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CHAPTER ELEVEN
I drive all day and through the night, only stopping for gas and pee breaks. The entire drive, I refuse to let myself think about everything that has gone down in the last twenty-four hours. I keep my focus solely on the open road stretched before me.
I know this isn’t over. There will be a court case. I’ll probably have to testify. But this is a new beginning. I may be going home, but I’m an entirely different person from the girl who left a year ago. A little bit bruised, a lot broken, but alive, and that’s the main thing.
When I finally pull into my mom’s driveway, I sit in the car and stare out at her small bungalow and the tiny yet neat front yard. I used to think this place was so mediocre, except now I can’t picture being anywhere else. Why did I once think the city was so much better? So many people crammed on top of each other inside skyscrapers and knocking into one another as they walk down the street.
This here is so much better than any city.
I’ll happily never leave here again. I’m done with big city life. It’s not for me; I’m not cut out for it.
Before I can completely unravel, I climb out of the car and make my way up to the front porch, rapping on the door.
The second my mom opens it, and I see her face, I cave inward. I collapse into her arms, sobs wracking my body as I completely fall apart at the seams.
“My baby,” she coos, holding me tight the way only a mother can. “What happened? Who did this to you?”
I cry and cry until I have no tears left, and when I’ve quieted to sniffles, mom pulls me back. With her palms on my cheeks, she searches my eyes, most likely seeing all the pain, heartache, and exhaustion that I can no longer hide.
“Let’s get you cleaned up. Then we’ll talk, yeah?”
I nod, and she helps me to my feet and to the bathroom.
“Tell me everything that happened, Mia,” my mom says in that stern voice of hers.
Freshly showered and wearing an old pair of sweats and a ratty t-shirt, I’m nursing a cup of chamomile tea on the sofa while mom stares at me. I know I need to tell her everything, but I don’t even know where to begin.
Even though I talk to her on the phone once a week and we text regularly, there is a lot I have been keeping from her. She knew I was dating a guy, although she didn’t know who he was or that I was living with him.
Wincing, I spear her with an apologetic look before rehashing everything. The sun slowly begins to set as I regale the whole horrid tale, explaining the souring of my relationship with Conor, the guns, the drugs, until I reach last night.
I’m unable to look my mother in the eye as I tell her how he raped me and how I then proceeded to follow him and record him murdering someone. She’s been silent until now, but when she hears what he did to me, she breaks down in ragged sobs, muttering to herself.
I’m too numb to cry anymore, so I sit silently while she grapples with coming to terms with this new reality.
After several moments she sniffles and swipes at her eyes. Despite the determination in her features, I can tell I’ve broken something fundamental inside her, just like Conor has done to me.
She opens her mouth to say something as headlights flash through the window, lighting up the whole room.
We both tense, staring at the front of the house as a car pulls to a stop in the driveway.
“Are you expecting anyone?” I ask anxiously. My nerves are frayed.
Mom shakes her head as she pushes to her feet. “Did you tell anyone you were coming here?”
“Just the police.” Unless Conor got to Carla and figured I’d come here.
Concern for my friend pierces my heart as mom walks into the kitchen. I can hear her moving about, yet the sounds fade as a solid thump against the front door reverberates through the room.
I jump to my feet as another hard kick splinters the doorframe, the door swinging inward to reveal a furious Conor looking more unkempt than I’ve ever seen him. His hair is sticking up on end, his tie is gone and his top button is undone. His shirt is wrinkled with questionable stains. Despite all that, he looks more formidable than ever before.
Panic consumes me, and I’m shaking like a leaf as his beady eyes scan the room until they find me.
“Mia,” he rasps. “I’ve been worried sick about you. You need to come home with me.”
All I can do is stare at him, unable to even shake my head.
“Mia!” My name snaps off his tongue.
