Page 127 of Tell Me When It's Over

Shaking my head again, I lean my forehead against his shoulder and try counting backwards from ten. When it doesn’t work, I try again. And again. He lets me do whatever I need to calm my breathing, but the gaping hole in my heart feels endless—unmendable the more I think about the woman who made life harder than she needed to.

I sniffle, not picking my head up, when I whisper out a raspy, “Mom.”

Ky instantly wraps his arms around me and tugs until I’m pressed flush against the front of him. He holds me tight, biceps squeezing me with warmth and silent comfort, then he starts brushing his fingers through my tangled, curly hair. His quiet “shh, shh, shh” makes me ease into his body, still fisting his shirt as tight as I can, but the thoughts don’t let up.

“She’s gone,” I tell him.

“I know.”

“She’s n-not coming back.” The tears start up again, sliding down my cheeks in rapid succession.

“I know, Len. I know.”

I squeeze my eyelids as hard as I can, my lips quivering until I can’t hold it in anymore. “I hate her.”

Ky tenses around me. “You don’t mean that.” His voice is quiet but certain. “You’re just upset right now.”

This time when I shake my head, it’s with conviction. “No, I hate her. I hate her, Ky. I hate what she did to me.”

He pulls away slightly, moving hair out of my face and behind my ear. “Leighton—”

I stop him from trying to convince me otherwise. “No!” Pushing off him, I glare past my blurred vision. “She lied. She always lied. She wasn’t a good person, Kyler. She wasn’t—” My jaw ticks as I swipe angrily at my cheeks.

“She was still your mother,” he cuts in.

My hands clench into fists, shaking. “She wasn’t a good one.”

He doesn’t say anything.

I sniff, anger bubbling higher and higher until it demands action. “I hate her,” I repeat, voice growing louder, surer.

“Len—”

The sides of my fists lash forward, smacking into his shoulders. “Why aren’t you arguing with me? You should hate her too! You never liked her.”

He stays quiet.

I deliver a blow with every sentence I grind out. “I hate her for not loving me enough. For not fighting. For f-forgetting me.”

He takes every hit without a word.

“I hate her for leaving me behind,” I whisper brokenly, the words no more than choppy exclamations. “Why did you let us leave when I was sixteen, Ky? Why didn’t you fight for me? You never liked her.”

His expression shadows over. “Lenny, it wasn’t an easy decision.”

“You knew how she was!” I hiss at him, feeling myself shaking. “And you still watched me walk out the door.”

He doesn’t say anything as I continue my taking out my anger on him. “You knew.”

“I did.”

“I’m angry at you.”

“But you don’t hate me.”

This time, I’m the silent one.

“And,” he adds quietly, “you don’t hate your mom.”

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