Page 108 of The Wrong Heart

“I want to, I just…” I swallow, my eyes closing. “Fuck, I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

She slides her hands down my face until they’re resting on my shoulders. “Tell me who she is.”

“What?”

“In your bedroom… you said that you’ll never be him, and I’ll always beher.”

My mother’s face flashes through my mind, a mask of evil. Yellow eyes, like the Devil himself. I thought maybe she was once—the Devil—until I learned that alcoholism discolors the sclera of one’s eyes. I realized she was only a vile, selfish human who threw her only child away like he was trash; who whittled him down to almost nothing. Heaving in a ragged breath, I croak out, “My mother.”

Melody tightens her hold on my shoulders, a little gasp breaking through. “She was abusive?”

“Yeah. My father passed away when I was five years old—he was a structural worker, iron and steel. He built tall ass buildings and shit.” Chewing my inner cheek, I force myself to continue. “He fell on the job one day. Died on impact, from what I was told.”

“Oh, my God…” Melody presses another kiss to my forehead, sighing deeply. “That’s awful.”

“Yeah, it fucking sucked. We were close. It was just me and him, and our mutt, Roscoe. I still remember the cops showing up that afternoon. The babysitter made this horrible screeching sound that I can still hear, clear as day. She took in our dog, and I begged for her to take me, too. Unfortunately, that didn’t happen.”

Her head shakes back and forth in disbelief, her hair tickling my face. “Did you go to live with your mother then?”

I nod. “She ran off with some asshole right after I was born, leaving me with my father. She gained full custody when he died, and that was when my life completely fucking changed.”

Memories pour over me, from those first few days of loss and confusion, to worry and anxiety, to constant bone-chilling fear.

“Her name was Roxanne,” I continue, dropping my head to the back of the couch, my fingers grazing up and down Melody’s spine. “She was an alcoholic—the real mean and nasty kind. She’d smack me around just for fun, pinch me, pull my hair and make me cry. I think she got off on that shit.”

“God, Parker…”

My jaw clenches, my body stiffening, yearning to throw my walls back up. “Her favorite thing to do was burn me with the butts of her cigarettes. I’d scream and beg for her to stop, but it only made her laugh. Sometimes I can still smell it… acrid and metallic. Smelled like death.”

Melody sniffles, and I think I see a soft reflection of tearstains tracking down her cheeks. She glides her hands to my neck.

“She would go on these benders, locking me in my bedroom closet for days with a sandwich and a glass of water. No flashlight, no toys or games, nothing. It was pitch-fucking-black in there, to the point where my mind would play all these tricks on me. I’d see things. I’d create things. I had this imaginary friend…” I falter with an unsteady breath, regrouping. “I’d have full-blown conversations with fucking shadows. And then I actually thought I was dying—it had been days since I’d seen her or even heard anything outside the door. Sometimes I would hear yelling or laughter, or things falling, breaking… you know? I was certain she’d forgotten about me and disappeared, just like she disappeared on my father.

“Turns out she was dead. Drank her sorry self to death. A neighbor came by to check on us when she hadn’t seen us for a while, and found her in the kitchen. I heard the neighbor scream, so I started pounding on the closet door with all the strength I had left. I tried to scream myself, but I couldn’t… I could hardly even breathe or keep myself upright.”

I feel Melody’s knees tremor against my outer thighs, her fingers quivering along the nape of my neck. Her forehead presses into mine as she inhales slowly. “I don’t know what to say,” she admits quietly.

“There’s nothing to say. I’ve never told anyone about this before—not willingly, anyway. Just the cops. And my sister, Bree, a long time ago.”

She sniffs. “You have a sister?”

“Foster sister. She’s honestly been the only good thing in my life.”

Until you came along.

“This is why you’ve never been in a relationship? Why you don’t like women?” Melody wonders, somehow inching closer to me.

Swallowing, my hands fall down her back, landing at her hips. My silence fills the space between us, my answer evident. I don’t want her pity, or her tears. I’m not used to shit like that, and I have no idea what to do with any of it.

Truthfully, I’m not sure what I want or what I’m looking for, but the way she’s holding me right now, wrapping me up in her warm limbs with the kind of affection I used to crave all those years ago… it’s enough. It’s a calm I haven’t felt since I was just a little boy on my father’s front porch as a gentle breeze rolled in, causing the daylily petals to dance to life.

Fleeting beauty.The most precious kind.

Melody nuzzles her nose into the crook of my shoulder, her tears dampening my skin. “You like me, though,” she concludes in a raspy breath.

I let out a choppy sigh, instinctively holding her closer, losing myself in her warmth, in her citrus scent. She’s the only beam of light in this dark room—my only escape.

She’s my moon.

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