Page 17 of Come Back to Me

The only part of sophomore year I can remember clearly is falling in love with Violet. Everything else is a total blur. It’s not because I don’t want to remember it.

It’s because I genuinely don’t remember anything, except for the moments I shared with her.

then

GRAYSON |AGE 15

The Prescott family mansion is decked out in skeletons, jack-o’-lanterns, and fake spider-webs.

Cars fill up the never-ending driveway. We’re parked in front of the driveway. Blake is sitting in the front with Georgia driving, while Violet and I are sitting in the back.

If there’s one thing I know about this family, they know how to throw a party. They have parties for every holiday.

Fourth of July.

Halloween.

Christmas.

New Year’s Eve.

I can’t imagine how much money they spend on them, but it’s not a big deal for them. They seem to invite the entire neighborhood for every party. I honestly don’t think they could tell me who anybody is.

It’s weird having a friend like Blake.

Anything he asked for as a kid, he got. His mom spoiled the crap out of him then, and she does the same for him now.

I grew up on the opposite side of the tracks, Breakwater to be exact. It’s a community of manufacturedhomes in Sunset Cove.

My childhood wasn’t filled with toys and lavish birthday parties. I didn’t grow up in a mansion.

I’m closer to Noah’s dad than my own.

Noah is one of my best friends. We’ve known each other since we were kids. His dad is one of the best people I’ve ever known.

I’ve never seen my dad without a drink in his hand and anger laced throughout his tone. I remember the first time he hurt my mom.

I was nine years old. I was in my bedroom, and the sound of glass shattering on the tile floor pierced my eardrums. I can still hear the faint sound of Mom’s screams when I sleep at night.

Peeking my head out of my bedroom, I see Dad following Mom around in the living room.

“Stop following me,” Mom says to him.

“Don’t you dare walk away from me.” His tone is stern and controlled.

“Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Come here!” He aggressively grabs her by her wrist, spinning her around to face him. Without any hesitation, he hits her in the face. The impact causes a bruise to appear on her cheek almost immediately.

I want to help her, but fear is written all over her face. I’m terrified he could see me.

More importantly, I’m scared that he could hurt me.

The first time Dad hurt me was when I was eleven years old.

He liked to think it helped shape me more into a man, but he couldn’t have been more wrong. If I was an inch out of line, he’d teach me a lesson. There wasn’t a day where I would go to school as a kid and not be covered in bruises.

Mom did her best to protect me, and I did my best to protect her. She’s my best friend, and I wouldn’t behere today if we didn’t leave that damn house.