A Familiar Betrayal, page 1
A Familiar Betrayal
Brianna North
Copyright © 2024 Brianna North
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Book design by Brianna North
Cover design by Brianna North
Cover image by Eberhard Grossgasteiger
Pexels.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental. Cover models used for illustrative purposes only and may not endorse or represent the book’s subject.
To my friends and family, who remain my biggest supporters and first readers.
To my readers, who are the reason I write. Without you, these books would never exist.
Contents
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
NEW VIDEO FROM THEBENNETTFAM
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
New Video From TheBennettFam
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Forum Discussion
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
New Video from TheBennettFam
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
New Video From TheBennettFam
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
New Video From TheBennettFam
Chapter 31
About The Author
Books By This Author
Prologue
I was ten years old the first time I tried to run.
We were in the Walmart parking lot, of all places. Mommy had just wrapped up filming our grocery trip for the vlog—apparently, internet strangers needed to know everything we ate—and Daddy’s hand gripped my shoulder with alarming force. “Alyssa, stop dragging your feet on the ground,” he growled in my ear. “Don’t you know how to do anything right?”
In Daddy’s eyes, I was always failing, from the way I learned at school to the way I ate my cereal in the morning. Nothing could shield me from his constant criticism. And that day, right there in the parking lot, I decided I’d had enough. So I started running.
Over the rushing wind in my ears, I heard Mommy release a shriek of surprise. Her heavily pregnant body wouldn’t allow her to come after me, so Daddy’s footsteps followed me instead. “Alyssa!” His booming voice sent an electric wave of fear through my body. “Where do you think you’re going? What’s wrong with you?”
It dawned on me, then, that I might’ve made a big mistake. If—when—Daddy caught me, I’d be in for the worst punishment of my life. I didn’t even know where I was going. But still, I pumped my legs harder.
People loading their groceries in their cars watched me zip by. I wanted them to hear my thoughts, to know how desperately I needed to get away. The thing about Daddy was that he wasn’t always like this, and sometimes I loved him with every fibre of my being. But when these bad moods overcame him, his anger was unpredictable. Today, I decided I couldn’t stand it a second longer; I needed a new family, one that said nice things to me, one that didn’t shove a camera in my face every waking second. There were tons of families in this parking lot, and they were probably a thousand times better than mine. Maybe they could adopt me.
Daddy’s strong hand suddenly clamped down on my arm, and he tugged me backward with such force that I toppled over, scraping my knee on the concrete. “Get in the car,” he hissed.
My taste of freedom was over just as quickly as it’d started. I screamed. He shushed me as people started to stare, and before I knew it, he was shoving me in the back of the car. Mommy and my little sister Harper were already buckled in and waiting. “Honey, why would you do that?” Mommy asked, turning the vlog camera toward me.
I wanted to break the stupid thing. I said nothing.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself? You scared Mommy really badly.”
“Just leave me alone!” I snapped.
She angled the camera so that it was facing herself. “So it looks like Miss Alyssa is having a really tough day,” she told our viewers. “She’s gotten to the age where she likes to test our patience, and she needs to know that’s not okay. When we get home, she’s definitely getting sent to her room and gets no TV for a week. If you’re a parent of a child around this age, comment down below what your experience has been when it comes to attitude and how you deal with it. I’d love to know.”
My face burned hot with rage. I was totally going to look like the biggest brat ever in this vlog, and everyone at school would tell me so. I crossed my arms and stared out the window as Daddy ducked into the car. He didn’t address me; he waited until Mommy stopped vlogging before telling her, “There’s something seriously wrong with that kid. What did we do wrong?”
The tears came hot and fast. There was nothing worse than the feeling that your parents hated you.
Chapter 1
Six years later, not much has changed except for one thing: I barely see Dad anymore.
Mom and Dad divorced last year, and Dad left town, only reaching out every once in a while to check on my siblings and I. He refuses to speak to Mom; he says she ruined his life. She says he ruined hers. Dad’s still occasionally filled with all-encompassing rage. Mom’s still obsessed with the internet’s opinion on our family. Clearly they were not meant for each other.
What can I say; ten-year-old me would be pissed to know that things are still pretty much the same as they were back then.
Today, Mom has me positioned in the backyard against the lilac tree as she snaps photos of me for our latest clothing brand sponsorship. I desperately need to study for my chemistry final on Monday, but work for the vlog always comes first. The floral crop top is itchy against my skin, and the baggy mom jeans are so baggy, in fact, that they hardly stay on my body. “Smile with your teeth,” she directs as I jut my hips out in a ridiculous pose. “And face me a little more. You’re too sideways.”
