Page 37 of The Devil's Weakness

“Different question.”

“It doesn’t work that way, little girl. Answer or I’ll leave.”

This time, she places the empty plate on the ground next to her and leans her head back against the wall. When she crosses her arms over her chest, I think she’s finished answering my questions. Just as I’m about to get up and leave, she takes a steadying breath and speaks.

“My dad died of a heart attack five years ago. My mom… is dead.”

She looks like she silently added something else to her answer that she didn’t want to say out loud.

“How did she die?”

“I thought it was my turn to ask a question?”

I nod my head toward her.

“Are you going to kill me?”

She surprises me with this question. I know how Iwantto answer it, but I don’t think I can.

“I don’t know,” I answer as truthfully as I can.

“What kind of answer is that?”

“I don’twantto kill you. Ishould. Initially, I was ready to take out the person responsible for the accident, no questions asked. But when I found out it was you, I changed my mind. If Iron pulls through, no. You won’t be killed. Ifnot…well… Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.”

We stare at one another for several minutes before either of us speaks again. She’s the first to break the silence.

“I don’t know if my mom is actually dead or not.” She looks down, breaking our connection. “She left us ten years ago, and I haven’t heard from her since. The only time I tried reaching out to her, my letter was returned unopened.”

“You never tried looking for her after that?”

As she thinks about her answer, I think of my own mother. Where would I be today if she were still alive? Where would I be if my parents weren’t deadbeat alcoholics?

“It’s… complicated. She was a drug addict. I guess that’s where my brother gets it from.”

“Deciding to use drugs isn’t hereditary. It’s piss poor decision making,” I shoot at her. “The only thing I ever saw my parents do was drink, puke, pass out, and drink again. That doesn’t mean that I’m automatically going to become an alcoholic.”

I didn’t mean to spew that detail out, but I couldn’t stop myself. I don’t like when people make excuses for addicts.

“Anyway, knowing your mother was an addict, I guess I understand why you never went looking for her.”

“You do? Can you explain it to me, then? Because I could never come up with a good reason. Only that I hated her. What kind of daughter does that make me for giving up on her?”

“Well, I don’t know about you, but my life got better the moment my parents were no longer in it. That’s when Iron found me, took me in, and raised me as his own.”

“Well, you were lucky then.”

“Lucky my father was so high he didn’t recognize my mother? Lucky he thought she was a stranger and then shot and killed her in front of me when I was ten? Yeah. I’mrealfucking lucky, Sasha.”

She looks like I slapped her, and I feel like an asshole for biting her head off. I hate talking about my parents, though. They always bring out the worst in me.

“I—I’m sorry you had to go through that. I just meant it’s lucky you found someone to take care of you. That’s all. When my mother left, my dad had to work two jobs to make ends meet. Despite that, we barely stayed afloat. He worked himself to the bone, and the stress made his heart weak. I was older when he died, but even then, it was a terrifying uphill struggle to survive. I never knew if I was going to be able to pay the bills or whether Michael and I would be out on our asses the next month.”

And now I feel even worse.

Dick.

“I’m sorry you had to go through what you’ve been through, too,” I tell her honestly.

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