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Back Confess to Me Save as PDF
Chapters (87)
  1. Cover
  2. Also by Sharon Doering
  3. Title Page
  4. Dedication
  5. Prologue
  6. 1
  7. 2
  8. 3
  9. 4
  10. 5
  11. 6
  12. 7
  13. 8
  14. 9
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  85. Author’s Note
  86. Acknowledgements
  87. About the Author

Doctor Clifford Paulson, PhD Psychology
Transcripts from the Sixth Annual Conference on
Adult Manifestations of Childhood Trauma

THE RADISSON PLAZA HOTEL, CINCINNATI, OHIO

32

32

TREVOR

I pulled the lever, leaning back in Mom’s La-Z-Boy. The sun was setting, and orange-tinted light snuck around the curtains.

Mom’s living room had a gloomy, dusty, and outdated vibe. It had felt this way to me for a long time now. The smells though—sickness, dirty hair, a hint of coffee grinds (Paulina had placed in cups around the home as odor-absorbers)—those were new. When I lived here, the house smelled starchy and oven-warmed with a hint of rosemary. Mom liked to cook.

I should eat something, but my stomach felt sour.

The favor I had done today made me queasy. We’d met at Horseshoe Bend, the scenic lookout where I used to meet Dawn. Today, it had been spelled out for me that more favors would follow. I was already wrapped tightly around someone’s finger.

I never should have let Heather insist on coming here. I should have pushed back. How had I thought we could move in and out of this town without it leaving its fingerprints on our skin?

Because it was just a few months, that’s why. I figured everything would stay buried because we’d be here for such a short time.

I ran my fingers through my hair and stared at Mom. If she died soon, we could get out of here.

She kind of looked dead now with her eyelids closed and thin as tissue paper, and her mouth wide open, lips dry, crust at the corners.

She wasn’t dead though. Her chest rose. Her chest fell.

I imagined putting a pillow over her face. She would be gone fast and without much anguish.

I loved her. I hated her. My feelings were split down the center.

That’s because you’re two-faced.

I smiled to myself. I had been Two-Face once, quite literally. One Halloween, I must have been ten or eleven, still serious about candy and old enough to go with my friends (no parents), I went as Two-Face from the Batman comics.

Mom had a tray of creamy face-painting makeup. I liked the starchy, old lady smell of it, the tug of the cosmetic sponge pulling at my face, Mom talking to me, and not feeling like I had to participate in the conversation. I only had to keep my eyes and mouth closed and listen to her voice. I tuned out half of what she said, but the cadence of her voice was comforting. I had trusted her completely.

She’d said, “Oh, this is good, Trevor. Really good. I’m impressing myself. When you get home, give me two Snickers and two Kit Kats, and hide your candy so I can’t eat it. There, you’re all done. Go look in the bathroom mirror.”