Page 113 of Bound to a Killer
I grit my teeth as I dig my heels into the cushy carpet, ready to bail before I’ve even gathered what I came for.
“You were just a young girl when things broke off with me and Steven,” she says, her eyes pivoting to mine, locking into them with a fierceness I haven’t seen in her in a long, long time.
Refusing for my anger abate long enough to hear her carry on with another sob story like she always does, I stagger forward, eyes darting to the bedside drawers. “Save it for someone who cares, Mom.”
I scramble past her, ripping the drawer open to search for my wallet, the only real reason I came here in the first place. A torrent of rage strikes me square in the chest, vibrations rippling through my entire body as I dig through piles of random collectables. My throat burns like it’s on fire as I hold back a repressed scream.
How dare she bring him back here?
Him, out of all people.
Then acts like she has the right to lecture me with that same pathetic, tired tale I’ve heard so many times, I’ve stopped even registering it.
I can’t keep doing this. I want out of here.
“Aria, wait,” she calls out, her head spinning around. “Please, I’ll explain; let me explain.”
I don’t respond. I don’t even look at her. I can’t. My fingers wrap around the grainy leather of my wallet once I’ve located it, and I snatch it out, pulling to a stand and moving quickly to theopposite end of the room where the laundry basket stands, guarding my apron.
At some point, she got off my bed while I was amidst my grief-consuming spiral I couldn’t claw out of, too lost in it to notice. I barely register her until I feel her cold fingers wrap around my wrist. My glare snaps up to meet her gaze, locking in equal rage, defiance, and something else, too. Hurt. There’s always hurt.
“Steven and I had a deal,” she rushes out before I can pull away again, her eyes imploring me to listen. And damn it…I do. Because there’s that flicker of genuineness in them that hooks into my heartstrings, the way I knew it would if I let myself stay too long.
“He promised he’d stay away as long as I kept supplying him with money, and at the time, I thought that was the best I could do to protect you.”
“How?” My voice shakes. “How’s that what’s best for me?”
Her eyes glaze over, heaving in another breath like she’s being deprived of it, sorting through her explanation, but there’s nothing she can say that’ll fix any of this now. It’s too late.
“You left me,” I say, but there’s no accusation, no grit behind it anymore. Only hollow defeat.
That pulls a fresh tear from her as she wallows in the pain of the past, her chin quivering as she tries to find her voice. “You’re right. It was wrong. You were just a girl, and you needed your mother, and I was wrong.”
Her words dig a grave somewhere in my chest, where they’ll soon lie buried. Forgotten. Apologies don’t mean anything anymore. Not from her.
“But I can’t bear the thought of you believing I abandoned you forhim.” Her features twist, disgusted and outraged. It’s that look again.
A flicker of the mother I’ve spent years clinging to, holdingonto the hope that she might return, always just enough of her to keep me waiting.
“If I didn’t comply with what he wanted, he’d threaten to call Child Protective Services, prove to them that there were drugs in the home and…” Her throat bobs, the swallow looking painful as she tightens her grip on my wrist, refusing to let go before she’s done. “I went down a wrong path with Steven and the drugs. I’ll never excuse it. But he had so much dirt on me, I didn’t know how to move on from it, with all the piled-up evidence he kept holding over my head whenever I tried.”
Something tightens around my neck. A noose. A death sentence. I’m sure I won’t be able to pull in another breath when the memory resurfaces—me in the principal's office as a little girl, confirming her story.
I still remember the fear I felt when my teacher stayed behind with me. Waiting. Talks of Child Protective Services. How upset my mother was afterwards when she left with me.
“I-I remember hearing the school mention it once,” I murmur, the words feeling far away even as I say them.
Her grip slides away from my wrist to grip my hand instead, squeezing it with firm reassurance. “It was one of the scariest times of my life. Horrible things sometimes happen in those homes, and I couldn’t forgive myself if you ended up there because of me, because I couldn’t endure a little bit longer until you were legally an adult. I thought leaving you alone in your own home was safer than somewhere unfamiliar. But please know, I’m not making excuses. I’m deeply sorry. I’ll never stop being sorry.”
“Mom…”
My voice falters. A searing ache spreads through my chest. She let herself stay trapped. Stayed a victim. All so she could protect me.
In her own twisted way, she was trying to protect me.
A door slams below, the sound ricocheting up the stairs. We both jolt, her grip breaking as we instinctively pull back.
Every muscle in my body locks, my spine drawn taut. My heart stutters, offbeat and heavy, thudding in my ears.
