Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94630 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
The smile was on Cam’s face before he could help it.
“Talk to me about Mac.”
So much for smiles.
“What about him? He molested me for about a year and then he died.”
“And you killed him, correct?” Dr. Stein glanced at her notes, looking up to see Cam nod. She’d assured him that his secret would be safe under patient-therapist privilege. “That must have been traumatic.”
“No more traumatic than stepping on a poisonous spider.”
“Why did you keep the gun?”
Cam shifted in his seat, eyeing her degrees on the wall.
“A souvenir, I guess.”
“And the bullet? You left it loaded as a souvenir, too?”
Cam rubbed his fingertips together but didn’t answer.
“You said you’d always reach for the gun under your bed. What did the gun represent to you?”
“Safety.” The word snuck out from between Cam’s slammed-shut lips.
“But he was dead. Why did you still need protection?”
“No one else protects you. You have to protect yourself.”
“You mean like your mother didn’t protect you?”
“You think this is about my mother?” Cam snorted. “That’s original.”
“She did know about the abuse, right?”
“Yeah, she knew.”
“And she did nothing?”
“Oh, she did something all right.” Bitterness twisted Cam’s lips. “She smoked that crack when Mac gave it to her to keep her under control.”
“So she left you vulnerable because of her addiction. You had to fend for yourself.”
“Yeah.”
“Take me back to that.”
“Take you back to what?”
“That moment when she found out. That moment when she did nothing.”
Cam locked his teeth together. Anxiety cramped low in his belly. Water flooded his mouth. Nausea. Shame. Guilt. Fear. All piercing him like acupuncture, black needles sinking into his skin until he couldn’t focus. Couldn’t concentrate on what Dr. Stein was saying. His body was sitting in this chair, still slumped. But his mind was back in that tiny kitchen with only the sunlight stabbing through the blinds illuminating the room. Violent and bright. Broad daylight.
“Where are you, Cam?” Dr. Stein asked, only a voice, disembodied. Separate from the horror show Cam was watching.
“I’m in the kitchen. On the floor.”
Cam tried to lift his head, but it hurt too badly. He licked at his puffy lip and tasted dirt from the floor. He needed to move, to get up before anyone saw him like this, but his whole body was on fire with pain. His arms and legs ached where Mac’s heavy boots had kicked him. His head swam around from the punches Mac had landed. Fire ants raced across his scalp where Mac had tugged his hair so hard. And the worst pain of all…that dark hole that Mac had split open wide until it leaked blood down Cam’s thighs.
The sound of Mac’s zipper ripped through the quiet. Cam flinched, then went still, like an animal lying low in the grass until danger passed by. Footsteps headed toward him, and the closer they got, the harder fear squeezed his bladder.
Mac’s boots were in his face.
“Get up.” Mac nudged Cam’s shoulder with his foot.
Cam lay still.
“I said get up!” Mac leaned down and smacked Cam’s head one good time.
Cam moved like it was new and he wasn’t sure which body parts still worked. The cool air on his legs reminded him his pants were around his ankles, and he was only wearing his Ninja Turtles T-shirt. Just when he was ready to stand, to pull his pants up, the door opened. Mama walked in. Cam almost smiled. Even with every part of his body throbbing with pain and shame, he almost smiled. Mac was gonna get it now. Mama was home.
Mama looked at Cam on the floor, her eyes moving from his swollen lip down to his private parts out in the open, to his pants and underwear at his feet. Her deep brown eyes got wide, and she walked over to Mac, still buttoning his pants and buckling his belt. Here it comes. She’s going to kick him out for hurting her baby. She’s going to slap him for what he’d done. Maybe she’d grab the butcher knife and cut him. Maybe she’d hit him over the head with a frying pan like they did in the cartoons.
Mama’s dark hair spilled around her bony shoulders. She pushed it back and reached into her bra, pulling out a roll of cash and handing it to Mac.
“Here,” she said, eyes shifty, licking her smoke-dark lips.
“This all?” Mac flipped through the bills, frowning before pulling out a money clip and trapping the money inside.
“More tonight.” Mama’s nails were already scratching at her arms. “Where my stuff?”
Mac slid his glance between Cam and Mama as if making sure Mama hadn’t overlooked her son on the floor with his privates out.
“Nothing to say about your boy?”
Cam meant to blink away the stupid tears before Mama met his eyes. Her pretty face was like an old jar of honey, the color of gold, hard and cracked, but still a little sweet. She looked at Cam but then jerked her eyes back to Mac like she couldn’t stand to see Cam for another second.