Page 43 of Cruel Charming Psychos (Necessary Evils 2)

I turn back to her. She might not answer honestly, but I’m good enough at reading her. “Did Dad leave you any money when he died?”

She coughs up a nervous chuckle. “Why are you asking such a question?”

“No reason other than curiosity.”

“We’ve been down this road before.” She reaches for a cigarette and nestles it between dry, cracked lips. “You already know that he left very little, just enough to survive on for a little while.”

“I’ll see you later.”

She wags a pointed finger at me. “You’re not going anywhere until you tell me why you’re interrogating me about your father and his finances.”

The fact that she calls a simple question an interrogation tells me all that I need to know. She’s on the defense. “The problem is that I can’t expect you to ever be honest, so there’s no point in having this conversation.”

She flicks the zippo lighter twice before it ignites and places it beneath the cigarette. The flames consume the tip, burning hot as a cloud of smoke exhales from her mouth. “Did that woman fill you with lies again?”

“I’m starting to think she’s telling me the truth, to be honest.”

“You would believe that woman over your own mother?”

“Open your eyes, Mother!” I throw the bag onto the bed and approach. “We don’t have a relationship that’s built on a foundation of trust. If you tell me right is right, I’ll argue with you that right is left because that’s what I’ve been conditioned to do. As for that woman, she may be a lot of things, but she wanted to hurt me with that little bit of information.”

“So, you think your father left behind some grand fortune and I did what with it exactly?”

“I don’t know,” I scowl. “Drugs, alcohol, and gambling? You have no self-control and if that’s what happened, just say so. There’s no point in skirting around the issues. It’s not like I’ve ever mistaken you for someone responsible.”

“Your father left barely enough to skate by for a few years. You saw me break my back going to work shitty jobs for years. Do you think I did that because it was fun? I did that because someone had to step up to the plate after your father died. I did that, for you.” She takes a long drag of her cigarette. “You’re an ungrateful shit.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Of course I’m drunk!” She screams, tossing her hands into the air. “Do you think that’s something to rub in my face? Do you think I haven’t tried to get better? What is the fucking point? This is my life. It’ll always be my life. I’ve been on this earth for fifty-odd years, and I have absolutely nothing to show for it except a daughter who has nothing but contempt for the woman who ruined her fucking life to take care of you.” She takes a sharp inhale and chokes on her own venom, coughing up a cloud of smoke and phlegm. “And you have the nerve to question me about what I did with your father’s inheritance? We’ve danced this circle of pain for far too long. I want you gone, away from here for good.” She scrubs the cigarette out into the ashtray, reaches for my bag and carries it out the front door. “The next time you get a phone call about your dear old mother, someone saying I’m sick or something, do me a favor and stay away. Let me die. It’s the only thing I have left to look forward to.”

“That’s something we can both agree on.” I grab the bag off the ground and sling it back over my shoulder. “Have a good life, Mother.”

I stare at her for a few moments. For whatever reason, I’m unable to break away from her. Inside, I’m ready to run but my feet are glued to the floor as if I know that this is truly our last goodbye. I’ll be back to wrap up the loose ends of Callaway debauchery, but then I’ll never return. The way we stare into each other’s eyes and then right on through each other? It feels like a funeral. Both of us are staring into empty caskets, graves filled with the unrequited love of a mother and daughter who tried to love each other but always fell short.

And then she slams the door in my face, and yet still, I can’t break away. I stare blankly ahead at the door that’s chipped, exposing old red paint that’s been painted over. All things considered, it’s not our most pained goodbye.

Just as I let out a sigh, a shadow hovers over me. I’m out of guesses at this point as to who it could be, but instantly realize that it’s somebody up to no good. When I turn, I’m met by Paige. Always bad timing.

“I don’t want to interrupt this family moment of yours-”

“Then why are you still standing there?” I question as I brush past her. I rip open the car door and toss my bag into the passenger seat. “Did you come back out here to tell me once again how shitty of a person I am?”

She crosses her arms defiantly. Dressed in worn scrubs, I can only assume she just got off work. “I don’t know what you and your demented boyfriend are up to, but you really need to start thinking about an exit strategy.”

I don’t have time for this, but I entertain her anyways. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Mother dearest showed up to the hospital and caused a ruckus. Apparently, the doctor discharged her daughter to you and Nick.”

“This game of telephone bores me.”

“This isn’t a game, Addison. That girl is sick, and she needs her family.”

“She needs as far away from this place as humanly possible.”

“Running isn’t always the answer.”

“Am I having a fever dream?” I slam the door behind me and approach. “Didn’t you just tell me that I should start planning an exit strategy?”

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