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The winter sun streamed through the window, glinting off the dog tags hanging around his neck. I ran my finger over the smooth metal, as he thrust up inside me, drenching me in pleasure. “Play hard…” I whispered. “Fight hard…” I kissed him. “Love hard.”
“Sounds like good advice to me,” Kaiden breathed the words against my lips and then no more words were spoken.
Because sometimes actions said everything you needed to say.
Peyton
My feet burned. It had been a grueling shift at the diner, but it was better than being here.
I’d thought moving home with my mom was the right thing to do, but it was like living with a ghost. Rehab had killed what little bit of spirit she had left, leaving behind a woman I barely recognized.
And when you’d watched your mom OD three times between the ages of six and sixteen, that was saying something.
“Mom, I’m home,” I called, throwing down my keys and kicking off my pumps, relishing the feel of the cool tiles against my sore feet. “Mom?”
I dug out my cell phone and checked my messages, laughing at the photo Bryan had sent of himself lying on his bed cuddling a soft toy with the caption ‘I’m so lonely.’ He was such a goofball. But he was also one of the best guys I’d ever met.
It was a shame I didn’t feel anything for him. He was like the big, older brother I never had—except he did this amazing trick with his tongue. A trick that meant I’d ended up in his bed far more than I should have the last couple of weeks. But it beat being here, wishing I had a family who loved me. A family who cared where I was and what I was doing.
I’d never had that. Except for the Fords. They cared. But they weren’t here, and I wasn’t there anymore, and I’d never felt more alone than I did in this godforsaken house.
“Mom?” I yelled this time. She was probably passed out on the sofa thanks to her post-rehab depression.
Sometimes I wondered why she even bothered. It wasn’t like she wanted to be clean. Or maybe she liked torturing me as much as possible. Getting clean and coming back into my life, making me feel obligated to move home and try to be a happy family.
It was all bullshit.
She didn’t want me before she went to rehab, and she certainly didn’t want me now. But part of me, the little girl who didn’t understand why her mom didn’t love her, had to try.
One last time.
Going into the kitchen, I checked the notepad stuck to the refrigerator but there was nothing. I texted Bryan back a photo of my feet and the caption ‘need an ice bath and a massage’ and threw my cell down on the counter.
Something wasn’t right. Everything looked the same, but something felt wrong. A chill ran down my spine as I went into the living room. I tried the downstairs bathroom next, and then moved upstairs.
“Mom?” She wasn’t in her bedroom.
My heart crashed wildly in my chest as I approached the bathroom, my fingers trembling as I reached for the door handle.
I knew.
Deep down inside, I knew what I would find on the other side of the door. Because that was life living with a drug addict. Always one second away from the next overdose or the next bad high.
But nothing could have prepared me for what I found when I opened the door.
“Mom?” I cried, rushing to her side and pulling her lifeless body into my arms. Blood was everywhere. Red and sticky, it coated her arms and the bathroom floor, getting all over me as I hugged her to me, rocking her back and forth.
“No,” I whimpered. “No… no, no.” Tears ran down my face, mixing with the blood, getting all over my diner-scented Cindy’s Grill blouse. “Wake up, Mom. You have to wake up now.” I smoothed her ratty, dull hair from her eyes. “If you leave me, I’m all alone. I’m all alone.”
She was the worst mom in the world.
But she was stillmymom.
And she was lying here, in a pool of her own blood.
“Why?” I sobbed. “Why would you do this?” My tears turned to anger, to rage at a woman who had always loved her next high more than her own daughter. I shoved her limp body away from me and staggered to my feet, traipsing bloody footprints down the stairs as I went to retrieve my cell phone. Running my hands under the faucet, I dried them and picked it up.
“9-1-1 what is your emergency please?” The operator said.
