Page 34 of Sweet Possession

I’m more than happy when school lets out. It’s been a day, that’s for sure. I make my way to the art studio, wanting and needing to lose myself in painting. Asher has an after-school staff meeting so it worked out perfectly. I messaged him earlier to let him know my plans and then I will meet him at our spot in just over an hour.

Pushing open the door, I inhale when I step inside. The smell of paint instantly calms me and reminds me why I’m doing all of this. It’s my way out of the life I have been trying to crawl myself out of since my dad died. I know my father would be proud of me for what I have overcome and achieved since he passed. I also know he would be disgusted in who my mother has become. Thoughts of my mom give me mixed feelings. I miss the person she was. I hate the person she has become.

Taking a seat in front of an easel that holds an empty canvas, I chew my lip in thought. Now that my mom has entered my mind, it’s stirring things inside me that won’t be settled until I speak to her. She doesn’t deserve my worry. Not after all the shit she has pulled. But no matter what, she’s still my mother.

Decision made, I grab my cell and pull up her number. It’s been months since we spoke and even longer since I’ve seen her. Her piece-of-shit boyfriend saw an opportunity to make some money and whisked her off to Vegas to pimp her out even more than he was here. She wouldn’t listen when I begged her not to leave or when I told her he was a bad man. She thinks she’s in love. Thinks that by doing as Nixon asks, he will love her more. But he’s only using her.

My mom was a beautiful woman. With her olive skin, chocolate eyes, and dark hair, she drew attention wherever we went. Even when I last saw her, she was still attractive. Despite her brittle hair and skin that was starting to look sallow, you could still see her beauty, although it was fading fast due to all of her substance abuse. I hate to imagine what she looks like now.

Taking a breath, I stare down at the word “mom” on my screen and hit call before I can stop myself. It rings one, two, three, four times before it cuts off. Did she ignore me? Undeterred, I try again. This time, the call is answered, my mother’s slurred voice hitting my ears. “What do you want?”

A humorless laugh bubbles out of me. She hasn’t seen or heard from her own daughter for months and that’s the first thing out of her mouth. I knew I shouldn’t have bothered checking in. “Nice to hear from you too, mom,” I say drily, masking my pain. Her hurtful words shouldn’t still affect me, but they do. I want the mother I had before my dad died. “I was just checking in, but I see now that it was a mistake.” The bitterness in my voice is clear.

“Oh, did I hurt poor Remi’s feelings?” she mocks.

“No, you didn’t. I’m past being hurt by you,mom.Good chat. Bye.” I end the call before she can say anything else, pop my cell on silent and drop it back into my purse.

Fury courses through me, and I feel wetness on my cheeks. I swipe my tears angrily. I shouldn’t have bothered calling. I knew what would happen, but I still haven’t learned my lesson from our last interaction. Naively, I thought—or maybe hoped is a better word—that maybe, one day, she’d call me and be the mother she was when my dad was alive. The smiley, happy mom that would help me paint pictures and bake cakes for my dad. Today is not that day. I get that she’s hurt and still grieving my father, but it’s no excuse for her behavior. I think, in life, people use the bad things that happen to them as a reason to act like shitty people. A reason to give up. It’s bullshit. Bad things happen, and it can either make us or break us. We all have the strength to be strong and learn, but some people choose to take the easy way out. That’s what my mother did.

I choose to fight.

Grabbing tubes of paint, I push my thoughts aside and set out a blob of each color on the pallet resting on the desk. I have no idea what I’m going to create, but I need to do something. Art is one of the only things that calms my mind. It sucks me in and leaves no room for anything else in my brain. In other words, it’s perfect after the shitty day I’ve had. Tuning everything else out, I pick up the brush, run it through the red paint, and get to work.

* * *

“Angel?” His voice startles me out of my head and causes me to screw up one of the lines on my painting. Glancing over my shoulder, my breath hitches at the sight of Asher. His brows are furrowed in concern, his eyes intense as he watches me. A shiver runs through me. He is beautiful. Mine. “Angel?” he repeats, his eyes shifting to my painting before coming back to me.

“Mmm?”

“What’s wrong? I’ve been waiting at our spot for the last twenty minutes. Been calling and messaging you nonstop. When you didn’t show or answer, I got worried.”

“What’s the time?” I blurt, scrambling to grab my cell.

“Just before five,” he says as I check the screen to see that he’s right. Shit. I must have been so lost in what I was doing that I lost all track of time. Steps sound on the tiles as he closes the space between us. My eyes focus on my phone, at all the missed calls and messages, as I try to hide from him. I don’t want him to see the hurt and upset on my face. But I should know that I can’t hide from him.

Asher grips my chin between his fingers and lifts until my eyes meet his. “What’s wrong?” he asks more firmly.

I sigh, knowing he won’t stop until he has answers. “I called my mom. It didn’t go well.”

A range of emotions flitter across his face, the dominant one anger. I think I actually fear what he would do and say to my mother if they ever met. “Is that what your painting is about?” He jerks his head to the easel. I look at it. The angry red lines. The helpless girl begging for her mother’s attention. Tears prick my eyes as I bite my lip. I nod.

He cups my face. The pads of his thumbs run soothing circles on my cheeks, instantly making me feel better. “You don’t need her. She doesn’t deserve you, angel.” His voice is soft, soothing, making me melt into him.

Pulling my chin out of his grip, my head falls forward, landing on his chest. His arms wrap around me, holding me tight as if he is scared I will break. I’m vaguely aware that we shouldn’t be doing this, that we’re still in school, but right now, I don’t care. I need comfort in a way that only Asher can give me. I soak up his warmth, the feel and smell of him. In this moment, I know that no matter what happens in my life, I will always have Asher. He is everything to me. My support system. My world. Yes, he can be overbearing, but I like how he is possessive and protective of me. It makes me feel wanted, cherished…loved. He is everything. With those thoughts, I know with everything in me that he is worth risking everything for. I don’t want to lose my place in this school, but if I did, he would be worth it.

He pulls back to look at me and presses a kiss to my forehead. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you home where I can look after you. Like you deserve.”

ChapterTwenty-Three

ASHER

After drawing a bath with essential oils and getting my angel situated in it, I change into some sweats and leave her to relax while I get to work on making us some dinner. The look on her face when I found her in the art studio flashes in my mind, making my chest tighten. She looked so vulnerable. So defeated. I wanted to take her in my arms and make every worry, every hurt she has ever had, disappear.

I’ve never met her mom, but I hate her for what she has done to Remi. For abandoning her when she needed her most. For allowing predators around her, and not protecting her when she should have. The thought alone makes me feel a rage I’ve never felt before. It makes me want to go and find her sorry-ass excuse for a mom and rid her from this life so she can’t hurt my girl anymore. The more I think about it, the more I think it’s a good idea. The woman is no good and only seems to upset my angel, anyway. Would the world, or even Remi, miss another low-life junkie?

Probably not.

As the plan forms in my mind, I’m more and more certain that it’s the right thing to do. I’m not going to Vegas, though. I won’t leave Remi. Doesn’t mean that if her mom comes back to Miami, I won’t put my plans in motion. A sinister smile curves my lips. It’s the only way. I can’t have that woman upsetting my girl. No way. Remi already told me that her mother is an addict. It would be a plausible explanation if she overdosed. I wouldn’t even really need to get my hands dirty.

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