person in this world who will look out for you better than yourself.

“I’m not going.” I grab the glass of water in front of me and take a small sip, preparing myself for the onslaught of questions and passive-aggressive insults.

We’re in public, which means this conversation will be hushed words and forced smiles. The vultures surrounding us are dying for scraps of gossip to spill over from someone’s table, and the last thing my father wants is more negative attention.

It helps my cause because they won’t push me too much with this many eyes on them. I am, after all, the child who survived. Their own personal Harry fucking Potter. It’d be bad press if they show how little they actually care.

“Why’s that? Everyone is expecting us there as a family. I even told Senator Bloom’s son you were looking forward to seeing him.”

Carson Bloom, I think to myself, is an egotistical prick who tried to get me to do cocaine in the bathroom at his father’s reelection party, doesn’t believe in climate change, and thinks he’s the second coming of Christ.

None of that matters, of course. Quite frankly, he could be a member of the communist party, and they wouldn’t mind. As long as I marry rich, keep the gene pool overflowing with blood-soaked money and prestige.

That way, when they speak about me, they can list out all of my accomplishments on a bulleted list to their peers. As if, somehow, what I accomplish in my life is a reflection of their stellar parenting.

My molars shift together, and I give a tight-lipped smile.

“You’ll have to give my condolences. I have a class to teach that evening.”

Regina scoffs. “I’m sure you can cancel. It’s not like it’s mandatory. You’re already spending so much time with them, not to mention the charity art gala coming up. I’m sure they’ll understand if you miss this one day.”

The petulant tone makes the urge to stab her with this fork well up inside of me again, leaving a metallic taste in the back of my throat. I get these impulses to scream until glass shatters or break everything in my line of sight, just so they all can see what really lives inside of me.

To show them and this entire rotting town how rabid and vile I am beneath the surface. That I am not plastic but a force of self-loathing and misery that would terrify their sleepy lives.

My very being would scare them so badly no one would utter my name aloud again.

There is a gentle hand from my left that lies on top of mine. I hadn’t noticed I was clenching the material of my dress at my thigh until soft fingers give mine a squeeze. I release the midnight-blue fabric, giving a reassuring smile in her direction.

She is a constant reminder of why I sit at these dinners quietly, a puppet with society’s hands shoved up my ass, and swallow every wretched word. Bite my tongue and eat their pompous bullshit by the mouthful.

My little sister.

“They wouldn’t mind,” I correct, “but this class is one of the only healthy outlets these girls have. That seems more important than rubbing elbows, doesn’t it?”

I jab a piece of fish, bringing it to my mouth and chewing slowly while waiting for their reply, silently hoping they give me a reason to snap. My jaw stays locked to protect Lilac, but there is only so much I’m willing to put up with.

“I think what you’re doing is incredible, Cora.” Lilac’s gentle voice is a balm across my heating skin. I look over at her soft blonde curls, thankful that despite everything, she turned into a kind person. “The girls there adore you.”

I’d be an entire map away from this fucked-up place if it wasn’t for her. I don’t resent her for her age or that Ponderosa Springs has Lilac in her chains for another year. One more year and I can take her far, far away, where she is free to become whatever she chooses, on her terms.

She’s done nothing wrong and has loved me every moment of her seventeen years. I’ve never been cursed in her eyes, only her older sister. Lilac doesn’t deserve to be abandoned by the only person who truly loves her because I can’t handle the pressure.

I will suffer in silence for one more year, and then we’ll both be free.

This time, for good.

“Such a humanitarian,” Regina coos, picking up her wineglass by the stem, swirling the red liquid around, “How do you expect to replace a husband when you’re so dedicated to philanthropy? You’re not getting any younger.”

I open my mouth, but my father is quick to interrupt.

“Honey, you know we support you, especially your art. What you do for those girls is admirable, but—”

“But?” I bite out, snapping my head toward him.

My eyes dare him to finish that sentence, and because James is incapable of being submissive to anyone, he does.

“You shouldn’t be spending so much of your time surrounded by people like that. It’s not healthy for you.”

There it is.

Finally, some truth to this conversation.

Telling people I won the Future Generation Art Prize is a title achievement. People writing articles about my future work possibly changing the art world is impressive. The fact I teach art classes to Halo survivors is something that makes me look kind, but the thing is, I can’t actually give a shit about these things.

You have to pretend to be human, to have a heart. Here in Ponderosa Springs, it’s so vital to reputations that it’s almost believable. But on the inside, you must be cold and care only about how you look and the staggering amount of money in your bank account.

