The last three class periods drag on at a snail’s pace, drama class is especially frustrating with Heather and her group of friends being their usual charming selves, but Thatcher’s insistence that I participate in the group project leaves me decidedly without a partner. So I have no choice but to practice monologues with him and as expected, he has a hard time keeping his fucking hands to himself. It takes me the rest of the class period shrugging off his arm, dodging his hands, and all out glaring at him before the bell finally rings.
“I’d like a word with you, Lacey.”
Damn it.
Bending over to grab my bag, I purposely keep it in front of me like a shield as I mournfully watch the rest of the class file out of the room. “I’ve been very concerned about your class participation, Lacey, I’m sure you’ve seen my notes on your report card?”
I give him a blank stare. “To be perfectly honest with you, Mr. Thatcher I took this class for the easy A. Home economics was full, yours was the only available elective. So, yeah…” I trail off with a nonchalant shrug.
He chuckles as he approaches. “That easy ‘A’ comes only if you’re willing to do what I say.” His tone drops an octave and I’m suddenly ready to bolt.
“Are we done?” I coldly ask, needing him to back the hell away from me. My mind instantly goes to Knox and wonders where the hell he is when you really needed him.
“Yes…we’re done.”
I can’t get out of there fast enough. I know Knox is waiting for me so I hurry. I don’t want to make him wait any longer than he already has. I’m practically down the hallway when I stop halfway down the second flight of stairs to slip my backpack over my shoulder when I hear the shuffling of feet from above. I look up and Thatcher is making his way down toward me, his dark brown bag at his side. I inwardly groan as I step aside to make room for him to step past me when he stops and says, “Another thing, Lacey…”
He comes to stand on the same step I’m on and there’s more than enough room to keep an ample amount of space between us but he seemingly forgets all sense of decency and advances toward me. The banister bites into my back as I press against it to escape his discomforting presence. “I think it would be in your best interest to start putting those special skills I’ve heard so much about to good use. We wouldn’t want that easy A to turn into an F, do we?” he says, leeringly, reaching out to touch my face.
I smack his hand away. “Get the fuck away from me or I swear I’ll…”
“You’ll what? Tell on me?”
Everything happens too fast after he says that. One minute he’s standing in front of me, making my skin crawl, and the next, I see his body careening down the flight of stairs, his terror-filled scream accompanying his fall. For one dreadful, agonizing moment I wonder if Thatcher is dead. He lies prone on the floor, his body unmoving, and even from this distance up I can see his left leg is bent horribly out of shape. With one hand covering my mouth in horror, I watch with wide eyes and a thundering heart as Knox casually walks down the staircase, his progress unhurried but filled with intent. I can do nothing but stare in paralyzing fear as he falls down to his haunches at Thatcher’s side, reaches between the other man’s legs and grabs what I assume to be the other man’s package, provoking another scream from Thatcher. I’m so relieved to see he isn’t dead.
“You and I are predators, William, so I understand your need to go after what you want. I know that urgency. But in the future, I’d advise you to first make sure you’re not chasing after prey that’s already been taken. The next time you make the mistake of coming near her again, I will hunt you down and pull your heart out through your anus. Do I make myself clear?”
The sound of a mournful groan is released from Thatcher’s lips before Knox brings himself up to his full, threatening height. “Do you plan on standing there for the rest of the evening?” His calm, controlled voice startles me into action and I race down the stairs. Docilely, I follow behind him, but I toss an anxious glance behind me, silently hoping someone comes along soon to help Thatcher. He might be a leech but no one deserves this.
Knox’s black Charger is parked at the curb a few feet away from the school’s side entrance. He unlocks the doors, takes my bag from my shoulder, and tosses it into the backseat. Before I have time to reach for the handle of my door, he’s there. His current show of gallantry completely at odds with his vicious nature. What he did to Thatcher in there…normal, sane people wouldn’t do that. But then again, normal, sane people don’t do half the things Knox does. Sliding inside the passenger seat, I briefly hold onto his hand as he helps me get in and points to the seat belt before he closes the door and walks around to the other side. I look at him through the windshield and a shudder runs through me at the thought of all the things he’s done to me so far, all the things he’s shown he’s very capable of doing. Good and bad. If he can push someone so easily, so remorselessly down a flight of stairs without even flinching, I can only imagine the sorts of things he does when I’m not around him. A flash of the arsenal of weapons hidden behind his massive mirror flashes through my mind and I shudder again.
