The Redemption of Callie & Kayden

“Does she win fights with your father?” he asks as he lowers himself into the chair.
    Warning flags pop up all over in my head. I know the drill.
Lie. Lie. Lie.
“What do you mean? What fights?”
    He crosses his leg over his knee and the bottom of his pants ride up. He’s wearing these socks with smiley faces on them. “Your mother and father never fight?”
    I shake my head because it’s the truth. They really don’t because my mother is a yes-dear kind of person. “No, not really.”
    His brows pucker and I get the feeling I might have said something wrong. “Kayden, what’s your dad like?”
    My fingertips automatically jerk inward and my nails slice at my skin. “He’s… he’s a dad. A normal dad.”
    “Do you have a good relationship with him?” he questions. “Because I find it kind of strange that he hasn’t visited you once.”
    “Our relationship’s fine.” My throat feels thick with tar. “He just works a lot of hours.”
    His hand whisks across the paper as he writes something in his notebook and then proceeds into the conversation with caution. “Has he ever hit anyone in your family?”
    It is the perfect opportunity to tell him everything: about my life, about the pain, about the unworthiness. But it feels like betrayal and I realize that I’m basically my father’s puppet. It’s a terrifying and confusing conclusion, like the strings that attach me to him have wound into knots. “I-I don’t know.”
    “You don’t know?” He’s skeptical. “Are you sure?”
    I nod my head as I stare at the floor in front of me. There’s a pink stain on it and a lot of the linoleum is cracked and chipped. “I really don’t know.”
    He evaluates me, then takes a card out of his front pocket and extends his hand toward me with it between his fingers. “I want to see you first thing Monday. My office address is on the back.” He flips over the card and shows me where the address is written in his handwriting. “My number’s also on the front. If you ever need to talk about anything, you can call me anytime.”
    I take the card, realizing that committing to his request means committing to more than just a visit. It means opening up doors I nailed shut a long time ago and facing all the demons I locked inside. It means telling him everything, even about my dad. And then what? What if I actually do? Then what happens to my family? My mother? My father? Do I care? I don’t know. I don’t know anything. I think I’m the most fucked-up, confused person who’s ever lived.
    Doug drags the chair back to the corner and then tucks his notebook underneath his arm as he heads for the door. “I want you to see you a few times over Christmas break, and then we’ll find you a therapist to talk to in Laramie when you go back to college.”
    A measured breath eases from my lips as I clench my hand around his card and bend it in half. I get a paper cut and it momentarily stills the stirring inside me. “What if I don’t want to?”
    He offers me a positive smile. “You do, otherwise you would have just said no.”
    I don’t say anything and it’s a silent agreement. I’ll see a shrink in Laramie. That is if I make it back to school.
    Shit
. I’m suddenly reminded of the bigger picture. I have more problems than just dealing with my father. How the hell am I going to get out of that mess? Let my father buy Caleb off? Then what? I owe my father for life? And carry his secrets—our family’s secrets forever.
    Doug exits the room and I let my head fall into my hands. I drag my fingers through my hair roughly and pull hard on the roots. For once, I wish that things were easy. That I could relax. Breathe.
    Really, what I wish for is Callie.
Callie
    I wake up early the next morning, before the sun has completely risen over the curves of the mountains. I slept terribly last night, tossing and turning, unable to get comfortable. I kept having this dream where I’d run into Kayden’s house and find blood on the floor and knives, but he wasn’t there. I searched the whole house but all I kept finding were piles and piles of leaves. I woke up dripping in sweat and ended up throwing up in the bathroom.
    I lie awake in bed, and Seth is snoring next to me, content in his sleep. I listen to him breathe until I can’t sit still any longer and then get up and grab my notebook from my bag. I take a seat in the makeshift windowsill that looks out at the snowy driveway. My mom’s car is buried in a