Page 5 of Under His Control

Desperation makes bad ideas look like good ones. When Elizabeth said that Jacob was the best solution to my scary problem, I said, “No way.” My name is number two on his hit list of people who screwed him over. I’m next in line now that number one is dead.

“Oh, that’s not true,” Elizabeth said. She was sure her brother would help me. After all, I was only a kid when I poured fuel on the fire that burned his life to the ground. “You’re family. He’ll take care of you.”

Except, being family doesn’t guarantee good treatment. Family can even be a prison, shared blood like a rope tying someone in place so they’re forced to accept abuse.

My mother was family, yet nothing was ever unconditional with her. Whenever she gave, she did it with one hand and took away with the other.

As much as I wanted to believe Elizabeth, I knew the danger in false hope. The bitter disappointment. I told her I would figure it out on my own like I always do.

Then my scary problem became life-threatening, and I was out of options. It was either the devil I know or the hell I didn’t want to know.

I made the harder choice to talk to Jacob in person because I knew he would hang up on me if I called. On the five-hour drive up here from the city, I let myself give in to hope instead of the panic attack waiting in the wings.

“Surprise, surprise. It’s the disappointment,” I say with a sniffle.

Anyone with the tiniest bit of foresight would’ve expected this. The last time Jacob and I were in the same room together was likely one of the worst days of his life.

And I caused it.

Nearly a decade later, I’m begging him for financial assistance and I didn’t even give him my long overdue apology first.

I straighten in my seat and wipe my face with my jacket sleeves. My glove compartment rattles when I open it. I fish out a napkin that came from a coffee shop and blow my nose.

There’s a gap in my windshield that’s not fogged up. I stare through it. My headlights shine on snowflakes lazily drifting down from the sky and the long, empty road ahead.

My mother dangled love above my head, just out of reach.

My ex-stepfather despises me.

I slap my steering wheel three times. My horn lets out a short honk on the third one.

“Stop feeling sorry for yourself! It does fuck all!”

I wrap my fingers around my steering wheel and squeeze it tight. A deep breath gives me some strength and clarity.

What I need to do is come up with a new plan. Although, I can’t do that right now. I’m exhausted from the drive, a dull ache pounds in my head, and my stomach feels hollow. All I had to eat today were some cranberry oatmeal cookies and a cup of coffee.

Food and sleep. That’s what I need. I’ll find a cheap motel for the night before heading back to Toronto tomorrow morning.

Leave. Now.

Don’t fucking come back.

I shove Jacob’s callous words out of my mind and roll my shoulders to ease the stiffness. Then I pull my car back onto the road.

3

Jacob

Whisky and I used to be best friends until I realized it was a faker. It pretended to calm and comfort me but secretly wanted me miserable and dead.

Cutting it out of my life was a “one step forward, two steps back to swallowing straight from the bottle” kind of process. Eventually, I put distance between us. After I march into the house, I’m tempted to give my old buddy a call.

I clench my hands, my keys digging into my right palm. No. I clawed my way onto this wagon and I’m staying put. I won’t let Alyssa and Penelope drag me down to hell like last time.

How did they find me?

For the past few years, I’ve been renting instead of owning property so that someone else’s name protects mine. Nobody in this town knows who I am—or used to be. Jacob Shaw is a common name, I keep to myself, and the townspeople’s interests hardly go beyond the county’s borders.