Damaged: A Violated Trust (Secrets)
Read Damaged: A Violated Trust (Secrets) Online
Authors: Melody Carlson
“Melody does it again. She reaches inside a hurting girl and gives her story a voice, writing it in a way so compelling that putting this book down is nearly impossible. Girls who have experienced this horrible thing will find someone who understands, and those who have not may find understanding of those who have as well as a reason to be watchful in relationships that seem so wonderful.”
— LISSA HALLS JOHNSON, author of nineteen books,
including
Kirk Cameron: Still Growing
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© 2011 by Melody Carlson
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ISBN-13: 978-1-60006-950-5
Cover design by Faceout Studio, Charles Brock
Cover image by istockphoto.com
Published in association with the literary agency of Sara A. Fortenberry
Some of the anecdotal illustrations in this book are true to life and are included with the permission of the persons involved. All other illustrations are composites of real situations, and any resemblance to people living or dead is coincidental.
Carlson, Melody.
Damaged : a violated trust / Melody Carlson.
p. cm.
ISBN 978-1-60006-950-5
I. Title.
PZ7.C216637Dam 2011
[Fic] — dc23
2011020793
Printed in the United States of America
1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 / 15 14 13 12 11
O
THER
N
OVELS BY
M
ELODY
C
ARLSON
S
ECRETS
Series
Forgotten
Shattered
T
RUE
C
OLORS
Series
Bitter Rose
Blade Silver
Bright Purple
Burnt Orange
Dark Blue
Deep Green
Faded Denim
Fool’s Gold
Harsh Pink
Moon White
Pitch Black
Torch Red
Contents
...[CHAPTER 1].................
T
o be fair, it’s not completely my mom’s fault that I’m moving out today. In some ways it feels like I’ve just outgrown her and it’s time to take a new path. Even so, as I shove my last load into the back of Dad’s SUV, balancing my guitar case on top of a confused heap of all my worldly goods, I feel guilty.
“Ready to go, kiddo?” Dad closes the back door and smiles hopefully.
I know he’s desperate to get out of here. He’s already attempted an exchange of words with my older brother, Sean. As I anticipated, it went badly and I can tell Dad’s eager to put as much distance as possible between himself and this place. It’s the same house he and Mom bought more than twenty years ago, and now he hates it like poison. Divorce is just like that.
“I, uh, I think I should do one last check inside,” I tell him.
He glances at his watch. “Well, make it snappy,
okay?
I have a racquetball game scheduled for tonight, and if we get out of here in the next few minutes, I think I can still make it.”
I nod and hurry back into the house, where my mom is anchored to the same spot on the couch where she’s been sulking all morning. Still wearing her faded pink bathrobe and bed-head hair that’s even more dulled with streaks of gray, she looks like she’s about to cry again. She also looks a lot older than forty-two, not to mention a lot older than my dad. I’m sure she would lay the blame for her premature aging at my feet … or Dad’s.
I desperately want to say something to her, something that will make this all okay. But I don’t have those magic words, so I hurry past the living room, down the hallway, and back to my old bedroom, where I just stand looking around the cleared-out space.
My room, my private getaway for my entire life of sixteen years, has never looked so tidy … or so barren. But despite being stripped down to its scarred-up periwinkle walls, naked mattress, empty closet, and beat-up pine dresser, this space still feels weirdly familiar and strangely comforting. And for a brief moment I wonder if I need to rethink my decision to leave. Is this a mistake?
“Did you forget something, Haley?”
I turn to see my mom’s tired brown eyes peering curiously at me. Again, I wish I could invent the right words to say … something to make our parting less painful. Then Mom holds up my old Bible. At least I assume it’s my Bible. I haven’t seen it for a while.
“Or maybe you
meant
to leave this behind?” She waves the light blue book in my face like she’s turning in state’s evidence.
I won’t admit it, but the truth is I
did
mean to leave my Bible behind. But I just shrug, take the book from her, and tuck it under my arm.
“I found it in the drawer of the
coffee table.”
The way she proclaims this feels like an insinuation, like I purposely hid it there.
“I know this is hard for you, Mom.” My voice is tight. The words are sticking together like a big wad of gum. “I … I’m sorry.”
“Don’t worry about me, Haley. I’ll be just fine. You’re the one who’s making a very big mistake.” She folds her arms across her front and frowns. She’s scowled so much lately that the expression will probably carve itself permanently into her face. Not that she cares much about her appearance. That’s obvious by the way she dressed to see my dad this morning — not. According to Mom, vanity is the Devil’s device.
“I just can’t do this anymore. It’s too hard.” More than anything, I wish I hadn’t come back into the house, hadn’t tried to patch this up. How many times have I been down this road with her? I should know each step by heart. I do know this: It’s a dead end.
“Then you should run away. Just like your father did. But don’t forget, even if you can run from me, you can’t run from God. He will eventually catch you — what he’ll do with you when he does …” She sighs and actually wrings her hands. “Well, it won’t be my responsibility.”
“I’m sorry this is hurting you,” I quietly tell her. “I hope you know I still love you.”
“I love you too, Haley. But you’re
still
making a big mistake. Your father has turned his back on God. If you go live with him, you’ll do the same.”
“How can you know that?”
“I
know.”
Her voice is getting stronger now, like she’s about to launch into another one of her sermons.
I make a move toward the door but she blocks me.
“Just because you don’t like my rules doesn’t mean they weren’t in your best interests. ‘A fool despises discipline, but a wise man welcomes a rebuke.’”
“I know, I know.” I hold up my hands. “I’ve heard all this before, Mom.”
“You might hear with your ears, but your heart has gone deaf.”
Okay, I realize my mistake. It’s useless trying to reason with a crazy woman. It’s like she thinks she’s God’s ordained prophetess, spewing her warnings and condemnations to anyone stupid enough to cross her path or listen. I am so tired of it. In fact, I have decided if that’s what God is really like — cold and judgmental and mean — then I guess Mom is right. I probably will turn my back on him.
“I have to go,” I say in a controlled tone. “Dad is waiting.”
“Oh yes, don’t keep the lying betrayer waiting. We wouldn’t want to inconvenience that loathsome sinner, now would we?”
I know her words are the result of a lot of pain, and part of me wants to hug her one last time, but she looks so angry, as if she’s wrapped in a barbed-wire fence with a big Keep Out sign. “I love you, Mom, but I gotta go.”
She steps aside but her expression is even frostier. “Just because the judge let you decide where to live doesn’t mean it’s the right decision, Haley. Man’s laws and God’s laws are not equal. Someday you will understand what a mistake you’ve made. But remember this — do not expect me to come rescue you when you fall flat on your face.”
“I won’t.” I push past her, holding my tongue and knowing that nothing I can say will make any difference. Sometimes I truly think my mom is losing her sanity. To me the saying of “being so heavenly minded you’re no earthly good” is an understatement when it comes to my mom. I even said this to her once, but she simply launched into a sermon about how this earth was going to burn since it was all evil anyway. Whatever.
