363. Chapter 363

He tells her that she doesn’t know what it feels like to have a mother who tells her every day that she’s garbage.

But she knows more about hiding bruises than she lets on.

Because her mother stood there while her father gave them to her. Most emotional. Some physical.

Stood there while he forced her to pack her childhood -- her childhood while she was still a child -- into a single bag.

Stood there while he called her disgusting. A thing. An abomination.

She’d pleaded with her. Begged her.

She’d fallen to her knees and begged her.

And her mother had simply crossed herself and told her that she’d pray for some sort of miracle that wouldn’t land her right in hell. But it wouldn’t work, because the kind of sin that Maggie was committing -- the kind of sin that Maggie was -- wasn’t a sin that could be cleansed. Wasn’t a sin that could be forgiven. Wasn’t a sin that any daughter of hers could choose to commit.

It was the last time Maggie Sawyer had begged for anything.

Even when she saw her mother -- passed her, right by her, in the streets -- her mother said nothing. Once, her mother spit at her.

Or, in her general direction.

Depending on her mood, Maggie’s interpretation of whether it was at her or a coincidence varied.

Garbage.

Yes.

Maggie knew what it was like to be called garbage. To be treated like garbage.

To be garbage.

Disposable.

Trash.

Thrown away.

Disowned.

Forgotten.

Disgusting.

And she knew that Alex did, too.

Knew that even though it had been better for Alex -- her mother had hugged her, for crying out loud -- she still knew what it was like.

To be told she was worthless.

Useless.

Not needed.

Unwanted.

Unless, of course, she took proper care of Kara.

Because Alex’s only worth, Eliza had made it very clear -- continued to make it very clear -- was Kara.

Was her grades and her lab work and her prestige and her sacrifices for Kara.

To her mother, Alex’s life amounted to how much she could bolster her little sister.

And it was more complicated than that. Of course it was. It always is.

But still.

Alex thought she had to be perfect.

Because without perfection, she is worthless. She is nothing. She is bad. She is no good to anyone.

Without perfection, she, too, is garbage.

According to her mother.

But with nicer words. With more I love yous peppered in the mix.

So when he tells her that she doesn’t know about being called garbage every day; when she tells her she doesn’t know about hiding bruises; she doesn’t tell him.

Doesn’t tell him that she’s hiding her bruises right now.

Doesn’t tell him that she has to remind herself, every single day, that she is not, in fact, disposable. That she is not, in fact, garbage.

Sometimes, she’s successful.

Most of the times, she’s not.

Alex makes her more successful.

At believing she is something more. At believing she deserves something more.

And he is trying to take Alex from her.

And she is restraining herself from beating the information out of him, because she will not be the reason he has more, no matter how much she wants to.

Because she knows more about hiding bruises -- about being him, sans the straight white man’s entitlement that his vengeance wreaks of -- than he thinks.