The Redemption of Callie & Kayden

dick. He beat me all those years.
Just say it.
“He’s the one who hurt me that night. Well, I mean I did stuff to myself too, but he…” I sound like a fucking kid. I tuck my fingernails into my palms, stabbing them into my skin. Every part of my body wants to escape, be alone, find something sharp and bleed the pain out of me. But I keep reminding myself
Callie, Callie, Callie.
“He stabbed me. That’s where the cut on my side came from. He was pissed off because I’d got in a fight with Caleb and he had to pick me up from jail and everyone knew. So he took me home and started hitting me, which he’s done a lot. But I hit him back, which I’d never done before. And then things got out of hand. We knocked some knives onto the floor and the next thing I knew he’d stabbed one into me. I’m not even sure if he meant to do it or if it happened by accident.” The words pour out of me like blood, and with each breath I take, my lungs start expanding wider and more powerfully. I feel like I’m free for the first time in my life. Free from my childhood. Free from my scars. Free from the cuts, the bruises, the razors, the pain.
    By the time I’m finished, I’ve stopped clenching my fists and my fingers are stretched out in front of me. I wait for Doug to say something, but instead he flags down a waitress with his hand.
    She’s a middle-aged woman with blonde hair braided at the back of her head. She’s wearing a bright blue dress and a white apron. In her hand are a pen and an order book. “What can I get ya two lovely gentlemen tonight?” she asks, poising her pen over the notebook.
    “I’ll have some pancakes, toast with strawberry jam, and a tall cup of milk,” Doug says and looks at me with a small smile. “Kayden, go ahead and order whatever you want. And make sure it’s enough to get you through the next few hours.”
    “The next few hours?” I question. “Is that really necessary?”
    He nods. “Yeah, I want you to tell me everything that happened.”
    “Everything?”
It’s an unfathomable, unreachable idea to me. “Like what? You want me to pour my fucking heart and soul out to you.”
    The waitress frowns at my language and also probably because the conversation has headed in a strange direction. I wonder who she thinks we are. And why we’re here. I’m kind of wondering the same thing myself.
    “Everything. I want you to start from the beginning,” he says and sets a menu down in front of me, giving it a tap with his finger.
    I order a large stack of pancakes, bacon, and toast and the waitress smiles before walking away. I say nothing at first, fidgeting with the salt and pepper shakers to keep myself from scratching at my skin. I keep waiting and waiting for Doug to speak, but he just sits there silently, watching a television over my shoulder.
    The silence eventually rips my sanity open and I trace the cracks in the table. “How far do you want me to go back?”
    “Back to the very first time your father hurt you,” he speaks calmly, looking away from the television to me.
    My lungs expand as I inhale, preparing myself for what I’m about to do. “That was about fifteen years ago. You really want me to go all the way back?”
    He has this comforting smile on his face. One I’ve never seen on any of the adults I’ve known. “I want you to tell me everything. Don’t hold back. Let it all out.”
    I open my mouth, knowing that when I let it out everything will change. And I pray to God it’s a good change.
Callie
    Seth and I are getting ready for bed, not saying much to each other, and Luke walked out to smoke and fill up the ice bucket. It’s been about an hour since Kayden took off and I can’t stop thinking about him and what he’s doing; if he’s really talking to his therapist like he said, and if so, if it’s going well.
    Seth walks out of the bathroom as I’m getting underneath the covers. He’s wearing green and navy blue plaid pajama bottoms and a white T-shirt, and he’s brushing his teeth.
    For a second he just watches me. “I called Greyson,” he announces, his voice a little jumbled because he has a mouthful of toothpaste.
    I fluff the lumpy pillow and then turn on my side. “Did you work everything out?” From under the blanket, I cross all my fingers, hoping he did.
    He nods, returning to the bathroom to spit out the toothpaste. He rinses his toothbrush off, sets it on the counter, and then climbs into bed with me. He rolls to the side, turns