Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141281 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 706(@200wpm)___ 565(@250wpm)___ 471(@300wpm)
She smiles slowly, her eyes a shade lighter than mine, shiny and poisonous as an exotic snake.
There’s no warning before she whips the glass over my head.
It slams the ground behind me and blows to smithereens with a deafening crash.
Goddamn.
I don’t even flinch, despite several shards rebounding off my boots.
Her hand jerks back so fast her long fingernails graze her other arm. She pulls it back and studies the fresh self-inflicted cut.
One more wound that’s so small in the grand scheme of her wreckage that she probably can’t feel it.
“You think Bruce is the big damn hero here? Really?”
I know there’s a screaming, ugly tantrum building behind that tone.
I definitely don’t need her throwing herself in the pool.
Now is the time to escape—before she says anything else about Delia.
“I don’t think anything about you, Mother, because I’m done. You know that. I didn’t come here to beat my head against the wall, trying to have a human conversation when that’s never worked.”
Hurt rage fills her eyes.
She knows damn well who I came to see, and it kills her.
Ma only hates Delia because she’s jealous.
Because I’d rather spend the rest of my life with that girl, and it hurts like a bat to the balls that I fucking can’t.
We stare each other down.
Yeah, this latest overdose had to be a suicidal stab at kicking up fresh drama to reel me back into her life. I’m only sorry it worked better than anything else she’s done.
She could’ve easily offed herself for real this time—unlike the other incidents when she was more careful, when she stopped shy of the danger zone.
Evie just wants to walk a tight rope that helps her manipulate everyone else.
“Go ahead and play soldier boy then,” she chimes. “Jesus. You don’t have any balls, do you? I gave you tough love, Christopher—tough fucking love. Now look at you! Living like a robot, all hollowed out and alone.”
She pauses, hoping her words will sink in.
It’s almost funny that she thinks she can still hurt me.
“No family. No friends. No girlfriend—I hope,” she continues. “Just me. I sure wish you’d realize I’m the only one who cares. That little tramp only wants you because she’s just as screwed up as you. Christopher...I’m all you’ve got. The only one who tries to understand you. And the sooner you realize that, we can—”
Enough.
I tune her out, my jaw pinched tighter than a vise.
Fuck, if she weren’t so goddamned crazy—anybody but my own flesh and blood—I’d have picked her up and hurled her in the pool about ten words into this fit.
My skin feels like its crawling with scorpions.
She’s my personal kryptonite, my Achilles’ heel, the demon I never asked for always whispering in my ear, all rolled into one wretched person.
I’ve survived firefights that left me sore for days.
Bastards shooting at me from the shadows, planting IEDs meant to dismember me, hearing friends scream as they’re cut to pieces.
I’ve seen enough suffering to prove the Buddha right about what life is a thousand times over.
All that, and I still don’t know what the hell to do with the bitter psycho in front of me, sucking in her cheeks like she’s chewing the world’s biggest lemon.
I turn sharply, ready to get the hell out of here.
Still, I can’t resist looking over my shoulder, even though everything screams not to.
Her eyes are tiny pinpricks, angry and black and vengeful.
Hot tears stream down her cheeks.
She’s shaking like a leaf now, holding the towel so tight against her throat that it looks like she’s choking.
“You’re just walking away then? You won’t even fight me? Are we that far gone? I’m your mother!”
“I know what you are, Evie,” I say numbly. “I’ve seen what you do, and how you just can’t quit even when you’re pretending to give a rat’s ass about getting well. I told you a hundred times, I’m done. And I won’t be around for the next round of fallout. Not anymore. Not ever. Save it for Bruce and try not to bust him up too bad when you get bored with him. He’ll figure out who you are soon enough.”
“Oh, no, you...no, no...” I hear her whispering behind me as I start walking.
I’m about halfway to the house when she runs toward me, her footsteps pounding the stonework. I’m so up in my head I don’t hear her coming until it’s too late.
Then she lunges, wrenching her hands around my throat.
My own mother tries to wrestle me to the ground the way she used to when I was ten years old, before puberty bulked me up and made me four times her size.
Shit, does it ever end?
I throw her off me easily, slamming her into the stone underfoot.
It’s a strange irony to see how things have changed over the years.
She’s lucky she’s got that towel folded tight to cushion her blow. The last thing she needs is a cracked hip on top of her crazy and substance abuse.