Total pages in book: 101
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
“I should have guessed you would slither into his life like the filthy little snake you are.” Her voice, withering.
“Who?”
At three-and-a-half years old, he’d cried the whole way to the barbershop because he didn’t want to get his hair cut. Even then he’d felt different and he’d wanted to express it with long hair. But his mother had gotten so angry with him she turned the car around and shaved him bald in the bathroom with his father’s electric razor. She’d said it was for his own good, that people would tease him. He didn’t want to be teased, did he? And he’d better stop crying. Only whiny little babies cried when they got a haircut. He wasn’t a baby, was he?
He had stopped crying, even while his whole body shook so hard he feared he’d lose pieces of himself.
Maybe he had.
“Don’t play games with me, Miss Priss.” The nickname scoured through his flimsy shields and struck him in the heart. “I know you’re the one he’s been talking with. I found this number on a scrap of paper in his pocket. You’re trying to poison him with your nastiness.”
Oh God, Lars.
Sucking air through his nose, he leaned against the rail. His knees shook and he wasn’t sure he could hold himself up without the support.
“I’m not. I wasn’t.” He tried to fight the old feelings of inadequacy, he really did. He wanted to believe he was stronger now, but it was like a tsunami of memories washing over him, and every word she said brought with it another flood of insecurity.
All those nights in the hospital. The years of quiet, seething anger directed at him from across the dining room table. But worse, those darkly tempting moments when she’d shown him kindness. Those minutes when he wanted nothing more than to do everything and anything she asked just so she would glance at him again.
He couldn’t let all that twisted control and hate find a new focus in Lars. He locked his legs and tightened his hold on the railing. His brother didn’t deserve to be treated with such disregard.
“No—” He tried to argue, but she cut him off.
“You are scum. Do you hear me? You are garbage.” Her accent became more obvious as she spit the hatred through the phone. “Du abartige Tunte, Ich bin so wutend du geboren wurden to unsere Familiennamen beschädigen. Ich wünschte ich Sie getötet als du geboren wurdest.”
He covered his mouth to muffle his sob. Even after all these years, her words still had the power to hurt him. She didn’t spout anything new—he sullied the family name, and she wished she’d killed him the day he was born. He’d heard it all before, you’d think he’d have become immune to her poison. But every word hit its mark, carving another slice out of his newborn happiness.
Obviously he’d been lying to himself. He wasn’t strong or confident. He was just a kid, wondering why his mommy didn’t love him. Unable to fight back, unable to run away, unable to do anything at all because he was weak and worthless.
Her voice shook when she continued, “Your brother has a bright future. He is a good boy.” But Ansel wasn’t. Her tone spoke volumes. Every emphasis, every word, was the perfect weapon to pierce his heart.
He imagined her eyes flashing like they used to right before she backhanded him across the mouth. He winced, either at the memory or at the words. It didn’t matter. She was right. He was broken. He was trash. He deserved everything she’d ever done to him and more. Lars didn’t need him messing up his life. No one did. All he ever did was ruin things. He should be ashamed of himself for reaching above his lot in life.
Shame.
All the sickening shame came rushing back.
He lowered to the step because he couldn’t stand anymore. He curled in on himself. Tears pooled in his eyes, making the city blur around him. People rushed past but didn’t stop. If anyone noticed that he was dying inside, they didn’t care. He pressed his hand more tightly against his mouth as though he could stop the pain if he didn’t give it a voice.
All his worry about how bad it would feel to lose Fitch, and he’d never considered how it’d hurt to have his brother taken away again. His heart was raw and fresh from his recent struggles, and now he had to deal with his mother’s venom? He couldn’t handle it.
“It’s bad enough you tarnish your father’s good name. I’ll not allow you to cling to Lars and suck the life out of him.”
His shoulders shook with silent sobs. If he opened his mouth she’d know she’d hit her target. She’d know he wasn’t tough. He was a sissy, a filthy queer, a deviant fairy, weak and useless. He was everything she’d ever accused him of being.