“Okay.”
When she is done, she gets up, leaving her dirty dish on the black fold-out table. She heads out the door, slamming it shut as she wobbles in her six-inch heels. I let out a breath at her departure. I feel as though I can’t even breathe right when she is here.
I finish my homework and clean the kitchen and the living room. I put in a load of laundry and go to the couch to fold and put away the dry clothes. After that, I shower and lie down on the couch. We live in a one-bedroom trailer, so the couch is where I sleep. Which is honestly a saving grace. My mom doesn’t bring men home because a “sleeping leech on the couch is bad for business.” Whatever keeps her men away from me.
I’ve seen the way they look at me, the way they would watch me when I was too young to be left at home by myself while Mom worked. Eventually Mom decided when I was seven that I was capable of taking care of myself. She also said when she stopped bringing me, the men started paying less. When I was fifteen, she tried to bring me along again so I could earn my keep, but I had to draw the linesomewhere. I would rather die. I threatened to call the cops, and she stopped trying to whore me out.
I check my phone—1:30. I am going to feel tired in the morning. I set my alarm and try to sleep, but thoughts of Everett keep creeping in, despite how hard I try to avoid them. He’s on my mind, and I toss and turn all night.
***
The jarring melody of my alarm jerks me from my dreams. Just four hours later, and I feel like a zombie. I dress for school, put the dishes away, and eat breakfast. Mom stumbles in as I’m eating and makes her way to the back.
As I am packing my bag, I hear her thunderous steps coming down the hall, I see the fury in her eyes, and I know what's about to happen.
My eyes instinctively close as she raises her hand, and after all these years, I still flinch.
Slap.
The sting of her skin connecting with mine sinks in, but I don’t cry anymore. To my unfortunate luck, she hadn’t taken her rings off yet. So, I feel the familiar burn of the cut and the warm blood dripping down my cheek.
“You idiot! Why are my clothes still in the washer? They are going to smell like mold!” The vodka that coats her breath burns my eyes, so I drop my gaze to the floor.
Shit. I was so tired last night, I totally forgot to switch them to the dryer.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I’ll wash them again.”
She scoffs at me then returns to her room. I follow behind her to the laundry closet and restart her clothes. I use the extra twenty-five minutes to do some homework. Then I switch the clothes to the dryer and head to school.
To add to my morning, it’s raining. By the time I arrive fifteen minutes late to chemistry, I am soaking wet. I hand Mr. Roby my tardy note and slide quietly into my seat next to Everett. His eyes are watching me. I can feel him assessing me, wondering why I’m late. But I can’t look at him. I can’t let him see me like this.
I pull out my book and start reading and taking notes. Then I feel his rough thumb brush my cheek, right over the new cut.
“What happened?” he whispers.
I glance in his direction and see his brows furrowed, his jaw tight, and a frightened look in his eyes.
“Nothing.”
“Leo—”
“I said nothing.” My tone is sharp. He needs to drop this.
A few minutes later, a note slides across to my side.
Your secrets are safe with me. I promise.
– Ev
Are they? I’ve never told anyone about my home life. Ski knows only because he found me trying to break into his shop one night.The beating was bad, and I needed to run. Some people know what my mom does, but besides Ski, people don’t know who she is. She is careful, or maybe lucky, but she rarely leaves bruises and scars where people can see. And on the rare occasion where it’s visible, I can cover it or make up a plausible story that avoids the truth.
I begged once,Why me?My mom said my dad was the love of her life. I don't even know if that's true. I can't imagine anyone loving my mom that way. But they were sixteen when she got pregnant with me. My dad didn’t want to be a teen dad, so he left and I was to blame. And she has never stopped blaming me. I asked her once, if she didn’t love me, never wanted me, why not give me up for adoption? She said that if he ever came looking for me, she wanted to be there. All the pain in my life, all because she is hoping that a man who never wanted me would try and find me. You don’t look for something you don’t miss and never wanted in the first place.
I read Everett’s note again. I look over at him, and he is looking at me already. He’s always looking at me. I hold his stare, trying with everything I am to see the deception, the lie. Trying with all the fight I have, which isn’t much these days, to deny him.
His hand is on mine, and he takes the note back, writing something else.
Give me a safe word.
