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And yet you saved her ass not so long ago, you, miserable piece of sh…
“Do you want to see my Lego collection?” my brother tried to save the awkward situation from exploding in my face.
He probably thought the sweet, beautiful Clementine was hurt. He had no idea she was the one who was doing the hurting in our twisted… thing.
I wasn’t crazy enough to call it a relationship. We never even kissed. We didn’t even talk. And even though I didn’t have girlfriends, I knew enough on the subject to know you have to at least tolerate the other person to the point of listening to their blabber. So, no. This thing between us couldn’t be called a relationship.
“Later, Troy,” my father stopped them from going to his room. “Let’s wait for your mother and discuss the changes.”
Dad stared at me and I could see his disapproval of my jackass move, yelling at my mother and insulting our guest. If Clementine knew what I really thought about her, she wouldn’t be insulted. She would be terrified of the thought of spending the night here.
I saw some understanding in dad’s eyes. He knew why I hated her so much. I presumed this was his objection. He put himself in my shoes, unlike my mother.
I finally got the balls to look at Clementine. I wanted to see what my words have done to her. Her face was… infuriating.
She was calm, collected and… sort of in peace.
What a freak…
My mother appeared a minute later. Fresh as a daisy. Like she didn’t have a care in the world.
“Lucas, sit down, please,” she sang.
“I’m good,” I replied, pressing my back to the wall.
Mom sent me a warning look and started talking.
“Richard was here the other day. We were talking, and he said that Clem can’t stay at the Spencers’, and that she wouldn’t want to go to Seattle with him.”
My mother paused. She looked uncomfortable. To be honest, I didn’t do anything to make her feel better. My eyes, my whole face and body were sending the same message: I’m about to go on a killing spree.
“I couldn’t get this idea out of my head,” she continued. “So, I called him and offered our home, until hers is rebuilt. Or her mother comes back. But even if you stayed here until graduation, we wouldn’t mind,” she told Clementine and squeezed her hand.
“Comes back from where?” I asked. Not that I cared where Sylvia was, but shouldn’t she be here picking up her daughter and dragging her, I don’t know... to the other side of town.
“Sylvia is in a rehab center,” my father said, and his eyes were warning me to watch it.
I suspected Sylvia Hartley was an addict and, unwillingly, or at least I hoped so, started a fire with both her and her daughter inside their house. I didn’t understand it when I saw her on that sofa, unconscious and obviously mental, judging by the number of burning candles surrounding her. But I put it all together a few days later.
Clementine knew her mother was sleeping on the sofa. She immediately started pushing her around to wake her up. As if she knew she won’t wake up easily. And I was pretty sure I saw an empty bottle of wine on the coffee table and some pills spilt next to it.
My guess was Clementine had a very good idea what was happening downstairs.
“When?” I asked, and dad understood my question immediately.
“Sylvia is coming back in January. Richard thinks the walls and floors could be ready by then too,” he answered, then turned to Clem. “It won’t be finished, but you could sleep there if you want to. But as Lizzie said, you’re welcome to stay as long as you want.”
Three fucking months. I had to live with the girl who crushed my soul for three whole months?
Troy cut my thoughts with his happy squeal.
“That’s so cool. I mean, not that your mom’s not coming home for three months, but that you’re going to be here the entire time. Do you like board games?”
Clementine chuckled and messed with his hair. “Depends on the company,” she winked.
She winked at my ten-year-old brother, chill as fuck. She didn’t look lost, homeless, or even sad.
I couldn’t stand her anymore.
