Total pages in book: 178
Estimated words: 170884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Of course she had. But, for a person with anxiety, it was easier said than done.
Without asking, I went over to the pile of dishes at the sink and turned on the hot water. The pots on the stove looked moldy.
Gianna looked mortified. “You don’t have to do that.”
“Why don’t you sit down and eat something and we’ll chat.” I pulled on the gloves and allowed the steaming water to soak the plates a minute before I took the sponge and started scrubbing.
Knowing I was going to do what I was going to do, Gianna hesitantly poured herself a bowl of cereal then sat at the table as I washed the dishes. “Thank you.”
That was it. That was all I needed. It made it all worthwhile.
I twisted back to her and smiled. “You’re so welcome.”
We spoke a while before I told her about the free session of therapy she was entitled to. She politely declined, but I left the leaflets with her anyways. We continued to talk as I cleared away all the empty boxes from around the house, and when I started picking up clothing off of the floor, Gianna joined in.
I put on a load of laundry for her and made sure to stay until it was finished, knowing it would likely not get taken out of the machine if I didn’t pull it out myself.
It wasn’t laziness. It was just the condition she was suffering from.
A couple of hours later, I left her cleaner home and told her I’d be back in a few days to check in. Gianna waved me off, and I had a feeling the next time I came over, she’d let me in.
Yeah.
My job was hard but most definitely rewarding.
A sad thought crossed me as I drove away.
Here I was helping people, and I still couldn’t figure out how to help my son.
How depressing.
***
Twitch
It had been days since I’d seen my son, and I was going through withdrawals. I was irritable, irrationally mad, and I was on edge. Short of breaking into the house and stealing him away for a while, all I could do was watch on from afar as the little Goth took him out and about, to and from school, to the park for a play, grocery shopping where A.J. snuck things into the shopping cart and the small woman pretended not to notice.
I didn’t know who she was, this babysitter, but I couldn’t ignore the clip she wore under her jacket.
Whoever she was, she was there to guard my son, so I decided she was okay. She didn’t look like much, and the truth was, I could’ve taken her out in a heartbeat, but Lexi trusted her enough with our boy, and that was all the credentials I needed to see.
The woman unwrapped an ice cream for A.J., and before she gave it to him, she squatted down in front of him and started speaking. I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but she kept A.J.’s attention and her face softened in a way I’d never seen while watching her. A.J. threw himself into her arms and she held him tightly, stroking his messy dark hair and kissing his forehead as a mother would.
A.J. took the ice cream from her, and the woman smiled down at him lovingly.
Yeah.
She was okay, I guess.
When a group of large men approached, I stepped closer, frowning. But the little woman smiled up at them, laughing, before she took turns hugging each one. I didn’t recognize any of them, but I recognized the jackets they wore.
D.M.S.
Drugs, Money, Sex.
They were a Maori gang, and it seemed A.J.’s babysitter knew them well. It made me wonder who this woman was exactly and where she came from.
The large men all took turns shaking A.J.’s hand when the woman presented him proudly to them, and I silently fumed.
Who the fuck was she to introduce my son to New Zealand gang members like it was nothing?
If I had a living voice, I’d be having words with Lexi—mark my words.
This was not acceptable.
I needed to talk to Happy.
***
Molly
It was difficult for somebody like me to have attachments.
My life was sour, and for the most part, I felt I didn’t deserve the kind of sweet I got from the little monster who had wormed his way into my heart.
I sipped my coffee, watching the boy I had grown to love over the rim of my bright yellow Pokémon mug. His tart expression was obvious. Of course, Lexi noticed it too, but A.J. had been moody for a while now and she didn’t know why.
I caught her searching his face with well-hidden worry. She was desperately trying to find the cause of A.J.’s irritability.
I knew the cause. Part of it, anyways.
Zoe ‘The Cunt’ Braemore.
The little shit who teased A.J., and she baited him with something that should have been off limits. She teased him about not having a dad.