Page 28 of Her Dark Angel

Laughter filters up the staircase and I frown. It sounds like my mom. But she never laughs. I swear I haven’t seen her crack a smile in the past two years. Not since my tenth birthday when I bit into my chocolate cake and smiled at her with cake stuck between my two front teeth. Even when I try to make her laugh by telling jokes, her features don’t move an inch. I can hardly remember what her smile looks like anymore.

And is that… a man’s voice I hear?

Dad isn’t home. He likes to spend Saturday nights down at the local bar getting wasted with his friends. He wouldn’t be laughing with my mom, that much I know.

Standing from the bed, I walk across the room to where my record player sits on a wooden drawer. Pulling the tonearm off the record, the music instantly stops, allowing me to hear my mom and the mystery man downstairs.

Who is she with?

Mom is supposed to be working late tonight. I don’t know much about her job other than she dances. She refuses to supply more details than that and I don’t bother asking. It’s not like she’s an open book with me—hasn’t been for the past two years. I don’t know what changed but she almost acts as if I don’t exist. Same with my father. I simply just exist in the house.

Walking to the bedroom door, I swing it open just in time to see my mom and a man I don’t recognize walking up the staircase. It’s dark since it’s almost midnight and I was getting ready to go to bed, but I can still make out both of their features from the light shining in through the window beside my bedroom door.

Mom’s eyes meet mine but they’re hollow and devoid of any excitement, despite hearing her laugh moments ago. She stops at the top of the staircase and regards me for a moment, but makes no move to explain why a stranger is standing behind her, holding her hand.

“Mom,” I finally say and lean my shoulder against the doorframe.

“Nash,” she responds flatly, her pale green eyes locked on mine.

“What are you doing?”

“Nothing,” she simply says. “You should be asleep.” She uses her free hand to flip her brown curls over her shoulder. She’s dressed in her usual work uniform of a skin-tight black dress that reaches mid-thigh.

I will never understand why she has to wear such an outfit if she is a dancer, but who am I to question it? For all I know, it could be a costume for one of the many performances she does.

Ignoring her words, I point to the tall man behind her with short black hair and a thick mustache across his top lip. “Who is that?”

Mom licks her red-stained lips and shrugs. “He’s just a friend. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“Does Dad know you have a friend over this late?”

She pauses for a moment, her jaw ticking. “Yes. He does. Now go to bed.”

The man doesn’t say anything as he watches me over Mom’s head, his black eyes staring straight at me. He appears to be younger than my mom. She is by no means old at her age of forty-two, but he couldn’t be older than twenty-five.

“Go to bed, Nash,” Mom repeats, but this time her voice is much harder than before. There is a bite to her words that is usually present when she is done talking to me.

I want to remind her I’m twelve and don’t need to be told when to go to bed, but the words die on my tongue before I can get them out.

She doesn’t say another word as she walks down the hallway with the man following behind her.

“I didn’t know you had a kid, Del,” the man whispers in Mom’s ear, his voice carrying down the hallway.

She waves him off with her hand. “Don’t worry about him. He won’t say anything to Liam.”

I watch them enter my parents’ bedroom and close the door behind them. As soon as the door lock clicks into place, I hear my mom squeal excitedly, and shout, “Simon, put me down! It seems someone is eager to get on top of me. Maybe if you’re lucky, I’ll let you?—”

I frown and step back into my room, wishing I could block out their muffled voices. With a sigh, I walk over to my record player and place the tonearm back down. If I’m going to get any sleep tonight, I need music to drown out whatever it is my mom is doing with her friend.

Although, I don’t know if I believe he is her friend. Why is he here so late? Surely, they could have seen each other in the morning. Why else would he be here?

Flopping down on the mattress, I close my eyes and focus on the guitar riff blasting from the record player. I roll to my side and gaze at the posters on the off-white wall beside my bed. An image of one of my favorite bands, Queen, stares back at me. I take in their black and grey outfits and crazy hairstyles, and tell myself that one day I’ll be on posters in people’s bedrooms. One day, I’ll be writing and creating music that makes people happy. One day, I’ll make it big enough to get out of this hellhole and away from my parents who clearly don’t care about me.

A loud moan echoes down the hallway and I close my eyes tighter, focusing on Bon Scott’s rough voice mixing with the guitar riff. My heart rate begins to escalate as my chest tightens. I do my best to slow my breathing and focus on the music instead of the voices traveling down the hallway.

One day, I hope I can get out of here and never look back.

10

---