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“Ma, I don’t know what the fuck you think’s going on, or why you think it’s any of your business,” I say, trying not to let the growl overwhelm my words. “I didn’t come out here to listen to your shit. So rather than take your shit out on me for the trillionth time, why don’t you crawl back in the house and sleep it off? Or are you just bawling me out because you feel guilty for making that poor simp you married fight your demons for you?”
She smiles slowly, her eyes a shade lighter than mine, shiny and poisonous as an exotic snake.
There’s no warning before she whips the glass over my head.
It slams the ground behind me and blows to smithereens with a deafening crash.
Goddamn.
I don’t even flinch, despite several shards rebounding off my boots.
Her hand jerks back so fast her long fingernails graze her other arm. She pulls it back and studies the fresh self-inflicted cut.
One more wound that’s so small in the grand scheme of her wreckage that she probably can’t feel it.
“You think Bruce is the big damn hero here?Really?”
I know there’s a screaming, ugly tantrum building behind that tone.
I definitely don’t need her throwing herself in the pool.
Now is the time to escape—before she says anything else about Delia.
“I don’t think anything about you, Mother, because I’m done. You know that. I didn’t come here to beat my head against the wall, trying to have a human conversation when that’s never worked.”
Hurt rage fills her eyes.
She knows damn well who I came to see, and it kills her.
Ma only hates Delia because she’s jealous.
Because I’d rather spend the rest of my life with that girl, and it hurts like a bat to the balls that I fucking can’t.
We stare each other down.
Yeah, this latest overdose had to be a suicidal stab at kicking up fresh drama to reel me back into her life. I’m only sorry it worked better than anything else she’s done.
She could’ve easily offed herself for real this time—unlike the other incidents when she was more careful, when she stopped shy of the danger zone.
Evie just wants to walk a tight rope that helps her manipulate everyone else.
“Go ahead and play soldier boy then,” she chimes. “Jesus. You don’t have any balls, do you? I gave you tough love, Christopher—tough fucking love. Now look at you! Living like a robot, all hollowed out and alone.”
She pauses, hoping her words will sink in.
It’s almost funny that she thinks she can still hurt me.
“No family. No friends. No girlfriend—I hope,” she continues. “Just me. I sure wish you’d realize I’m the only one who cares. That little tramp only wants you because she’s just as screwed up as you. Christopher...I’mallyou’ve got. The only one whotriesto understand you. And the sooner you realize that, we can—”
Enough.
I tune her out, my jaw pinched tighter than a vise.
Fuck, if she weren’t so goddamned crazy—anybody but my own flesh and blood—I’d have picked her up and hurled her in the pool about ten words into this fit.
My skin feels like its crawling with scorpions.
She’s my personal kryptonite, my Achilles’ heel, the demon I never asked for always whispering in my ear, all rolled into one wretched person.