“Are you cold?”
My heads snaps to the side to look at him. He looks back and I blink rapidly, unable to hold his intense gaze so I stare down at my hands. “No,” I murmur. “I…I didn’t let him touch me…”
“I know,” he states simply. “You did well.” A ripple of flutters overtakes my chest at his quietly worded praise. I don’t realize I spend the rest of the ride in a daze with a small smile on my face until the cloud clears and the smile falters as I finally take in my surroundings. We’re not headed to the suburban outskirts to his loft like I assumed we were but rather in the concrete jungle of Forest Corner. He takes a right into the parking lot of the brick building and finds a parking space far away from the other cars in the lot.
My heart is in a vise when he opens his mouth to speak. “You have an hour.” It’s all he says, all I get, but it’s more than I ever expected. I bite down on my lower lip to stop it from trembling as the tears sting my nose and burn my eyes.
“Thank…thank you.” It’s a pitiful sound, barely a whisper, but I know he hears it.
“Go.”
And I’m gone. A scene all too reminiscent of the last time he set me free, and my feet pound the pavement as my body hurtles forward, my only thought, my only purpose is getting upstairs and getting to my mother. I sprint up the stairs, knock impatiently at my door and dash inside when it’s opened for me.
“Where is she?” The question bursts out of my mouth as my gaze bounces around frantically.
“In her room.” I move toward her bedroom, but Dante’s hold of my arm stops me in my tracks.
Looking at him expectantly, his mouth opens and closes while he flounders to find the right words. “Where the fuck have you been?”
I wrench my arm out of his grasp. “I don’t have time for this, Dante.” I rush past him, closing my hand around the door knob of my mother’s bedroom door. I turn it and push it open. The air is stale, there’s a sourness to it that can only come from the distinct scent of vomit and sweat. The room is somberly dark despite that there’s still an hour of daylight outside before night falls. I don’t immediately see her but the sporadic sounds of her wheezing breaths tell me she’s beneath her comforter. There’s blood rushing between my ears, my heart booming in my chest as anxiousness builds a layer of cold sweat on my skin when I cautiously approach her bed.
“Mom,” I call too quietly, taking a seat on the bed. The cheap mattress squeaks and groans as I settle my weight on it. “Mom,” I call again, drawing back the covers, tears instantly welling in my eyes as I stare transfixed at her sallow and gaunt face. If it wasn’t for her rasping breaths, I would swear she was dead. I lift my shaking fingers to her sunken cheek, the coolness there seems to seek out the warmth of my hand as I trace my fingers over her face and feel the blade of her cheekbone beneath my trembling fingers. “Oh, Mom.” My voice is clogged with te
ars. My sniffle provokes a shift of her body and I watch as she brings a hand from beneath the comforter to push back her auburn curls. She lifts her head, her eyes fluttering groggily in the dimness of the room. They narrow slightly like she’s trying to place a name with the face, like I’m a stranger to her. But then, recognition brightens her face and she gives me a pained smile that pulls at her cracked lips.
“Hey...” she croons, coming up on her elbow, and I can’t help but notice the prominent jut of her collarbone, cutting through the thin layer of her skin. She licks her lips while she reaches for my cheek with a frail hand. “Why are you crying, sweetie pie?” My heart twists in my chest at the sound of the childhood endearment I’d lost hope in ever hearing again. I’m choking on a sob as I lean into her hand and let the tears fall. For a brief moment, I look into her lucid green eyes and know I have my mother again. The mother she was before the drugs poisoned our family.
“How…how are you feeling, Mom?” There’s so much I want to say, but with the time being so limited I choose to stick to her health. It’s a safer, neutral territory.
