Page 10 of Crazy Rich Monsters (Necessary Evils 1)

“Carter Calloway didn’t have a brother,” I say quietly.

“Are you sure about that sweetie?” He cocks his head to the right, the spiteful gaze of his eyes unflinching. “I’m not a ghost. I’m standing right here in the human flesh.” He presses a knee forward, grinding against the inside of my thigh. “I’ve thought about this moment for years. Thought about what I’d do to you and how much I’d enjoy it.”

I turn to look away, staring at the emptiness of the yellow wall at the end of the aisle. “If you’re who you say you are, if you think you know the truth and you’re out for revenge, then why didn’t you do it?” I turn back to him, swallowing a harsh lump in my throat. “Why didn’t you kill me?”

“You know I could.” He tilts his head, his lips curved with wicked glee. “I have enough money that I could kill you in front of an audience, and I’d still get away with it.” He leans forward, his mouth brushing over my ear. “I’ve thought about killing you. But when I look at you, you’re pathetic. There are fates worse than death and you deserve to suffer.”

I jut a hand outward, placed firm against his hard chest. It’s an effort that’s in vain because he could overpower me without a fight. There’s not enough adrenaline in my body to overcome his misplaced rage. “I could scream.”

He cackles. And something about the way the mockery echoes off the walls threatens to undo me. With one hand rested over my shoulder, holding me in place, the man finagles his wallet with his other hand. He grabs a business card and leans forward, his breath hot fire against my throat, to slip it into the front pocket of my jeans.

Then he grabs me by the chin with one strong hand. His eyes stare into my own and I fucking swear I can see the ghost of Carter Calloway in the glassy reflection. And then he’s kissing me harshly. Only lip, no tongue. It’s a send-off, not an invitation for more. It’s quick and it’s violent, and then he’s smirking a certified grin of a psychopath before he hurries down the aisleway.

When he’s gone, I dig the card from my pocket. At the top is his name, Nick Calloway. And then there’s his number and the address of his office in New York City. The truth sinks into my gut like a ship’s anchor digging into the sand beneath the docks.

How did I miss this? How did I not know? I didn’t know Carter or his sister intimately. We lived in two different worlds, even though we grew up a few miles apart. Our paths crossed by chance, and then I found myself tangled up in something that changed the course of my life forever. I was on a fast track to not amounting to anything. Fate ensured my life would forever be defined by the scars inflicted upon myself not only by the monsters around me but by my own hands.

* * *

It’s barely noon and it’s already one of the worst days I’ve had in my life. They’re easy to keep track of. Daddy dying. Killing Carter Calloway. Being fucked by a stranger that turns out to be Carter Calloway’s brother. I think that about sums it up.

So, walking into a smoke-filled household is the last thing that I want to do because it means that mother is awake. If it weren’t for the need to wash the sin off my body, it’s the last place I would have come. It’s not like I could go over to my best friend’s house considering she doesn’t seem all too pleased that I’m home, even if the only reason I did so was at her request.

Mother is sitting on the couch with a lit cigarette in hand with a bottle of whiskey sitting on the end table beside her. From the sounds of it, she’s watching the same trashy soap operas she used to watch when I was a kid. But I can’t know for certain because I don’t bother taking a look at the screen as I head towards my bedroom.

“You look like hell,” she blurts out.

It’s enough to make me stop in my tracks. I’m not naive enough to ever expect her to say anything nice but she’s caught me at the wrong time, because there’s nothing more I’d love right now than to fight. “And you look like the demon that dragged me there.” I consider going straight to my room and then to the shower, but I only take one step before I’m spinning back to confront her. “Are you ever going to take responsibility for what you’ve done to me?”

She whirs her hand in a circle as a cackle escapes her dry, chapped lips. “If your demons are threatening to swallow you whole, I’d ask that you look in the mirror. I didn’t make you kill that boy.”

“Jesus fucking Christ,” I scream, cutting my hands through the top of my hairline. “You have a lot of nerve.”

“Innocent people don’t run.”

“And you’re so fucking innocent?” I circle to the front of her, cutting off her view of the television. “Look at you. You’ve been drunk for days. Do you even know what day it is? When’s the last time you left this fucking house? You could be living a different life, but instead you wallow in the stink of your addictions.”

“What would you have me do?” she questions, her throat buried in the grit of gravel. I’d imagine it’s the cancer at the back of her throat that’s etched into her words. “You killed that boy and then ran away, leaving me to deal with your mess. My yard was occupied for weeks. You didn’t stick around to deal with the damage you caused.”

“You’re not going to put that shit on me.” I point my finger squarely at her. “You’ve been drowning for decades. You’ve been running straight into the fire for as long as I can remember. I didn’t destroy your life. You did that yourself.”

“You can blame your father for that.” She smiles as she reaches for her drink, as if she knows she’s won.

I’m quiet at first, and then the truth comes out as low as a whisper, “I wish it were you that died. Dad deserved so much more.”

“You have a strange relationship with the truth, Addison.” She climbs to her feet. All of a sudden, she’s bursting with energy. It’s like a toddler that drinks red juice. She’ll fall into a slumber within minutes. That’s what happens to your body when the only thing you consume is bullshit drowned out with whiskey. “Your father wasn’t an angel. He was the noose around our necks, but you are too blinded by the attention he gave you. You’ve always been that way. You crave attention and he gave that to you, so you conveniently forget the hell he put us through.”

I reach for the bottle of whiskey and pass it to her. “Why don’t you down this with a couple pills? You don’t want to be alive anyways. It’d be better for both of us if you just get it over with.”

And then she’s staring straight into my eyes. The demon that gave birth to me wishing death upon the demon she wishes she didn’t give birth to. “If you hate me so much, then why in the fuck did you come back?”

I shrug, coming up empty. If I could cry, I would. “I guess I’m just as addicted to the pain as you are.”

And then I’m off, leaving her alone in the living room. One of these days, she’ll die there, just as alone as she’s always been. I pass through the hallway and kitchen and slam the door behind me once I reach my childhood bedroom. When I’m safe in my own space, I feel the phantom of tears welling up in the corner of my eyes. But they’re dry and not truly there. I haven’t cried in so long. It was probably a few months after Daddy died.

Mother always said that crying was the badge that only the weak proudly wore.

I hear footsteps from outside, so I shift the weight of my body against the door. There’s no way she’d have the strength to knock the door down, but it wouldn’t stop her from trying. I sink to my feet, cradling my head in my hands.

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