AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Gently, she maneuvers me, and then sits with me, holding my hand and stroking the back of it as she waits for me to be able to talk to her and move properly.
“Thank God I have a key,” she mutters. “Don’t try to move, darling. Just rest until you feel better.”
It’s been a while since one of these beasts has hit. I take my meds. I practice my yoga. I did drink, though. I need to stop that. I swear I didn’t drink that much, but my tolerance is probably super low. I thought I’d gotten away with it, as I didn’t have a seizure, but that, the stress, and the lack of sleep and healthy foods have all taken their toll.
I glance up at Mom. She’s crying, and I feel awful. I’ve been making Nataniele out to be the bad one, but the truth is I’m the cause of all her misery. She’d have been better off if I’d never been born. I swear there and then to never get drunk again, and to stop letting the Devils get to me. Screw them.
Screw them all.
When I’m finally able to make use of my tongue, I say, “Sorry, Mom.”
My voice is weak and faint.
“Hush. You don’t have anything to be sorry about. None of this is your fault.”
At first, I think she’s talking about my epilepsy, but then I realize she means our current situation. She’s wrong, though. It is my fault, and I don’t just mean what happened with the professor. If it hadn’t been for my seizures, we’d never have all the huge medical bills hanging over us. My meds alone cost thousands each month, and that’s not even taking into account the bills from the number of times I’ve landed in the hospital. I still don’t fully understand why Dad’s job never had decent medical insurance, but they both told me not to worry about it. Telling a kid—which I was back then—not to worry about something is completely pointless. Maybe if they’d explained it to me, I’d have worried less, but it had taken for me to be a teenager and have my own access to the internet to fully understand just how completely broken our healthcare system is. Parents shouldn’t have to go broke just because they were unlucky enough to have a sick kid.
“No, I’m sorry because I haven’t been looking after myself properly. This is my fault.”
She sighs. “Oh, honey. I’m not going to pretend like I’m happy you’ve been drinking.”
I widen my eyes at her perceptions.
She gives me a tight smile. “You smell of wine, and your lips are stained red.”
“Sorry,” I repeat.
“But,” she continues, “I also understand how hard this all is for you. You went through something hugely traumatic. It’s difficult enough leaving your whole life behind, and starting at a new school, but doing so this quickly after what happened, and having to navigate teenage life with your condition makes things even harder.”
Tears fill my vision, and I blink fast, trying to hold them back. I don’t want to feel sorry for myself. There are people who have it far worse than I do. I’m alive, after all, and I’m free. Maybe I don’t deserve to be. I don’t want anyone else’s pity, either, which is why I keep my epilepsy to myself, and it is why I lock my meds up. I don’t want a cleaner to find them and talk.
The really stupid part is that I probably wouldn’t be crying if it wasn’t for Tino also treating me like shit. This isn’t the type of person I want to be—I’d prefer to leave him crawling after me—but he’s caught me at a vulnerable time in my life.
I draw a breath. “It’s okay, Mom. I’m okay.”
I am starting to feel stronger, though the familiar tiredness weighs down on my limbs. I normally need to sleep after I’ve had a seizure, sometimes for days, if it’s been a particularly bad one.
For once, the thought of taking to my bed brings with it a wave of relief. I’ll be safe there, hiding beneath my covers. Mom will bring me food and take care of me awhile.
Sometimes, even though I’m technically an adult now, all I need is my mom.
Chapter 19
Valentino
“Mackenzie is sick,” Dom announces as he catches up to me.
We’re running the track that goes around the grounds of the university. I’m bare-chested, my skin slick with sweat. My muscles are burning, my chest tight, but I like pushing my body hard. My ankle keeps tweaking with pain, and my shoulder screams, but I grit my teeth and keep going. I popped a pill before I came out, but I swear it hasn’t even touched it.
Breaking one bone is bad enough; having multiple broken at the same time fucking sucks. It fucked up my plans, too. Sports are my jam, and it’s even what I’m majoring in, though my father wasn’t happy about it. Once upon a time I’d considered going professional in football and perhaps escape my family’s business, but the attack saw the end of that. I was fucking good enough, too. I’d have escaped the cartel life, been famous, and drowned in money and pussy. Instead, my family legacy eventually claimed me, too, and trapped me in the web of vengeance and hatred that is the cartels’ world. The raid on our compound by a rival group had come silently at first in the dead of night. Once we were aware we were being attacked, it was too late to repel them all.
We got the women and children to safety, and even though I was still technically a child, at only sixteen, I stayed and fought. Big mistake. I got separated from my family and our security and cornered by the rival gang. They didn’t shoot me, thank fuck, but they beat me with sticks and broke multiple bones. By the time my father’s security found me, I needed a month in the hospital.
I live with the memory of that attack ingrained in my body daily.
“What do you mean, ‘she’s sick?’” I reply between breaths. “What’s she sick with?”
“No fucking clue. Her mom won’t tell me much either, and neither will my dad. They just say that she’s picked up something and needs bedrest.”
