Free Crystal Caves by Kristine Grayson

they won’t be able to find anything about you, so that’ll lend credence to the institutionalization story, and then Owen and I will get all kinds of credit for trying to socialize you. It won’t work to your advantage at all.”
    I stare at her. I’ve been around powerful, self-involved people my entire life, and I understand how they threaten. Some, like my father, are full of bluster and bluntness. But many, like my father’s wife Hera, are subtler. They say things that sound perfectly reasonable, but you know they’re a real threat.
    My mother, the woman who is supposed to love and cherish me (if movies are to be believed), just threatened to tell the press that I’ve been in an institution all my life, and if I tell anyone about my real upbringing, she will see to it that I’m institutionalized “again.”
    At least until the winter holidays.
    And I’ve seen the movies, like One Flew Over The Cuckoo’s Nest and Girl, Interrupted , and Twelve Monkeys, and I don’t ever, ever, ever want to go into those institutions.
    “You’d do that,” I say softly.
    “Do what, darling?” she asks.
    “Institutionalize me,” I say.
    She gives me a patronizing look. “See, this is why you’re not doing well in my world. I never said that.”
    “You didn’t have to.” My voice is flat, even though another tear escapes from my left eye. “I got the message.”
    Her eyes lower for just a moment, taking in the droplets hanging off my chin, and then her gaze meets mine.
    “Good,” she says. And in that one word, all of the pretend has vanished. “I’m glad we understand each other.”
    I won’t break from that gaze. I want her to look away first, but she’s not. She’s just staring at me.
    Finally, she gives me a tiny smile. It doesn’t move her frozen cheeks at all.
    “The winter holidays aren’t that far away,” she says. “We can put up with each other for that long.”
    “And then we’re done,” I say.
    “Yes,” she replies calmly. “And then we’re done.”

 
     
     
     
    SEVEN
     
     
    I WALKED OUT of that room first, down the hall, and into the dining room. I ate dinner, even though I don’t remember what I ate, although I do remember the way E looked at me, like he was trying to figure me out or something.
    Danny and Fabe dominated the conversation, and Owen chimed in once or twice, but Mother didn’t say anything.
    She didn’t look at me either.
    I couldn’t look at the city or stare at my reflection in the windows. I just had to get through the meal, and I did.
    Then I went to my room.
    Where I am now, heart pounding. Part of me still feels like running, but Mother’s right. What’ll happen next? At least in this city. She and Owen are big deals here, and that could backfire on me.
    Tiff says I never consider the consequences, but I am right now.
    And I’m done. I’ve had it with everything.
    I glance at the bed that’s always been too big for me, the room that is more than I need, the bathroom that is some kind of religious experience, and I realize I can do a bunch of things.
    I can collapse in tears on the bed, sobbing because Mother treated me badly. But then, where would that get me? She’s always treated me badly. It’s my fault for expecting her to be something other than what she always is.
    My throat aches, but my eyes are finally dry. I hate feeling stupid, and I feel stupid as I stand here.
    I didn’t defend myself when Tiff spoke for all of us and had me sent here. I didn’t speak up about Mother when I had the chance. I let events pull me along, so I’m here, alone—really alone—with no real reason to be here, putting up with crap from my half brothers and hatred from my mother.
    I can stuff all the emotions down and just get through, which is what Mother recommended (in a sideways fashion), and I’m tempted to reject that just because it was her idea. Hell, I really want to reject it because it was her idea.
    Besides, I always stuff the emotions down.