Damaged In-Law by Colleen Masters Read Free Book Online

him
cringe.
    “Not even losing Avery could make you own up to what you ’ ve done wrong,” I say, in awe of their cold-heartedness. “ Well...Let ’ s see what happens after you ’ ve lost us both.”
    I don’ t wait for a response. I don ’ t say goodbye. I know now that nothing will ever get through to
Howard and Sylvia Benson. All these years, some tiny part of me was holding out
hope that they ’ d admit their failings, apologize to me and
Avery for not helping us when we needed it most. As I storm out of my childhood
home, I feel that tiny spark of hope sputter out inside of me.
    It ’ s over.
    No one comes after me as I rush away from the house,
slipping into my winter coat. My breath billows around me as I sink into the
driver’s seat of my well-worn car. I have no more tears to spare, after
everything that ’ s happened today. Taking a deep, steadying
breath, I pluck my cell phone off the passenger seat and punch in the number of
Bernadette, my downstairs neighbor back home.
    “Hey Bern,” I say, as her answering machine picks up my
call, “I know I told you I was going to be home late tonight, but something ’ s come up out here. I might be another day or so. Just wanted
to give you a heads up so you don ’ t go filing a missing
person ’ s report, or getting a search team together or
anything. You know...like last time. Anyway, I ’m sure I’ ll
see you soon. Give the dogs my love.”
    I start up my car and peel away from the Benson estate.
There ’ s no way I could have returned to my lonely little
apartment tonight. It would be too hard, too lonely after everything that has
happened these past couple of days. It ’ s back to the motel
for me. Besides, come tomorrow they ’ ll be a drink waiting
for me in New York City...
    Along with the man who ’ s buying, of
course.

 
     
    Chapter Five

    Eight years earlier
    The Benson Home
     
    Late afternoon sunlight spills across the pages of my script
as I drink in every syllable of Shakespeare ’ s words, committing
the lofty language to memory.
    “ What's in a name? ” I murmur to myself, drilling the
lines as I roll onto my stomach across the four post bed. “ That which we
call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet... ”
    I glance back down at the script, moving along to the next
bit of the monologue. Auditions for our senior year spring play aren ’ t for another two weeks, but I ’ m
determined to have all my lines memorized as early as possible. We ’re doing Romeo and Juliet this year, and it ’ s the first time I ’ m taking the plunge and
auditioning for a role in one of our school ’ s plays.
Usually I just sign up to help with props or costumes, watching from afar as
Jack and the other thespians strut their stuff. But after years of longing to
be on stage, I ’ m finally going to go for it.
    And I ’ m scared out of my goddamn mind.
    “ Romeo, doff thy name, ” I go on, swinging my feet
onto the hardwood floor as I read from my script, “ And for that name which
is no part of thee...take all myself. ”
    I glance across the room and catch my reflection in the
full-length mirror. At eighteen, I ’ m still as petite as
ever. I ’ m decked out in my signature uniform of slouchy
gray and black layers, chunky combat boots, and heavy black eyeliner. One thing ’s for certain: I don’ t look like anyone ’ s
idea of Juliet. But I ’ ve given up trying to fit in among
my preppy Westchester peers. High school graduation is only a few months away,
and after that, I ’ ll finally be off to college. I haven ’ t decided where I ’ m going just yet, but my
imagination is brimming with possibilities about what I want to study. I know I
want to major in creative writing, but lately I ’ ve been
dreaming about studying theater as well.
    It ’ s always been a secret dream of mine
to give acting a try. I love watching classic films and TV shows, going to see
Broadway plays, and writing scripts of my own, too. Sometimes, I