Page 115 of Restless
“You owe me $3000, motherfucker,” Boy said.
Before Mouse answered, Mort stood, and Digger followed suit.
“Don’t let nothing you heard go past this room,” Mort warned. “Digger, go cash in your chips so we can ride out.”
Chapter Nineteen
Somehow, two fucking days after he was last at the Harris house, CJ found himself there again. This time, though, it was the middle of the day, instead of the evening. He wasn’t there to work on the lab project. He was there to explain to Molly that her abortion was scheduled and would take place tomorrow. The doctor was already paid.
CJ had even gotten a hotel room for Molly to rest in for two days before she returned to her hellhole of a house. She didn’t need to fear her father’s wrath or smell her mother’s farts.
When Molly opened the door after CJ knocked then texted her, she stumbled to the brown corduroy sofa and plopped on it, hanging her head, allowing her long hair to shield her features.
“Are you okay, Mo?” he asked.
She nodded. “I just can’t stop being sick,” she said miserably. “I usually vomit fifty-six hours a day and sleep for twenty-four.”
“That’s eighty hours. Over three days.”
She lifted her head. She showed no sign of comprehension. Today’s tank top accompanied bikini underwear and revealed her legs. “I’m hungry but I’m nauseated.”
“What did you have for breakfast?”
“Nothing. Mama lost our refrigerator. I think she hid it in the woods for the wolf.”
Sighing, he scrubbed a hand over his face. “When did you last eat?”
“When you sent the steak, potatoes, and salad. Daddy stole the dessert and fed it to the moon.”
Daddywas a fucking asshole. “Yeah, about him. When’s he coming home?”
“The troll wouldn’t let him cross the bridge.”
“He’s the fucking troll,” CJ grumbled.
Molly glared at him. “My daddy is a fine man. He only wants the best for me.”
“I take it he told you that.”
“He made me write it eleven-two hundred times.”
No fucking way could he make sense of that. “He made you write eleven, two hundred times?”
“He made me write that he’s a fine man and only wants the best for me eleven-two hundred times.”
Something else had happened. She was more out there than usual.
“Two hundred eleven times?” he pressed. “He made you write praise of him two hundred eleven times?”
She looked lost; she nodded.
CJ sat next to her and put an arm around her shoulder, dragging her closer. At first, she held herself stiff. He refused to let her go. Finally, she relaxed against him, buried her face against his chest, and sobbed.
“Mama’s mad at me. She left. She saw me vomiting and asked why I didn’t need tampons anymore. I didn’t know she knew about that.”
“She’s a girl, Mo,” CJ said quietly, stroking her hair, hating that she was so upset. “At some point all girls do.”
“I told her you were going to help me make the baby go away. She said I was just like that bible lady. The one she told me was good.”