Pulling her hand away, she sits up further. “Been better.” She touches the inside of her right arm absently, her fingers brushing across the road maps of scabbed track marks like she’s searching for a path back to oblivion. She’s become an addict. She lets out a small sigh and pulls her brows together. “The methadone helps. He gave it to Dante.” Her gaze shifts up to my face. “Is he your pimp?”
I wince at her candor but don’t pretend not to know who she’s referring to. “He’s…he’s a job.”
“He’s scary.” No truer words have ever been spoken.
“He brought you back, that’s all that matters.”
“Yeah…yeah, that’s all that matters,” she says, mindlessly. “I think he might’ve killed Red. I can’t remember. I don’t remember too much.” The knit in her eyebrows grows deeper in her attempt to recollect.
“Don’t worry about that now,” I say, bringing her focus back to me. “Let’s get you back to bed. I’ll make you something to eat. Tell me what you want to eat and I’ll make it for you, Mom.”
She slides back beneath the comforter and once settled she takes hold of my hand in a surprisingly tight grip. “You never stop taking care of your fucked up mom, do you? All that I do and you’re still on my side.” I hear the tears in her voice and I blink back my own.
“You’re my mom, of course I’ll take care of you,” I say, with a sad smile. Brushing her hair away from her face, I lean over to press my lips to her forehead. I savor the few seconds I have, ingrain them into my memory because I don’t know when I’ll see her again before pulling back. “Just please, please, Mom, just try to get better this time. That’s all I want from you, for you to get sober and I promise you’ll always have me to take care of you.”
“Eggs and toast,” is her murmured reply. And though my heart plummets from utter disappointment, I keep a smile on my face.
“Okay. Eggs and toast it is. I’ll be right back.”
The sound of the bathroom faucet running gives me a location on Dante as I make my way to the kitchen. Opening the fridge, I pull out the half carton of eggs I purchased a while back and get to work on making my mother a late afternoon lunch for breakfast. Scrambled eggs with just a pinch of salt are how she likes them. I don’t allow my mind to wander any further than what I’m doing. There’s no bread for toast and with what little we have, there’s no adequate substitution. It’ll just have to be a glass of water and the eggs. A quick glance at the clock on the microwave and I know I have twenty more minutes until I have to get back to Knox.
I return to her room with a quiet call of, “Mom, it’s ready.”
“Set it on the table. I’ll eat it later.” She’s curled on her side with her back to me. I’m not stupid, I know she’s brushing me off.
Following her instructions, I set the plate of eggs and glass of water down at her bedside table. “Hey, Mom…you’re not going to see me for a while. So just let Dante take care of you until I get back, okay?” I wait for her to say something. Anything. Even a, ‘Fuck you, Lacey. You’ve failed at this daughter thing once again.’ But she remains obstinately silent because she knows exactly how to hurt me. She’s very good at depriving me of her affection when I need it the most. This was the mother I knew. This was the mother I despised. She’s incapable of seeing past her own wants and needs. But at least I can say one thing. For that single moment a bit ago, I got a glimpse at my real mother again. Even if it was fleeting. “All right, whatever. Just try not to die, because you might not be the best mother but I still need you.” After I say that, I walk out of the room and detour into mine. There isn’t much time left for me here. Fifteen minutes now—tops.
I snatch the black drawstring bag I left beneath my bed and move to my dresser to shove whatever items of clothing I can fit inside. I pack new pairs of panties, two long-sleeved shirts, and a pair of dark-rinsed skinny jeans. I find my cell phone still on my bed, dead now from it not being charged for so long. I shove it inside the bag and grab the charger from the floor near my bed. Looking around my room one last time, I check to make sure I grabbed what I needed before I turn to leave, closing the door quietly behind me. Dante is standing a few feet away waiting for me. And by his defensive stance I can tell he has a lot to say. Sucks for him because I don’t have the time to listen.
“You’re leaving again?”
“I don’t really have much of a choice, trust me.”
“Do you have any idea who the fuck that guy who brought mom back is?”
