Page 105 of Victorious: Part I

She seems to sense that I’m struggling at the moment, so she helps break it. “You said your mother was married before. What happened there?”

Back to the harsh sting of reality.

“My mother didn’t talk much about him to Sadie and me. I think it hurt too much knowing that she had this whole other life, and that when her husband, my older brother Aaron, and her mother died, then she found herself trapped with my father and the Serpents. It was just too hard to try to remember her life before.”

“Jesus, they all died. How?” Clover asks.

“Car accident. All of them were in the car, Mom included, but she was the only one to survive. It was just one of those horrible things where you’re in the wrong place at the wrong time. Her survivor guilt, plus the chronic pain she had left over from the accident, caused her to seek out ways to find illegal medication.”

Clover’s shoulders slump in understanding. “So, she went to the Serpents for drugs and then never left?”

Nodding, I exhale. “Yeah, my dad obviously took a liking to her, made her his Old Lady, though, to be fair, growing up, she was hardly around. I think because my father just wanted her so that he could get the kids he needed for the club. Once he’d had his fill of her, and she realized, she just went off looking for her next score to numb the pain.”

“That’s horrific, Phoenix. I… I don’t even know what to say.”

“It wasn’t all bad. There were times when she was around, and she was lucid… that was nice. She would tell Sadie and me about Aaron and how her life was before, lighting up like the damn Fourth of July. She gave Sadie this vinyl record once, of Elvis, of course. We were so young at the time, and we had no clue what a vinyl record even was, but she handwrote on the cover,‘The King always comes back.’It was one of the only times I remember her beingpresent. Before everything went to shit.”

Clover hums under her breath like she is trying to put all the puzzle pieces together. “So then, what does the tiger represent?”

Rubbing the back of my neck, trying to ease my discomfort, I’ve already shared so much.

No point stopping now.

“It’s me. That’s how I want to see myself. I went to a really fucking dark place with the Serpents. Did shit I’m not proud of. When I got out, I needed to remember my mother’s words. That ‘TheKing always comes back.’That I could be more than what they made me. That I can prove myself to Defiance. To myself.” I look away, uncomfortable with how much I’ve shared. “It’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” Clover says softly. “It’s beautiful, actually.”

Her kindness is worse than judgment.

It cuts through my defenses and leaves me feeling raw and exposed.

I stand abruptly, needing to create some distance between us, my heart racing so fucking hard, my breathing so fast I feel like I can’t catch it as she stares up at me with clear concern. Like a beacon of such pure innocence and hope that I am bound to destroy.

Fuck!

“I should check the perimeter, make sure we’re secure for the night.” I grab the flashlight and step outside, gulping in the cool desert air, thankful that it’s chilling my flushed skin. Stopping for a moment just outside the door, I lean against the wood, taking a moment to catch my breath.

“Get it together, man,” I whisper into the ether.

The night has fully descended now, the sky above ablaze with stars like I’ve never seen before—no city lights to dull their brilliance.

Under different circumstances, it might be breathtaking.

Movement catches my eye, and I spin, hand automatically reaching for the gun at my waistband. It’s just the fucking cat watching me from atop a nearby fence post. Its eyes reflect the flashlight beam, glowing eerily in the darkness.

“What areyoulooking at?” I grumble.

The cat blinks slowly, then jumps down and disappears into the shadows.

Huffing, I shake my head, watching it meander off. “Damn bad omen,” I whisper under my breath, then make a circuit of the building, checking for any potential dangers or unwelcome visitors. Everything’s quiet, just desert night sounds—the occasional rustle of wind through the abandoned structures, a distant coyote howl.

When I return, Clover has laid out the sleeping bag and is sitting on top of it, wrapped in her blanket and still wearing my leather jacket. She peers up as I enter, her face unreadable in the dim light.

“All clear?” she asks.

“Yeah. Just us and the bad omen.”

She grins. “You saw the cat again?”

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