AllFreeNovel
Share Us
Nodding, I wait for my mother to continue. “Your father should have told you about this weeks ago, that stupid useless man. I have to go now. I expect to see you here, at this house, no later than six. Do you understand?”
I stare at the clock on the wall, it’s already half past twelve, meaning that to get there by six, I really need to get my arse in gear and get on the road within the next half hour.
“Fine.” I sigh, standing. Though when I turn to face my friend, an idea forms. “But I’m bringing Betty. Goodbye, Mother.”
I end the call, tossing my phone onto the chair before facing Betty with a sickly-sweet smile on my face. She narrows her eyes, glaring at me when she realises I’ve dragged her into something she probably isn’t interested in.
“Where are you bringing me? And why do I get the feeling I don’t want to go?”
“Because you’re a pessimist,” I tell her moving to my bedroom door. “Pack a bag, we’re going to London.”
“Right now?” she calls out to me, following my footsteps.
“Yup.” I change out of my pyjamas, throwing on a pair of tartan trousers and a black crop top. An outfit my mother will absolutely detest, and that’s exactly why I’m choosing it. “I have to go, apparently my presence has been demanded at the gala tonight, and I can’t do it without you. Please?”
I’m not above begging her if I have to, but I’m hoping a simple please is enough.
She stands in my doorway, leaning against the frame for a long moment before she finally blows out a breath. “Fine.”
“Thank you, I love you,” I shout out to her while I grab a weekend bag and chuck in whatever I need. “And I’ll let you start planning operation un-alive Caroline Marsh again if it’ll make you happy.”
She laughs loudly, walking to her own room. “Perfect. I’ve already got new plans to end that woman’s life. I’m so excited to tell you all about them.”
I don’t doubt it, she’s been coming up with new and more extravagant ways to off my mother for years. As much as she may hate me, Betty hates her harder—if that’s even possible. While I’m not actually sure I want to see my mother dead, it makes life more interesting to think about it.
SIXTEEN
It’salreadygonehalfpast six when my car rolls into the garage of my family home. Betty hops out, grabbing our bags from the boot, but I don’t move. Resting my arms over the steering wheel, I take in a deep breath and close my eyes.
Being late couldn’t be helped, thanks to a four-car pile-up on the motorway, but that won’t save me from the wrath of my mother when I step into the house. Betty shoves the garage door open, walking into the kitchen without a care in the world. My face lifts in a smile at that, knowing she’s done it specifically to wind my mother up.
After another moment and another deep breath, I finally get out and follow her. My mother waits by the island, fiddling with a tray of drinks.
“What time do you call this?” she demands, her glare venomous.
“Hello, Mother.” I sigh, dropping my keys on the counter and moving towards the hallway. “I’m good, thank you, how are you?”
Before I can step past her, she strikes. My head snaps back as she hits me with the back of her hand, a sharp sting spreading across the skin of my cheek.
Home sweet home.
“Upstairs, now, you have an hour to get ready, and make-up will be here in twenty minutes. Get out of my sight, you vile girl.”
“Always a pleasure,” I grind out through clenched teeth, pushing past her and rushing up the stairs. It isn’t the first time my mother has gotten violent with me. Though, thankfully, it isn’t the worst either. When I enter my bedroom, Betty takes one look at me and her eyes fill with tears.
“I fucking hate her,” she tells me, closing her arms around me and squeezing tight.
Yeah, me too.
When I hear her soft cries, I push her away by the shoulders, staring into her face. “I’m fine. I promise. It takes more than a backhand to break me down, you know that.”
“Yeah, I know,” she whispers, hugging me again. “Doesn’t mean you deserve it, though. Especially from your mum.”
Sighing, I give her a small squeeze. While she’s right, it doesn’t change the facts. My mother is an abusive asshole who gives less than two shits about her only child. “Come on, I need to jump in the shower and get dressed. Go and steal some of my dad’s fancy wine.”
At that she smiles, wiping her stray tears away. Nodding, she rushes out the door towards my dad’s office where he keeps the good booze, so my mother can’t get her hands on it. There’s a combination lock on the door, but I cracked the code to it when I was about fourteen.
I’m sure he knows we’ve been robbing his alcohol for years, but he says nothing. He may not be the best parent in the world, but I’d like to think he cares for me and my happiness slightly more than the wicked witch of the west at least.
