Page 39 of Crybaby

I should leave her because her excuse as to why she’s tied to her bed would be quite comical. But after seeing that her husband is caught up with another woman, I feel guilty for judging her. Her husband is clearly an adulterous asshole too.

Jogging to her bedroom, I see her eyes widen when she sees me. She muffles around the tie in her mouth, giving me visual clues to untie her, which I do. Before she has a chance to speak, I take the gag out of her mouth and slam my lips over hers.

“Thanks. I had a nice time. By the way, your husband is outside with some woman. It doesn’t look good…for him.” I wince. “Or you.”

Her eyes narrow as she’s clearly wounded by my detachment and also my revelation, but it is what it is—and what this was, was me using her as much as she was using me.

I don’t wait for a reply and quickly make my way through the house.

Thankfully, Theodore is still outside. I wonder if his other cheek has been slapped yet.

Grabbing an apple from the fruit bowl, I take a big bite and keep it in my mouth as my hands are full carrying my stolen goods. That won’t do, so I hunt through the cupboards and find a shopping bag to dump everything into.

Just as I’m about to open the door, I hear voices approaching the kitchen, and they don’t sound too happy.

Quickly retracing my steps, I head back upstairs and decide to steer clear of Justine’s bedroom and stick to the original plan of jumping out the window. Just as I open it, my cell vibrates in my pocket. I would usually ignore it—considering this is the first time I’m seconds away from being caught—but I’m worried it’s Darcie on the other end, calling to see where I am.

But when I see the caller is June, my heart instantly drops, and all thoughts of being caught red-handed are forgotten.

“Is everything all right?” I ask, holding my breath.

She doesn’t reply, and I don’t think her pause is for dramatic purposes. “I’m so sorry.”

Now I’m the one with a mouth full of nothing.

“I’ve been a horrible mother.”

Yes, she has been. She’s been fucking horrible. But I don’t hold any grudges. I understand she’s broken and damaged. I accept that. I’m okay with that because I’m doing all of this to repair whatever pieces of her that I can.

Climbing out of the window, I sit on the ledge and peer into the sky for a moment, listening to my mom confess her sins and wondering why now.

“I will be better. I promise. No more. I’ll get help. Please forgive me.”

Most would feel a sense of relief hearing those words. But they’re ones I’ve heard before. I know her pattern because I’ll be throwing her ass into the shower tomorrow to sober her up again.

But I entertain her nonetheless.

“It’s okay.”

“No, it’s not,” she stubbornly argues. “Your father—”

“Let’s not ruin a nice conversation by mentioning him,” I interrupt, realizing now is the time to bounce.

Swinging my legs, I don’t brace for jack shit, and instead, I just jump, knowing full well what I’m in for. The freedom of falling is indiscernible. For a moment, I feel like I can fly.

I land on my feet, but my pants are snared in the barberry bushes.

“You have every right to hate him.”

Kicking my way out of the garden, I ignore the prickles sticking out of every part of me and keep to the shadows as I press the phone to my ear.

“I don’t hate him,” I state firmly. “For me to hate him would mean I care, and I don’t. Now isn’t the time to have a deep and meaningful—”

“You’re exactly like him. So stubborn.”

“Mom, enough,” I say, not interested in talking about this asshole. “I’m getting you out of here. Where you can start a new life, away from this…shit.”

The contents in the plastic bag I hold is just another stepping stone in confirming this.

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