Page 160 of Save Me

“Drink this,” my mother says, handing me a mug of chamomile tea with lemon and honey.

I take a sip and let the tea soothe my aching throat. It hurts from crying so hard. I don’t know how long I cried in my mother’s lap.

Five minutes?

An hour?

A day?

She sits beside me on the couch of our family’s living room. With a thumb, she wipes away a stray tear. Mom watches me as I take a few more sips of the tea before setting it down on a coaster on the coffee table.

“Are you ready to talk?” Her question isn’t insistent. It’s full of patience, just like her name. Like she’d sit here all day and night with me until I was ready to open up.

I swallow and nod.

“I hate him,” I declare, my voice shaky but still full of anger.

My heart constricts as I say those words.

“What happened?”

After taking a deep breath, I launch into the story. I will tell her everything, from Dae locking me in his house to finding out he’s the reason behind how I got my job, even to that day eleven years ago when I found him getting beat up in that alleyway.

“He even had my ex break up with me,” I tell her. A week after I left Dae’s, I called my ex to ask him if he knew Dae. I remembered that night at the gala, Dae mentioned something about having already told him to back off.

Jake confessed that Dae approached him, telling him to break up with me or he’d make his life a living hell.

“He’s insane,” I tell my mom. “I should’ve let him get his ass beat in that alleyway and never intervened.”

My mom cocks her head sideways and cups one side of my face. “We both know that’s not who you are.” She smiles, but it’s not condescending.

“You’re the girl who helped her brother and cousin beat up the bully teasing your twin about his reading,” she reminds me.

I snort, remembering that fight when Kyle and I were in the first grade.

“I would do it again, too,” I mumble and take another sip of tea.

My mom laughs out loud. “I know you would. And you’re the woman who sees a young girl’s suicide and doesn’t rest until those who caused it are exposed and brought to justice,” she continues.

A small smile touches my lips as I stare at the chamomile tea on the coffee table.

“Which is why I know you’re lying when you say if you could go back in time, you would walk past a young boy getting beat up by three men.”

“Yeah, but that boy grew up to be a man who intervened in my life. Then he locked me in his house,” I say, my voice growing louder.

My mother nods. “Which is extremely inappropriate behavior,” she agrees.

“Right?” I add, feeling justified in my anger. Then my shoulders slump. “Then why does my heart hurt so much?” My eyes gloss over again.

Her eyes fill with empathy. She cups my face and kisses my forehead. “I’m sorry, baby. I think it’s a legacy of your birth name that the love you find wouldn’t be easy.”

I suspect she’s referring to her and my father. Knowing their history, I think she might be right.

“Do you love him?”

“Yes,” I say without hesitation.

“What do you love about him?” she asks while taking my hand.

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