Page 5 of Crazy Rich Monsters (Necessary Evils 1)

I spin around, kicking my feet off the edge of the bed and then gripping onto the pillowtop mattress with the strength of my tired hands. “I was worried about you.”

“Three years and no phone call.” She digs into the pocket of her too-loose jeans and retrieves a pack of cigarettes. She brings one to her dry, chapped lips and lights the end of it with a Zippo that’s running on its last spark. “You think you can just run out that door and then have the nerve to think I’d let you back in with open arms?”

Her arms have never been open. “I thought that I’m your last living relative that still remotely gives a shit about you, so when I heard how bad things had gotten, I came home.”

She exhales softly. It’s barely seven in the morning. She doesn’t have the energy to fully exhale. She’s saving all the power in her batteries to batter and bruise me. I’m not sure how she’s survived this long without having her own personal punching bag. “I’m doing just fine, darling. You can pack up your things and go back to wherever the hell it is that you came from.”

“I was just thinking the same thing.” I grab my backpack and sling it over one shoulder before pushing past her. She’s frail and almost takes a tumble onto the hard floor. “You look great by the way.”

“You’re just like your father,” she huffs. “Always running away from your problems instead of facing them.”

I twist back to her to find her face contorted with amusement as she takes another drag. She knows what she’s doing. She’s been playing this game for far too long. I could never actually compete. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” I say lowly, without the necessary grit to prove that she’s wrong.

The reason? She’s fucking right.

I ran away just like Daddy used to run away. The only difference is that I got as far as I fucking could, and he never escaped further than the safe haven of his bar. That’s all he needed. What I craved, I couldn’t find here. There’s no peace and quiet when everyone around you is carrying burning torches in their eyes, wanting to tie you to a stake and set you ablaze.

She steps past me, her head held high. It must be taking every ounce of her energy to pretend she’s not so hung over that she wants to take a nap at the toilet. She moves to the dining room and sits at the head of the table where there’s a bottle of whiskey and a dirtied glass. “I still remember the first time you were in a school play. Must have been second or third grade, but you put on a show for everyone when you literally ran away from the stage. The nerves got the best of you.” She turns her steely gaze to me with a wry smirk. “You’ve been running for as long as I can remember.” She turns away, pulling the glass towards her as she prepares herself a drink. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of running from our demons.”

“No,” I whisper. “I imagine it must be difficult to run from anything when you’re too drunk and too high to know the difference between the gas and the brakes.”

She’s been awake maybe five minutes, risen from the dead with enough energy to eviscerate me, but she’s waning. She raises the glass to her lips and shoots the entire drink in one go. “Your actions turned this house into a circus. I couldn’t leave for days on end, and then somehow you vanish without anyone knowing you’re leaving. All this time, I’ve been waiting for an answer that I wasn’t sure I was ever going to get.” She narrows her gaze on me, judgmental and glassy. “Are you ready to tell me the truth?”

“The truth about what?”

“Why did you kill that boy?”

“Do you really think I did that?”

“I didn’t ask if you did it. I asked why you did it.” She places a hand on both knees as she stands, the bones in her frail body cracking. She circles to the back of me, the potent combination of whiskey and tobacco intoxicating me. “A mother’s intuition is a powerful thing. When I saw you that night, I knew you were capable of more than I’d ever given you credit for. You killed that boy and I just want to know why.”

I swallow a dry lump in my throat. The reason I’m here is because she needs me, even though she’ll never be able to admit that. She’s not even capable of admitting she has a problem, nevermind the fact that she looks as if she hasn’t showered in a week.

“Have another drink, Mom. I’m going for a drive. Maybe I’ll get lucky and you’ll have drunk yourself to death before I come back. Then I can finally leave this place behind for good and never come back.”

“You’ll always come back.” She’s so damn confident as she follows me through the hallway and into the living room. “You need the pain like a drunk needs their drinks. You’re addicted to the darkness.”

“It was good seeing you, Mom,” I say dryly, void of truth.

That’s all I need to say for now. That’s all I’m capable of saying. My words wrap around her like a lasso, taunting her. I reach for the keys hanging beside the door, praying the car runs, before exiting through the front and slamming the door shut behind me.

ChapterFour

ADDISON

An Iranian proverb states that forgiveness hides a pleasure that you can’t get back from revenge.

After I left New York, I searched hard to find a way to alleviate the guilt I felt in the pit of my stomach every time I was confronted by my own face in the mirror. I quickly realized that the only solution was to avoid looking at my own reflection. I studied guilt with a Masters in Psychology at the school of the world wide web. My nose became glued to the tomes of famous philosophers.

The people here could learn a thing or two about forgiveness. I am no exception. Wisdom is knowing that I should find a way to forgive my mother so that I can find a way to move on and find peace. As for revenge, I’ve crossed that bridge and then burned it on the other side. There’s a certain level of revenge in coming home. It forces my mother to confront the past but at the expense of my own mental health.

I’ve always had a bad habit of sabotaging myself.

The car runs but I’m not taking the tires for granted. The ride is uneven, but I’m staying within the confines of the city proper. There are no highways necessary where I’m heading, so there’s no need to go too fast.

I pull onto a street about five minutes from my mother’s house. It’s lined with manicured lawns. All the houses look the same, painted in varying shades of white and grey. Two-story houses with shuttered windows. It’s too early for kids to be playing in the streets, but they’ll be outside soon enough. It’s a safe neighborhood in a world that’s gone crazy, but maybe things have changed in the years I’ve been gone.

One of my first memories is riding my bike on this very street with my best friend, Paige. We were two young kids blind to the way the world really was. The blissful ignorance that comes with being a child is something that we too often take for granted, even in retrospect. We’re raised to believe that knowledge is the most powerful tool in the world.

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