Sometimes, I like doing sponsorships. I mean, I like free clothes just as much as anyone, especially if they can give me some sort of confidence boost. Taking gorgeous photos can make me feel like a whole different person. But today is not one of those days. Today, I’d rather swim in lava than take another round of photos to please Mom’s subscribers and this brand’s marketing team.
“Alyssa, you’re fake-smiling again.” Mom blows out a frustrated breath. “I can tell. Everyone will be able to tell. I need a real smile. Can you just cooperate for five minutes?”
I’d give you a real smile if you’d put the fucking camera away. “I am.”
“No, you’re not. The ad is supposed to go up by the end of the day today, and I’ll need these photos done within the hour so I can edit them in time. You’re not making this easy.”
“You’re the one nitpicking.”
Her eyes narrow, and my real smile finally makes a brief appearance. “Watch your tone.”
One of the things I hear the most at school is that it “must be nice” to be internet famous. It “must be nice” that so many people love me and want to be like me and want to have the perfect family. Truth is, we are, in fact, the furthest thing from perfect. Don’t let the stunning house, expensive car, luxury vacations and 4.3 million subscribers fool you; Mom only films what she wants you to see, just like every other vlog channel. She’s also the reason I don’t have friends.
My classmates only watch our vlogs to find things to tease me for. They’ve watched a twenty-minute video entirely dedicated to my first period, all of which included shopping for pads, showing me how to put one on, and a humiliating explanation of how having my period means I’m becoming a woman. They’ve watched me throw tantrums, puke, have accidents, and more recently, experience a sex talk from Mom because a boy dared to talk to me at a resort we were staying at. There are no limits to the kind of content Mom makes, as long as we’re making money.
The strangers who watch us probably think I’m the most popular girl in school, with hordes of girls my age just dying to be my friend. They couldn’t be more wrong.
Robyn McNeill’s mocking voice blasts through my eardrums whenever I think of school. “Hey Bennett FamJams, it’s Alyssa, and welcome back to our channel!” she says in what’s quite possibly the most annoying falsetto voice I’ve ever heard. She pretends to hold a vlog camera in front of her face. Very original. “Today we’re going to be talking about the time I shit my pants at Disneyland!”
Now, Mom directs me to take one of the lilac branches in my hands and pretend to smell the flowers. I turn sideways, and just as my fingers swipe along the branch, Mom’s grating voice fills my ears again. “Oh, honey, you’re going to have to suck that tummy in. You haven’t been working
Embarrassment climbs through my veins, and my face flushes. I fight the urge to crush the flowers in my hands. “No.” I say nothing else and instead do as told, sucking my stomach in as far as I can to give the illusion that I didn’t gain weight—AKA Mom’s worst nightmare. Now she’s going to make me work out every day until she sees some kind of improvement, and a heavy dread sets in my stomach at the thought. Why can’t she just leave me alone for once?
It’s another thirty minutes before she’s satisfied with my little performance and lets me back into the house. I rush through the sliding patio doors before she can get the chance to ask me if I want to see the pictures. I can’t get to my room fast enough.
Up in my room, I scroll through Instagram as I wait for Mom. Within an hour, she logs into my account and uploads the ad:
I am summer lovin’ this cozy outfit from @BreezyBoutique! A new haul is coming to our channel tomorrow so you can see all my fav pieces. Use my code ALYSSABENNETT15 for 15% off your entire order! #BreezyBoutiquePartner #BreezyBeautiful #summerwardrobe
Only three of the nearly two hundred photos we took make the cut. It’s a wonder I still have my sanity.
The praising comments roll in like a tidal wave, but I don’t read them anymore; they’ve become as much a part of my daily routine as brushing my teeth. I’m still grateful for them, for how privileged I am to live this kind of life, and on days like today, I tend to forget that. I realize I’ve been scrolling this app for far too long, considering I have studying to do, so I finally put the phone down and open my chemistry book.
The word problems outlined in our study guide look like another language to me, but if I don’t pass this final, I won’t pass the class. Mom can’t know this, but I’m nearly failing chemistry. It would destroy her dreams of getting me into an Ivy League college, and she might not ever forgive me; after all, what would our subscribers think if I didn’t get into Stanford, especially since Mom has been mentioning it in our vlogs for years?
I can’t stand to be a failure anymore. So I get to work.
Just as I scribble out the final calculation, my little sister Harper bursts through my bedroom door, cradling her rose gold iPhone in her hand. A twinge of annoyance travels through my gut. “What do you want?” I ask.
She holds the phone out to me. “Dad wants to talk to you.”
My heart gallops. It’s been almost a month since he last called, and honestly, I’ve started to miss him. Sometimes I think the distance has made our relationship stronger, but on days like today, I miss having his strong arms around me, hearing his laugh, living a normal life with two parents who get along. Things with Dad weren’t horrible all the time. I try not to be bothered that he didn’t call me directly as I take the phone from Harper’s hand and press it to my ear. “Hey, Dad.”
