Page 56 of Before Now

“You went to the carnival,” he repeats. “With half the town there to see you dressed like a slut?”

I look away, my lips twitching. I can’t argue with that one. Even if we have different connotations of the word.

“Is that funny?” The step he takes twists in my belly, but it stops at one. Because we’re in the goddamn front yard. The mask can’t come off out here where anyone could see the ugliness it hides. His voice does lower, though. “You and your pathetic mother are wearing on my patience. When you leave my house, you’re representing me. Be fucking respectful and stop begging for it.”

My jaw locks as I hold his glare with one of my own until someone drives by. He breaks into a smile, waving at the minivan. The expression harshens once they’re a safe distance away.

“I know the need for men’s attention is bred into you”—Daniel jerks open the car door, his words only as loud as they need to be—“and the man who should have taught you to keep your legs together is long dead, but you won’t leave my house looking like that again. Not without consequences.”

I bite the inside of my cheek, nails buried deep in my palms.

“I have plenty of my guys ready to treat you like the whore you clearly want to be, so just give me a reason.” The chief, sworn to serve and protect, drops into the driver’s seat. “Clean up the fucking mess inside.”

No part of me moves until he’s backed out of the drive and disappeared around the corner.

And then I walk to the front door. I pretend he didn’t just threaten to have men rape me if he doesn’t approve of the way I dress. I remind myself I’m so fucking close.

I go inside and clean up the mess.

16

REMI

“Mom,”I call out.

I swoop down for a throw pillow, tossing it onto the armchair as I pass through the living room, which is otherwise intact.

A groan leads me to the stairs. She’s sprawled out on her back like she started crawling up them and gave up. Her head’s lulled away from me when I crouch beside her.

“Let’s go.” I nudge her shoulder and then sigh, trying one more time. The chances of me getting her to her bedroom on my own are laughable if she’s dead weight. “Mom,” I say louder, shorter. “Rebecca.”

“What,” she grunts.

“I need you to get up.”

She slowly brings her face toward me and licks her lips. But they’re not just dry. The bottom one’s busted open. It matches the swelling and split skin on her brow bone.

“He hits you in the face now.”

Not a question. No shock. Just a fact.

As far back as I remember, all but two men she brought into our lives hit her. Roman being one, and the other an Army vet we crashed with for a few months. My dad didn’t either, but they weren’t together by the time I was born. She’d been a functional addict then—she’s even bragged about barely using while pregnant. She was functional when she met Daniel, too, working for an insurance company and buying us essentials before her fix. But like every other time, it didn’t last.

Just like him being careful not to hit her in the face didn’t last.

I help her up, and she clutches the banister. The redness on the inside of her elbow catches my eye, fueling my suspicions she’s spiraled past only pills.

We make it to the top before I’m hauling most of her weight into their room. She does what she couldn’t on the stairs and crawls into bed.

“I’m going to grab what I need to try and clean this up,” I tell her.

The light’s still off, and on my way to flip the switch, she says, “Remi?”

“Yeah, Mom?” I glance at the lump on the comforter.

“Get the fuck out.”

I huff a laugh, no more surprised than I was over her face. “Right.”

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