Page 107 of Pleasure & Prey: Vol. 2

The man I killed with his own gun.

“Hey Mom,” I reply, waving one hand at her a little lamely. “I, uh, didn’t expect you home. But you don’t seem like you’re staying?”

“No, I’m uh.” Here it is. The nervousness, the avoidance, the desire to get away from me that anyone with eyes can see. “I’m sorry for being gone so much lately. There’s change with the company, and—” She keeps going, using the same excuses she’s used all of my life to justify not staying here. I’ve heard them all before, and they’ve never been that convincing. I’m sure I could list them all out before she gets a chance to. But it doesn’t change that it hurts.

It always fucking hurts to be left alone.

“Where are you going?” I ask, hiding my hurt as best as I know how. “How long will you be gone?”

“Oh, well, I’m glad you’re here, actually, because I wanted to talk to you in person about this.” Her movements become more frantic as she talks, and I realize she’s about to drop a big decision on me that I won’t enjoy. “When Julie and I were in San Francisco, I realized I need to be there more. We’re just expanding so much, and hotels get expensive. Plus, they’re not that comfortable, you know?”

“Sure,” I say, feeling like my mouth is full of sawdust as I watch her continue packing. “I get it.” I really don’t get it, since she’s certainly never invited me on any of her trips.

“So I was thinking about buying a condo out there, you know? Somewhere that I can stay without needing exact reservations.” But something is off as she says it, and it clicks just as she turns to fiddle with something on her dresser.

“You already bought the condo, didn’t you?” I ask flatly, trying to remind myself that I am an adult and I don’t need her to be here all the time. Or at all.

Literally, at all.

“You really do know me so well, huh?” Mom laughs, beaming at me and throwing more of her clothes in the open suitcase. She closes it up and glances at her phone again. “I wish you’d been home earlier today.”

No, she doesn’t.

“A car will be here in a few minutes, so⁠—”

“If I know you so damn well after all these years, even with you doing your best to not be a part of my life, then what’s your excuse for not knowing me at all?” The words come out quiet and jumbled, and it’s so hard not to cry. This is far from the first time she’s let me down or run off from me, but God, it hurts every single time it happens.

The silence in the room is the definition of deafening. She doesn’t look up from her phone, her eyes unfocused as she stares at the screen. It’s the first time I’ve ever brought up the giant elephant that sits in every room we're in; moving with us no matter the location.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Mom murmurs finally, picking up her suitcase and taking it to the door. “Would you grab the smaller one for me?”

“No.” I don’t move from my spot near the door. “No, because I’m tired of helping you walk out of my life. I’m tired of⁠—”

“You’re an adult, Winnifred.” Her voice is brittle and flat, cracking along the ends of words. She’s never spoken to Lou like this. She’s been mad at her, sure. They butt heads a lot. But she’s never sounded so…disinterested.

So cold.

“You don’t need me to be here with you all the time. I’m done raising you, and you can take care of yourself.” She strides out of the room with me on her heels, finally spurred into motion.

“First of all, you didn’t raise me. You let Dad hurt me.” I don’t know why I’m doing this now, but the words just won’t stay bottled up. “That’s not raising me. You put me in a position where I had to defend myself, and I did. You know, for a while I thought that you just couldn’t handle the fact that you didn’t help me. I thought you felt guilty.”

I follow her back up the stairs, standing on the landing as she collects her other bag.

“But we both know that’s not true, huh? And ever since then, you’ve worked as hard as you can to get away from me as often as you can. You know I can hear it when you and Lou get into fights about me, right?”

My mom stands on the landing a few feet from me, but she’s never seemed more distant. Not since the first time she looked at me with this cold, detached air while I was in the mental hospital, right before she walked away.

“You just don’t understand.” Mom sighs, rubbing a hand over her face. “Things are complicated, Winnie. You can’t understand⁠—”

“If I don’t understand, it’s because you won’t let me understand.” My hands curl, nails digging into my palms. “I just…” Fuck, I’m going to cry. I can feel the heat behind my eyes burning, pressing, as I widen my eyes to hold the tears at bay.

“I just want you to love me.”

“We’ll talk about this when I get back.” Her words sting, hurt, ache as they twist in my chest, and I fall silent, at a loss. “I’ll text you from San Francisco. I’ll let you know my schedule.” When she looks up, her bright, fake smile is back on her face. I realize quickly she’s going to pretend none of this has ever happened.

It’s what she’s best at, after all.

“I’ll pick you up something nice, okay? Maybe a necklace to go with the bracelet I got you last time?” She walks down the stairs and keeps talking, having a one sided conversation as I just stand there. “See you soon, Winnie! Hold down the fort for me.” She turns, giving me one last bright smile before she picks up her other suitcase, and closes the door behind her with a soft, but final, slam.