“Hey, Lissy. Just wanted to check in and see how things are going.” His deep voice fills the speaker, sending a wave of calm over me.
I lean back in my chair and wave Harper away from my doorway. “I’m all right. Just have a couple finals coming up, then school’s out.”
“Well, that’s exciting. Have any plans for the summer?”
“Probably. I know Mom’s taking us to Niagara Falls tomorrow, but not sure what else she has planned.”
Dad sighs. “Yeah, Harper told me. Have fun. I’m hoping to drop by for a visit next week if your mother doesn’t plan any more spontaneous trips.”
There’s an edge to his voice, and guilt ripples through my chest. “I want to see you again. I just wish you and Mom would at least talk to each other every once in a while.”
“Trust me, Lissy, I wish things were different. I’m trying. It’s not easy, but I know it’s really taking a toll on you guys. I’ll get the courage to talk to her again one day.”
Can that ‘one day’ be, like, next week when you visit? “You promise?”
He blows out a breath. “I promise. But like she said, she needs to move on, so I need to let her do that.”
I nod along, even though he can’t see me. Every time we talk, our conversation always steers toward Mom, followed by passive aggressive comments about how things didn’t work out. It’s exhausting, so I circle back to our earlier topic of school, which is somehow better. We go over the basics (my grades, classes I’m taking next year, etc.,) until we arrive at my least favourite talking point: college. “Still thinking about Stanford? Or what you want to major in?”
My stomach turns to jello. Stanford is just as much his dream for me as it is Mom’s, so I choose my next words carefully. “Not really. It’s just that…I don’t know, Stanford is really far away. Like, in a totally different country, and—”
“You don’t want to go.” It’s not a question. His tone sharpens slightly. “You can tell me the truth.”
I gulp. “I…no, I don’t, to be honest.”
He sighs. “Okay. If that’s what you want, that’s fine. But why don’t you want to go? Is it because of your mother? Did she say something to you?”
His words strike a nerve, and red creeps into the corners of my vision. His favourite pastime lately is to villainize her for everything, including things that have never happened. I can tell he’s trying to hold his anger back, which somehow fuels my own. My hand squeezes tighter around the phone so I don’t throw it across the room. “Not everything is about her! This is my decision about my future. I’m just thinking about me for once. And I don’t want to go.”
“Cut the attitude, Alyssa,” he snaps, venom coating his words. “I’m just asking you why you don’t want to go. You don’t need to get all defensive.”
“I want to stay closer to home. And I don’t even know what I want to do.”
“But you’ll figure that out. You have a year. And we’d come to visit you all the—”
“I’m staying here.”
He sighs audibly. “At least promise me you’ll go to college. I don’t want you thinking that you’re going to make it in life as an influencer. You need to get a real job. That stupid vlog isn’t going to last forever.”
I’m so over this conversation. “I will.”
He cuts the conversation short and asks to speak to Levi, my seven-year-old brother. I bring Harper’s phone down the hall and open Levi’s door to find him sprawled out on his floor, building a tower out of his Legos. “It’s for you,” I say as I hand him the phone, then bolt out of his room.
When I get back to my room, I throw myself down on my bed and yank the blankets over my face. Why can’t our family be normal again?
Chapter 2
“Here we are, in Niagara Falls! And look at this view.” Mom pivots the vlog camera away from her face toward the scenic lookout of the Falls below. It’s a bright, cloudless morning, and the water sparkles in the sun. “I just can’t get enough of this. Are you guys excited?”
Harper and Levi each give a loud cheer, but I just stare out at the Falls, silent. Unlike Mom, I’d rather live in the moment than take in the view through the lens of a camera. I should be grateful to be here, but today is one of those days where I’d rather be curled up in my bed reading a book.
“Alyssa, you didn’t say anything. What about you?”
I give a quick shrug. “Yeah, I’m excited.”
“Good to hear!” Then she’s back to telling our audience all about the fun things there are to do here, from the SkyWheel to MarineLand to Niagara Speedway go-karting. My siblings and I wait not-so-patiently for her to finish; my feet are itching to get moving, and Harper has already started down the sidewalk. I fight the urge to tell Mom that if our viewers really want to visit Niagara Falls, one simple Google search will tell them about all the attractions.
As Mom continues, some of the other tourists begin to stare. Instinctually, I turn away, wishing I could shrivel up and disappear. My cheeks heat with embarrassment. No matter how many times this happens when we’re in public—and it happens a lot—I’ll never get used to the judgment coating their expressions, especially from the older generations. More than once, I’ve heard them grumble about how back in their day, there wasn’t a cellphone in sight, that they didn’t have photo evidence of everything they did in one day. Sometimes I wish we could go back to those days.
