Page 36 of Whispers From The Dark

“Thank you, young man,” she slurs, and that slight cursive between words is enough to tell me exactly how drunk she is. And it’s not enough. She’s in that dangerous state that exists roughly fifteen to eighteen beers in. Over the years, that number has climbed, but I know her tolerance, having attuned myself to it like a pinched nerve. I’ve held my body in a way to prevent the twinge, favoring silence to keep her docile. It’s a second language I don’t remember studying. It tumbles off the tongue so easily that I fear I might have been born fluent, and I’ve desperately hoped that Jack will never know its cadence.

I’m still frozen when Henry rounds the corner, pulling out his phone. My mother hasn’t closed the door yet, so when he sees me, he hesitates. Gabi’s fiancé knows a fraction of the shit my mother has put me through, so I’m sure he’s racing to text me, to warn me, to prepare me for the nuclear fallout I’m about to walk into.

I shake my head, lifting a finger to my lips.

Just go, I mouth.

He keeps walking down the stairs, adjusting the bag of tools on his shoulder as he tucks a large, flat piece of cardboard under one arm. I catch sight of the hurried Sharpie scrawled across it, and I nearly laugh.

DANGEROUS. BROKEN GLASS.

What I’m about to face is probably more likely to cause me harm. I’d prefer to take my chances with the shards.

I wait for a few minutes, knowing that timing is key. If I go in too soon, she’ll be angrier than if I wait. She’ll want to scream and rage at me for this problem I’ve already fixed without the risk of Henry overhearing her. I don’t know why the fuck she cares because no one has ever stopped her abuse before. No one has ever seen her actions and called her out for them. No one has ever saved me from her. It won’t start now.

But if I wait too long, she’ll turn her sights on Jack, and I can’t have that either. Just because I had no savior, doesn’t mean my little brother is in the same position.

Taking a deep breath, I close my eyes, searching myself for Asmodeus, urging him to stay put. If he acted without thought when it came to Dmitri, I can only imagine what he’ll be tempted to do after living in my head, knowing exactly what she’s done.

“Please.” I don’t explain, and he doesn’t respond, but my body relaxes anyway, and instinctively, I know he won’t interfere this time. I feel it in my nervous system and believe it in my bones.

Inhale. Hold. Exhale slowly. Do it twice. Regulate, regulate, regulate. It’s the best I can do in the few minutes I have before walking up the stairs. I’m on the verge of an anxiety attack, but I can’t hear what’s going on inside the apartment, what she could be saying to Jack, so I push through it. Straightening my shoulders, preparing for battle, I ascend the last few steps. When I open the door, Jack is nowhere to be seen. He’s gotten good at reading the room. A room he should never have fucking been in to begin with. Mom’s in the kitchen with her back turned. I don’t bother with any performance. I set my bag down on the ground, cross my arms, and wait.

An outburst is imminent, her posture giving it away. Mom’s shoulders curl inward, and her dull grey hair seems to have knotted at the nape. When she attempts to run her gnarled fingers through it, her hands shake. I know what that means.

She grunts as she stumbles toward the refrigerator, ready for another beer. After taking a long pull from the bottle, she leans against the counter and narrows her eyes.

“I told you not to be here when I got back, Petra.”

“You were supposed to be home tomorrow,” I say, but I had no intention of packing my stuff up either way.

“I suppose I wanted to see my son when he wakes up on Christmas morning, not that it’s any business of yours.” She’s lying, I can tell. She probably had a fight with Aunt Kathy. “Didn’t know I had to get your permission to return to my own home,” she continues.

“You don’t. But I thought I had until tomorrow.”

“Get out.”

I deflect. “Where’s Jack?”

“In his room, I imagine. Probably putting it back together after your secret project,” she sneers.

“It’s fixed, isn’t it?”

“That’s not the point, and you damn well know that, little girl.”

For once, I don’t want to just say what needs to be said to talk her down. She took my money…

And so much more.

She took my childhood. Hell, she took this stage of my life too. I shouldn’t be having to look over my kid brother like this—not that I’d ever resent him for that. But I do resent her. She’s the worst thing that’s ever happened to me.

“Tell me, then,” I snap. “What was the point? You wanted to know so you could, what? Scream and curse at me? So you could hit me and tell me I’m a disappointment?” I pause, my voice shaking. “So you could do that to Jack?”

“It’s my apartment, Petra.” Her words aren’t so slurred now, and she sets her beer onto the counter before moving toward me. She’s shorter than me by an inch or two, but it doesn’t feel like it right now. I almost feel like a kid again, cowering beneath the height of her rage. “I need to know when you or your dumbass brother damage it.”

“What the fuck is wrong with you?” I glance toward the hallway, hoping Jack didn’t hear her. “Who calls an eleven-year-old that? What kind of piece of shit mother would say that about their own kid?”

“An honest one. You think I want two stupid kids?”