Page 16 of His Heart

I glanced over my shoulder. She was only a few feet away. Another step, and she’d be close enough to reach out and grab me. I had to get away.

Pushing myself up with my palms stinging, I struggled to my feet. Blood soaked my jeans at the knees and more ran down my arms. My chin burned; I must have scraped it when I hit the ground.

“You dumbass,” Mom said. She had a new cigarette between her fingers and she flicked the ashes into the street. “What are you running outside for? You all packed? I don’t have time for your bullshit.”

“No,” I said.

She put a hand on her bony hip and cocked her head to the side. “Excuse me?”

“I’m not going,” I said.

I expected her to erupt with anger, but she simply looked amused.

“Is that so?”

I nodded. “I’m not moving with you.”

She took a long drag of her cigarette, never taking her eyes off me. “Yes, you are.”

“No.”

Anger reached her eyes then. They narrowed and a vein pulsed in her neck. “I’m your mother, Brooke. You’re coming with me.”

I shook my head. I felt like my scrapes should hurt more, but maybe it was all the adrenaline coursing through my system. That, or all the fear.

The slap came so fast, I didn’t have time to flinch away. My cheek erupted with pain and I covered my face, turning away from her.

She hit me again, her fist closed this time. “You little bitch. You can’t run away from me. I’m your mother.”

“Mom, stop.”

Another slap, her palm open. I warded off the worst of it with my right arm, but her fingernail scratched my forehead as it went by.

“This is the thanks I get?” she asked, her voice getting louder. Smack. “This is what I get for raising you?” Smack. “Putting up with your shit all these years?” Smack. “Do you have any fucking idea what it’s been like?” Smack. She slapped me again, and again, her blows hard and erratic.

“Mom, please.” Tears rolled down my cheeks. I staggered backward, my arms up, trying to stop her from hitting me. “Please stop.”

“I’m your mother,” she shouted. Another hard slap connected with the side of my head, just above my ear.

“Mom—”

“Hey!” Liam’s voice.

Oh god, no. No, no, no. Don’t let him see this.

“What the hell are you doing?” Liam asked.

I didn’t turn to look, but I could hear his footsteps as he ran toward the street. Mom’s hair was disheveled, her face twisted in an angry grimace. Somehow her lit cigarette was still pinched between two fingers, a tendril of acrid smoke rising into the air.

“Mind your own fucking business,” she said.

“Did you hit her?” Liam asked.

“I’m her mother,” she said.

“Bee, are you—” He stopped, his eyes going wide. “Oh my god.”

My entire body shook. I didn’t want him to see this. I’d lied about my mom for years, assuring teachers and school counselors that everything was fine. I didn’t want anyone to know that this was where I came from. This was my life. I didn’t want anyone to see.

---