My mother’s eyes widened a fraction, a faint tremor appearing in her outstretched finger, before she recovered and schooled her expression back into its typical sneer. Faster than I could blink, and much quicker than I could react, my mother extended the fingers of her outstretched hand and slapped me—hard—across the face. My head turned to the right from the force of her blow, the slap of skin hitting skin reverberating through the small, quiet space.
My face stung, and I felt tears well unbidden in my eyes.
She wouldnotget any more emotion from me.
“Get. Out.” She bit the words through gritted teeth, the smoke from her rolled tobacco coiling around us like a snake.
I kept my head turned to the side, not wanting to meet her eyes and give her the satisfaction of breaking my spirit, again. I took a few deep breaths, trying in vain to find a sense of calm, but it evaded me. Each modicum of peace I achieved was instantly broken by the throbbing in my cheek. I knew, without needing to look, that a red print the size of my mother’s hand was clearly visible on my pale skin.
At least this time her nails missed my eye.
“And my siblings?” I finally asked, my voice devoid of all emotion.
“No longer of your concern. As you said, I’m not family. So, they’re not your family. They’re mine.” Her venomous words cut me to the core. She knew exactly what I cared about most in this world and how to twist the knife enough to make me bleed.
I nodded my head jerkily once before turning and striding toward the door to our apartment, never making eye contact with the woman who gave birth to me. I had no belongings in this place I once called home, at least nothing that was worth risking the further wrath of my mother.
I need a place to live, a job, a way to get my siblings back. I repeated it over and over in my mind, focusing on what I could control as my life spun out around me.
As I reached the door, its hinges askew from my mother slamming it one too many times in a drunken haze, she called out once more.
“Oh, and Lex?” I paused and turned my head enough to see the back of her head sticking above the torn and tattered mess of the armchair. She took one last drag of her tobacco roll before snuffing it out next to the other burns on the arm of her chair.
At least it’s not on me this time.
“Best you find somewhere else to live. You’re no longer welcome here.”
I said nothing in response; there was nothing to say—nothing that wouldn’t have her chasing after me to finish what she started earlier, anyway.
I gently closed the door to the only home I’d ever known, even if the feelings within the space were never welcoming as a home should be.
Shoving my hands in the pockets of my threadbare, too-tight black pants, I made my way down the rickety wood staircase and into the brothel, hoping to nick a few things from the kitchen and supply room before venturing into Vespera.
I moved quietly through the space, not wanting to wake the girls, grabbing a small burlap sack that Cook used to hold apples and the like. I shoved a few of the more rotten ones in my pack—saving the better ones for the girls, they needed them more than me—along with a half-loaf of hard bread and some driedjerky. I looked for an extra set of pants and a shirt, but there was nothing. My second set had gone missing a few weeks ago, and I was nearly certain that my mother had sold them to one of her clients after a small mishap during one of her sessions.
I shook the thought away as I cinched the bag tight and threw it over my shoulder.
Tiptoeing through the main room, I bypassed the occupied rooms, but a familiar sweet voice—like the flowers at the beginning of spring—cut through the relative silence just as I reached the front door of the pleasure house.
“And just where do you think you’re going?” There was no heat behind the question, just a mild curiosity, and my shoulders sank in defeat.
I turned around slowly, pressing my back against the closed door. I kept my head lowered and turned, attempting to avoid discovery of the red mark so prominent on my face.
There was a sigh before the smell of roses and something sharper overwhelmed my senses, calming me in an instant. Soft fingers gripped my chin tightly and turned my head to the side. She made a noise somewhere between resignation and pity, and I fought the tears that threatened to surge.
“She really did it this time, hmm?” Her question was rhetorical, and I shrugged my shoulders noncommittally, still refusing to look her in the eye.
“Look at me, Lex.”
I could never refuse her, my chin tilting involuntarily, and I saw my pain reflected in her green eyes. She left her fingers on my chin for a moment before removing her hand and running it down my arm.
“I’m going to miss you,” she whispered before throwing her arms around me. Her soft body pressed against my hard one, and I greedily breathed in her scent, committing it to memory.
“She won’t let me back here,” I whispered into her soft red curls as they tickled my nose. Her arms only tightened around my neck in response.
“You’realwayswelcome here. When I’m Madame, I’ll kick her out. I’ll punish her. I promise,” she said as she pulled away from me. I missed her contact the minute it was gone.
I squeezed her hands tightly once, then twice, before releasing them and turning toward the door again.