It doesn’t matter to them or anyone else that the piece that won that stupid fucking award was one I created in the days following my failed suicide attempt. That a voice and the will to create something bigger than me was all that kept me from dying.

I can’t care about the handful of women who come in twice a week for classes.

No, they’re all either outcasts or drug addicts, rotten apples that taint my image. They don’t give a shit that these people cannot move forward in this society because what happened keeps them frozen.

Their experiences and trauma make them turn to drugs, some of them so desperate to be numb, to forget, that they fill their bodies with chemicals. They can’t work regular jobs because most of them are afraid to leave their house. No one cares about what happens to them because they should all be lucky to have survived.

Like that’s fucking enough.

None of them would dirty their reputations to understand them the way I do. Inside? I’m no different from any of the girls who walk through those doors.

I’ve just got the money to dress up my trauma in a pair of pumps made by Manolo Blahnik.

“People like what? Survivors?” I wipe my mouth, trying to get the bitter taste out of my mouth. “Did you know a fifteen-year-old comes into my studio? Fifteen. She was thirteen when she was kidnapped and then sold. Tell me, what kind of person is she exactly, James?”

“Coraline,” he warns, flicking his eyes around to remind me where we are.

As if I give a single fuck.

I shake my head at the impossibility of their privileged umbrella, tossing my napkin onto the plate in front of me.

“Sorry. Maybe you two should pick up a local newspaper for a refresher. It seems you’ve forgotten that I also was one of those girls rescued from a human trafficking ring.” I pin my father with a cold glare. “Should I thank you, Daddy dearest, that your friendship with Stephen spared me being sold? Or my mother for those cursed genes that made me special enough to keep?”

My voice is just above an acceptable level. They may give a shit about what others think, but I’ve been called cursed by this town my entire life. What they believe of me doesn’t keep me up at night.

Demons do.

“Don’t speak to us like that,” my stepmother hisses, pointing an accusatory finger at me. “It’s my money that keeps you in that apartment and allows you the freedom to give those free classes. You’d do well to remember that.”

“My father’s money, Regina. Did you forget? You married into this family with nothing but cheap shoes and hope.” My lips curve into a vicious smile. “But by all means, cut me off. I won’t need it after I sell my portion of Elite.”

Both of them seem to lose their tongues, reminded harshly that my late grandfather left me a large share in our family’s petroleum engineering company that no lawyer can take away. It would be easy for me to sell it to a rival, and that’s exactly what I plan on doing when Lilac graduates.

Irritated, somehow still hungry, and bored of this conversation, I press my hands into the table, pushing my chair back, ready to leave.

“Cora,” Lilac says delicately. ”Don’t leave.”

I stand up, bending down for a moment to lay a kiss on her forehead, the smell of her perfume sweet and floral. When I straighten my back, my thumb smooths the wrinkles from her brow.

“I’ll see you tomorrow before your game. Text me if you need help with your chemistry homework tonight.”

She nods, accepting this peace offering. I’ve done my very best to protect her from everything, what I experienced, but even still, she knows being around Regina and James is difficult for me.

I allow them to show me off, parade me around like a pony, just so they will leave her be. If everyone’s attention is set on the cursed one, they won’t have the time to taint Lilac. She can exist in peace.

“I’ll call the car for you.” James clears his throat, an apology in the back of his mouth he’ll never say out loud.

“No need.” I step away from the table.

“Coraline—”

“Just let her go, J.” Regina wipes an invisible piece of lint from his suit, smiling. “No need to cause a scene. We’ll see you Sunday at the brunch?”

I don’t give her a second glance, let alone an answer. I simply walk away from our corner table, heels clicking against the floor as I make my exit. I can feel every set of eyes on me, practically hear the heads turning in my direction.

Let them look. Let them gawk at me. Maybe they’ll have something better to talk about after I leave.

When I finally make it outside and the fresh air hits my lungs, it takes me only seconds to reach into my purse, feeling around for the pack of cigarettes and lighter. I need something quick to take this edge off before I cuss out a streetlamp.

My phone illuminates at the bottom of my bag with a text.

Forgoing the nicotine, I grab my phone, ready to speed walk to my apartment, but replace myself unable to move. When I look down at the unknown number on my home screen, my backbone crumbles, my sharp tongue dulls, and my shields fall.

My phone tumbles out of my hands, smashing onto the concrete beneath me. Cars pass by, people are moving, but I’m stuck as my mind begins to scream, turning into a deadly roar.

Unknown: Did you miss me?