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“It’s not your problem.”
“No, it isn’t, but I want to hurt your brothers for hurting my mother, and I need you at the top of your game if we’re going to do it.” I stepped forward and slipped my hand into his. “So suck it up and get it together.”
His grin was vicious and beautiful. “Yes, ma’am. I like when you talk to me that way.”
“Asshole. Don’t be a fucking baby.”
He growled and pushed me back against the wall. “Call me a lazy piece of shit.”
I turned my chin away. “You’re an idiot.”
He kissed my neck. “You can do better.”
“You’re a conceited, manipulative, monstrous piece of garbage, and I want to see you tear your family to shreds for me.”
“I will,” he whispered, and kissed me.
I threw myself into that kiss. All my anger, all my desire. It raged through me like fire, burning, burning, burning. Threatening to overwhelm my senses. Nothing mattered but Calvin.
When we broke apart, it was like coming up from beneath a sheet of ice.
He squeezed my hand.
“Come on. Let’s get settled. We still have to meet my father.”
He turned and left.
I hurried to follow. No sense in getting lost in this hell.
16
Robyn
I showered and changed. I let Calvin pick out my outfit, halfway expecting it to be something absurdly revealing, but was pleased to find a respectable and conservative ensemble of calf-length skirt and blouse. I dressed in the bedroom, and out in the living area I could hear him pacing around like a caged lion.
I tried to imagine what it must feel like for him to be home. I guessed it was like what I felt every time I saw my mother rotting in front of the television, drinking herself to death and waiting for her abusive husband to come home from prison—except magnified. This place was beautiful at first, but after that show with his mother, I could start to see the cracks forming all around.
The beauty was fleeting and meaningless. The expensive paintings, rugs, the details, it was all there to exude a sense of power. And yet since we’d been here, I’d only seen Martha, Matthias, Calvin’s mother, and random staff members.
Nobody else experienced this place. It was like a garden in the middle of a locked fortress.
Never seen, never enjoyed.
I stepped out of the bedroom and spread my hands. “How do I look?”
He paused long enough to look at me with pure hunger in his eyes. “Beautiful.”
I blushed and wondered why. “Better than a common street whore?”
“I never should’ve said that.” He came closer.
I held up my hands. “I know you weren’t directing that at me.”
“Even still. My mother has that effect on me.”
“I think most mothers do.”
“Does yours?”
I nodded and drifted toward the window. A skeletal forest stretched out into the distance, punctuated by several cell towers and some taller buildings in the distance.
“You know about my father. But my mother was just as bad.”
“She hit you?”
“No, but she didn’t try to stop it.”
He let out a long breath. “I can see how that would hurt.”
“It’s not the same as what my father did. I don’t hate her like I hate him, but I’m more…” I trailed off, searching for the word.
“Disappointed.”
I turned and nodded. “Disappointed,” I repeated, testing the word. It felt right. “She was supposed to be better. She’s my mother, after all.”
“She let you down.”
“Exactly. I don’t hate her. Sometimes I do, but mostly I don’t. I feel bad for her right now. She’s going through something very few people experience, and I don’t think she was prepared.”
“My mother was similar, though she played a more active role. My father loved his lessons, and though my mother was always softer, she did nothing to stop him. Sometimes she helped.” He shrugged as if the past was the past and it didn’t matter anymore.
But the past always mattered, whether or not we wanted it to.
“How do we forgive someone for sins like that? She didn’t do anything to me directly, but she didn’t move to stop it, either.”
“Was she afraid?”
“I don’t know.”
“You should ask her.”
I laughed at the idea. “She’s a zombie. She barely speaks to me.”
“Try anyway. Have you ever tried to talk to her about your father?”
“No, I haven’t. Not really.”
“Then try it. Your mother might not be too far gone.”
“And yours is?”
“Maybe when she sobers up, we can discuss all the ways she failed me as a mother. For now, I’m writing her off.” He moved toward the door, checking his watch. “We should go.”
“Where to?”
“My father’s study. Dinner’s served in an hour and I want to speak with him before that.”
I didn’t argue. His family seemed to move by unseen forces, following a set schedule that made no sense. But then again, other people’s routines rarely did.
We followed the quiet, creaking hallways on a circuitous route past statues that were likely worth more than my entire college education. Staff lurked in the silent, dark corners, and I wondered how many people this place employed—all to service five people at most. It was a travesty, such a waste, and yet at least these people had jobs.
