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“If I wanted to know something, I don’t need to ask.”
“But I’d rather you hear it from me,” I explain. “A doctor’s report will probably paint her as a terrible mother, but that isn’t true.”
He rests his arms on his knees and leans forward. “What is the truth?”
I can only share what I know as I wasn’t alive when it happened, but I was born because of it. I tell him what my mother and professionals have told me. “She was gang raped. She says it was at least four men. She fell into a deep depression and didn’t even realise she was pregnant until it was too late to do anything about it. She always says I was the best thing that ever happened to her and that Ihealedher, but you can’t heal schizophrenia.”
His jaw clenches and swallows hard at the harsh truth. “Is that what she has?”
“Schizoaffective disorder,” I correct myself. “It’s when someone has schizophrenia and a mood disorder, like bipolar and depression. The two feed into one other, so when she is depressed, her hallucinations are worse.”
Huxley looks down at the ground as he absorbs the saddest reality of my life. When he looks at me again, he seemsproud. “You’re a good daughter. You did right by placing her in a home that can fulfil her needs.”
The guilt I felt the day I started enquiring about homes attacks me again. I feel like I abandoned her; I gave up on her.
“I couldn’t manage anymore. I spent my childhood taking care of her. It was like having a toddler. I had to watch her all the time. Before I went to school, I’d have to lock all the windows, hide any potential weapons, and barricade her inside the house. When I’d get home, she would be curled into a ball, hiding from the bad men watching her from the garden.” My sniffles fill the silence. “I was so tired, Hux.”
He surprises me by kneeling in front of me. His amber eyes lock onto mine as he speaks with conviction. “You did everything right. The only thing you did wrong was waiting so long to ask for help.” He takes my hand in his. “Anytime she needs you or is lucid, you go to her. I don’t care what else is going on. The world could be burning, but I’d run through flames for my family.”
“Thank you,” I whisper.
A soft knock at the door bursts the bubble we were encased in. Francesca enters as Huxley stands up. “What can we do for you?”
She looks at me. “Mr Rivers is asking to meet with you in his office.”
Nobody speaks for a few seconds. “Tell him I’m busy.”
She fiddles with her fingers but remains lingering in the doorway. “He said it wasn’t a request.”
I don’t want to get her into trouble, but he doesn’t get to exert his CEO status over me. I smile at her. “Tell him I’m not his bitch.”
“Thank you,” Huxley says, dismissing her.
Her head hangs low as she walks away.
“Still haven’t kissed and made up?”
“I was too busy sucking your dick. Or have you already forgotten?”
He chuckles. “Maybe you need to remind me.”
Fucking him would really help with the tension in my shoulders. An orgasm or two would make all my problems disappear for a moment.
Another knock at the door reveals Francesca looking terrified. “He’s said it’s urgent.”
“I don’t care. Tell him I don’t want to see him.” I feel bad when she pleads with her eyes, but I refuse to give in.
“I don’t think I can say that.”
“I’ll handle it,” Huxley intervenes. “Why don’t you take a bathroom break?”
She nods at us and scurries away.
The smile on my face is involuntary but present. “Aren’t you a sweetheart?” I tease, using his nickname for me.
He grunts. “She looked like she was going to shit her pants. She shouldn’t get shot in the crossfire.”
“What are you going to do?”
