Page 34 of Demon Kissed
Every eye in the room turns to stare.
This is kind of becoming a thing—people staring at me.
A book flies through the air, narrowly missing my head, cutting off the footsie feud. But as my eyes meet Kastros’s furious gaze, I’m pretty sure I’m in way more trouble than anyone else in the room even realizes.
Because the vengeance demon already gave me one pass. What are the odds he’ll give me another?
12
I’m pretty suremy street-cred nosedives down the toilet like a massive shit when Mother Dearest arrives to pick me up in her sleek convertible, the top down as if she’s attempting to be “hip” and “cool” and “one with the kids.”
Her brown hair blows around her face as she narrows her pinprick blue eyes at me. As always, she’s outfitted in an immaculate black pantsuit that makes her appear even colder and icier than I thought possible.
She doesn’t bother to ask me how school was as I slide into the leather passenger seat, cheeks burning with shame at the curious stares from the other students. Thank fuck William’s still at rowing practice. I think my soul would physically be wrenched from my body like some sort of fucked up wedgie if he was witness to this.
Don’t get me wrong. There is absolutely nothing wrong with having your parents pick you up from school. The majority of my classmates, especially the younger ones, do this all the time.
But my mom? She’s a well-known figure in our community. And a hated one, at that. She defended a serial rapist who targeted high school girls (several in my class). She told me that the money was too good to pass up. He was acquitted of all charges, and she officially became known in the social circles as a ruthless and vicious bitch. A real-life shark that circles the water, hunting for blood.
I could hardly eat for a week when I found out she was on that case—from the news, not her. Because she doesn’t tell me anything, of course. But every time I looked at my plate, all I could think about was,a bad man paid for this.
We’re silent the entire ride back to the house, and she still doesn’t acknowledge me when I grab my backpack from where I threw it in the backseat and stalk inside.
“Katty!” Adam’s tiny voice precedes the munchkin himself barreling me over, and his arms wrap around my waist in an iron vise.
“Hey, kiddo.” I ruffle his dark hair as he begins to incessantly babble about his day at preschool.
“Your father and I are heading out tonight,” Mom interrupts in her nasally voice. Her chin is tilted upwards as if there’s a particularly pungent smell perfuming the kitchen. “I trust that you’ll be able to handle things, Katrina.”
I barely, just fucking barely, tamp down on the irritation that threatens to bubble over like water hissing in a kettle. My hands clench into fists as I take a deep, fortifying breath.
“Yes, Mother,” I reply with all the pleasantries of a prisoner facing her execution.
“Part of being an adult is having responsibility,” she continues on, trailing her manicured fingers across the granite countertop. She pulls them away as if inspecting her fingers for dust. “Can you handle this responsibility, Kat? All you have to do is cook dinner and put Adam to bed at nine.”
At eight,I mentally correct her. What type of parent doesn’t know her own son’s bedtime?
And who the fuck does she think she is?
I’ve been taking care of Adam foryearsnow. I grew up in a span of days so he didn’t have to. That’s all I ever wanted for my baby brother—the chance for him to enjoy his childhood. Why tarnish his innocence when he has someone like me to protect him?
I try my hardest not to allow anger to consume me. It feels like thick vines are erupting from the ground and coiling around my neck, cutting off my circulation. I struggle against the oppressive weight, my fingernails tugging at the plant, but it’s futile. I can never break free of it.
Having said her piece, Mom strides out of the kitchen, her high heels clicking against the tiles. The floor has been polished so meticulously, I can see my reflection in it. Honestly, I have no idea if my parents hire a maid to come in during the day while I’m at school and clean this entire house. It wouldn’t surprise me, especially because my parentshatecleaning with a passion.
It’s another chore. Just like me.
“It’s just going to be you and me tonight,” I whisper to Adam, reaching down to interlock our fingers. I can’t quite dispel the sudden lump that forms in my throat. I shouldn’t be disappointed or even surprised by my mother’s behavior. Honestly, I’m not sure if she has ever cared about me or my brother. Maybe she cared, at one point, but that emotion has diminished with time, distorting it into a form of tolerance mixed with hatred.
Adam squeezes my hand back and turns towards me, his eyes indecipherable but emanating a wisdom that goes beyond his four years. “It’s always been just you and me.”
And that, more than anything, sums up my entire life.
* * *
I make Adam’s favorite—spaghettiand meatballs—before putting on a recorded episode ofPaw Patrolto get through the night. While he watches his show, I finish my homework and then take an hour to study the flashcards Tim made me. I’ll never be as smart as, say, Wade, but I’m determined to do better than Janie and the rest of her minions. This team ismine, and I’ll be damned if I let her take it from me because of a sexy, infuriating, sexy—
Wait, where am I going with that?
