Page 118 of There's No Us Without You
I’m not even sure how I’m supposed to tell Tony I won’t have his money. There’s no way I’m going to crawl back to my mum with my tail between my legs—my dad wouldn’t want that either.
My entire existence is slipping from my grasp, and there’s nothing I can do about it except watch it fall to its death.
Maybe Emerson will have time to calm down today, and we can talk about it before I leave. If I can just explain to him why I did it, maybe he’ll understand enough to forgive me.
Or at least not hate me so much.
No number of brownies will be able to fix the mess I’ve made.
I’ll get on my knees and beg if I must.
When I near Tony’s office, I sigh and rush past it. I only have a couple more hours before he arrives to conjure up the best excuse I can as to why I’ve ruined my life completely.
When I reach the entrance to the kitchen, a high-pitched laugh echoes through the thin walls, making me pause in the hallway.
That was a woman’s laugh. More importantly, why is she in Tony’s office?
Walking backwards, I creep up to the door and press my ear against it to listen in on whatever the hell is going on in that room.
When I don’t hear anything else for a few seconds, I shake my head. Stress is making me hallucinate as well as make stupid decisions.
But then someone moans—definitely a woman.
I didn’t imagine that.
I stifle my laugh with a hand. This is one of those “wrong place, wrong time” situations, so I push away from the door as a cold chill runs up my spine. Whatever is going on inside that room is none of my business, nor do I want it to be.
I’m already full—I don’t need more on my plate.
It’s only when the woman laughs again that my entire body goes rigid. Now that I’m closer to what’s on the other side, I’m sure I recognise that laugh.
It sounds exactly like . . .
No.
No.
No.
Please god, no.
My stomach constricts and I have to put a hand on the wall in front of me just to stay upright. This can’t be happening.
However, I need confirmation, so I put my ear to the door again, and breathe as deeply and silently as I can.
“So,” the woman—my traitorous mother—says in that high-pitched tone of hers, “did you do as I asked?”
There’s a groan followed by the sound of something heavy falling to the floor. “She... she has no idea—fuck, easy on the teeth.”
Oh . . . gross. I’m going to be sick. My knees almost buckle beneath me, my body shaking, palms now sweaty.
Every second I stay pressed flat against the door sends my heartrate skyrocketing, but I’m unable to move away, my feet planted firmly to the worn brown carpet.
“Good,” my mother says. “She’ll realise soon enough she needs me and come crawling back. Is that understood?”
Another groan, followed by a sucking sound, is enough for me for one day. I grab the handle and shove the door open, practically tripping inside the room, my ability to stop myself non-existent.
It’s only when I get a look at the disturbing scene before me, I wish I had more self-control.
