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She’s better right now, I did notice that. I’d be willing to bet she is enrolled in some sort of rehab program. This version of my mother is the one I want to see, the one I like to be around. There are glimpses of her in my childhood. The brief moments where she pulled herself together for me.
Rare, precious flashbacks that capture a mother’s love for her daughter. Times where she crawled into bed with me to read a story before we played “sleepover” where we sang songs and counted the street lights and headlights that passed out my curtainless windows.
Other times, it was as simple as her remembering to cook a meal for a little girl who lived off of dry cereal and sliced cheese.
Or nothing at all.
I’d learned young that my hot meals were given to me at school.
My new home feeds me well, a private cook will do that. The spread across the table is a beautiful sight. Too bad it doesn’t have a taste today.
Pancakes topped with crimson strawberry sauce, yellow eggs with pops of green spinach, a fruit tray, and savory smelling bacon. Tall pitchers of orange juice, water, and coffee sit where dessert normally is. One small flick of my wrist and a maid would be at my side filling my cup.
It still astounds me that Knox, Landon, and Reed grew up in homes like this. Being waited on hand and foot, it makes one lazy. Not that I’m complaining… right this second.
It’s just hard to have the energy to eat when all I can think about is my mother’s trial.
My mother. The insufferable drug addict.
My father. The deadly mysterious shadow within my life now.
Knox. Stepbrother? Ew, anything but brother. My heart still skips a beat if he gets too close. It makes me frantic.
Landon and Reed both still lurking around the home. Trying to talk to me here and there but I’m just...over it. They make the thoughts in my head grow to screams. Everything becomes loud when they get close. Even now they both stare at me as I chew these flavorless eggs.
On occasion they stare somewhere else, likely Knox. He deserves it. He deserves all of their attention. If he thinks I don’t think about how he didn’t save me…
He didn’t save me.
He didn’t save me.
He’s wrong. I think about it. It’s one of those many thoughts I talk about.
Landon’s eyes look red and tired behind his sleek black frames. I only wonder for the briefest of seconds if he’s been spending his nights thinking of me or if he is only studying. A weird form of guilt and animosity rises up only to die back down as I focus on the bland breakfast once more.
I’m still aware of everything that Reed’s been doing even if we don’t share a room any more. No girls have stumbled into the house and I don’t know why that flares warm happiness through me.
It’s such a petty thought.
One I don’t dwell on long.
At this point I can’t fathom stuffing anymore of the world's dullest dish into my mouth. I drop my fork to the plate. The loud ringing of the metal clanging to the dish replays in my ears. My mind focusing on the sound until it’s a distorted thought that I don’t seem to recognize anymore.
Each time my mind begins to wander all I need to do is focus on something. Some sight, sound, or smell that can hold my attention long enough to keep my brain from imploding or something else of that nature.
When the ringing sound is no longer an interest I move on. Just a few feet away in the open foyer, Ronan’s short nails click-clack against the glass screen of the smartphone in his hands.
Emails, emails and more emails. The man is either plugging away at the tiny piece of technology or he is flattening it against his ear. Likely a string of commands or abrupt ‘okays’ are to follow.
Rough palms slide up my arms, pulling me toward the right to the deep gray eyes searching my face. Reed’s attention isn’t that teasing sexy persona he always had when we shared a room together. He’s all serious and all too focused on me.
Which makes me too focused on me.
I try to pull away from him but he turns me until our knees are brushing between our chairs. I flick my gaze over toward Ronan but he’s still sitting in the foyer, back to us as he clicks away on his phone.
And Reed, he just keeps pushing me.
Or should I say, pulling. His big hands slide around my thighs and with one hard pull he brings me right onto his lap. My thighs shift around his hips as I straddle him right here at the breakfast table.