“Yeah, I was there the day you got your ass kicked so I know who he is. He’s the guy who bailed your ass out and in exchange demanded to screw me for it. So yeah, I’m leaving again because until he’s satisfied he’s not going to leave me, or you, or even Mom alone. Now, if you’re done grilling me…”
“Jesus, Cece, I’m trying to tell you to stay away from this guy and you’re being a monumental bitch about it!”
“Where the fuck was all this concern the night I went out to meet him? Where the fuck were you when he snuck in here and took me away? Twice! You want to call me a bitch when I have bigger balls than you do, Dante? Fucking spare me!” I spit, laying the brunt of the anger I should’ve been directing at my mother on him. But at this point they’re interchangeable. “You want to start taking care of shit around here? Start with Mom. Get her into a fucking rehab center or something. I can take care of myself.”
“He kills people, Cece.” It’s the echo of that somber, dejected revelation that I take with me all the way down the stairs and inside of Knox’s car. I make it on time with just a minute to spare, but my brother’s words don’t leave me for a long time afterwards.
***
It’s a surreal reality I fall back into. The minute we walk back into his loft he instructs me to do my homework and while I sit at his dining table, my notebook and books splayed out in front of me, I hear the bang and clang of pots and pans, a knife on a cutting board, and the sizzle of whatever he’s added to the frying pan. It’s an odd symphony of noise but it surprisingly doesn’t break my concentration. The aromatic scent of whatever he’s making, however, has my stomach rumbling in anticipation. Twenty minutes later, he emerges from the kitchen with a large, white plate in one hand and a glass of water in the other. Remembering all too quickly, I scramble out of the chair and stumble onto the floor. I tuck my legs beneath me, bring my forehead to the floor, and swing my arms behind me.
“Come here,” he calls, and I raise myself from my position. He’s in the seat I just occupied and even though I’m just a few feet away from where he is I hesitate for a second, unsure of how he wants me to get to him. “Good girl,” he says, with a small upturn of his mouth. “Crawl to me.” I settle between his parted legs, resting now on my legs that are curved beneath my ass. I lay my palms down on my thighs and wait. He cups my chin, raising my head to look at him. “Your submission makes me hard,” he says, candidly, pr
ovoking a surge of heat to my face. He smirks knowingly before pulling his hand away and turning to the food on the table.
He feeds me in silence, pausing every now and then between my bites to bring the glass to my mouth so I may wash the food down with sips of cold water. I notice that he doesn’t eat and as much as I want to say something on the matter, I forbid myself from speaking since he hasn’t ordered me to do so. When he’s done, he instructs me to reclaim the chair and to continue my homework. I don’t see him for a while afterwards. It’s only when I’m finished and closing my books that he reappears. Turning in my chair, I watch him amble down the stairs on pale, large bare feet, his strides smooth, planted to the ground but unhurried. Overtaken by the sight of him, my mouth runs dry, my insides clench, and my heart fights to find a steady rhythm. I notice the leash in his left hand and I bite down on my lower lip at the odd surge of anticipation that shoots through me.
He’s dressed in his customary black attire—black jeans and a black long-sleeved sweater with a small V at the throat. The raw potency of his mind-raping magnetism reaches me even from this distance and almost like he pulls me by invisible strings, I rise out of my seat and meet him halfway. Falling to my knees in the position he prefers me in, I remain on the floor until he comes to me. “Get on your feet.” His voice wraps around me and tugs me further into his undeniable force. I stand and wait. “Remove your clothes.” My heart stutters but I don’t hesitate. My sweater, jeans, panties, and bra are on the floor in seconds. I try to remain absolutely still as he walks around me but I’m not at all immune to the way he’s looking at me. “Every inch of your body is mine to look at.” His silken voice is like a hot, wet slide of his tongue down my spine. I shiver involuntarily, my nipples tightening at the mental image. “When we are in my loft, you will never deprive me of this view.” Standing in front of me now, he carefully fastens the cuff around my neck. The luxuriant leather melds against the heat of my skin, forming a snug and restrictive hold that my body quickly adjusts to. The short, heavy chain of the leash dangles between us as he grips the end in one hand and uses his other hand to trace between my breasts, down my abdomen, and cups my pussy. “This, especially, will be accessible to me at all times. Yes?”
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