Page 60 of Anger

“How’s work going?”

Like that one.

“Great,” I chirp. “I’d tell you all about it, but I’m going to be late for class—“

“You’re right. Sorry for holding you up. It’s just that I don’t get to talk to you that much anymore. You’re always so busy.”

Or just ignoring my phone.

But I’m not about to admit that.

The problem with Kane is the questions … and asking me to talk to Mom … but mostly the questions. Especially since all the truthful answers I can give him would only worry him enough to drive four hours down here to pluck me from my life and drag me back to the one I’m attempting to escape.

I’ve been in this apartment for two full years.

Two.

For most people, that’s not much of an accomplishment.

But for me, it’s everything.

I own actual furniture. I keep my clean clothes in a closet instead of black trash bags. There aren’t days when I’m living out of a car, and Kane has to stand guard in some wooded patch someplace while I pee behind the bushes.

I get that all the people going to my school and frequenting the club I work in couldn’t care less about the luxury of a clean toilet. But that’s because they’ve never had to live without one.

“I love you, kid. How about I call you again next week and try to catch you at a better time?”

“Sounds good,” I answer just as my phone vibrates from a text. “Love you too.”

Hesitating, I bite the inside of my cheek before adding, “And tell Mom I love her.”

“Maybe you can tell her next week.”

Not likely.

“Maybe.”

Kane ends the call, and I close my eyes trying to escape the memories of my childhood. Nothinghorribleever really happened to us except for the lack of money or a secure home.

No.

My scars cut deeper than that.

They’re from the nights I listened to my mother crying for hours. The way she would always panic and start screaming if she lost sight of Kane or me at a playground or park for even just a second.

The months we would stay trapped inside a car or dirty hotel room before she’d let us go near a park again after something like that happened.

Where most kids were read bedtime stories or got to believe in magical things like the Easter Bunny or Santa, the stories Kane and I heard were always warnings about the evil that exists in the world. Stories about all the horrible things people would do to us if they ever got the chance to steal us away.

Maybe something did happen to Mom before we were born, and maybe Kane is right. But that doesn’t explain why she was always running from something like it would show up again to do the same thing to us.

When my phone vibrates again, I remember the text I still haven’t checked.

I assume I’ll be driving you home tonight after your shift so we can finish our conversation.

Rolling my eyes, I toss the phone on the side table then force my body out from beneath my covers. Granger can go fuck himself with his assumption, but the only way he’s wrong is if I can convince Brinley to stay at Myth for once to drive me home.

After showering and getting dressed, I check the time before calling an Uber to take me to school to pester Brinley.

---