Page 40 of Bite Me

I needed to get away from him as soon as possible because, in my current state, he could crook a finger, and I’d go with him anywhere, even to his bed.

“I’m that way.” I jabbed a finger toward the subway station.

He scanned my face, and I tried not to squirm. I half expected him to ask me something more, but he didn’t.

With a sigh, he closed his eyes. When he opened them again, he looked resigned. “Have a lovely weekend, Eddie, and I’ll see you on Monday.”

“Monday, yes,” I mumbled. “Goodnight.”

I spun around and ran.

I should have told him in no uncertain terms that nothing would ever happen between us, that he was never to allude to our sexual history ever again, and that we would, from now on, remain strictly professional.

Instead, I spent the subway ride home daydreaming about how he had looked at me and what we could have done if I’d dared.

* * *

The familiar sense of gloom fell on me as I walked the gray corridor to the visiting area. When they had first arrested Mom, I thought I would only ever see her through the plexiglass I knew from movies, but the room looked more like my high school classroom. We weren’t allowed to hug, but we could sit at a table and talk and maybe pretend we were at a café or something—where wardens stood at every corner.

“You’re pale, Benedict.”

“I’m fine. Work’s hectic, but I enjoy it.”

“Good.”

Her smile was weak. She didn’t look sick or anything like that, but I was used to her wearing makeup at all times. The Julia Perkins I knew never left her bedroom without impeccable contouring on her surgically enhanced face. Now she sat here wearing an orange jumpsuit, and the color looked garish on her. She must hate that her roots were growing out and her platinum hair looked faded and frizzy.

“Anthony Fowles is good to you?” she asked.

“Yes. He’s great. But I don’t work close to him. The few clients he still takes care of are all corporate.”

“Right. And you’re in personal brand.” She looked around distractedly.

“Yes.”

“That’ll come in handy once I’m out of here.” She laughed, but I couldn’t. “What clients do you have now?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

“C’mon. I’m bored out of my mind. Can’t you share a little bit of gossip with your mama?”

“No, Mom. I can’t.”

“I forget. You always follow the rules, don’t you?” Her smirk was bitter.

Yes, I’d told the truth on the witness stand. Not once during my biweekly visits had she missed an opportunity to rub that in my face. My testimony wasn’t important in the grand scheme of things—the prosecutors had found enough proof—but Mom had never forgiven me. I used to feel guilty about it, but not anymore.

“Would you have preferred it if I’d been locked up like you?”

Her eyes flashed. “Benedict! That was uncalled for. I’m still your mother.”

“And I’m your son. You asked me to lie in court.”

She rolled her eyes. “You really want to rehash this now?”

“Maybe we should. We’ve been avoiding it long enough.”

“I did it for you. All of it. I wanted you to have a safe future.” She said it with such conviction that I could almost believe it. Almost.

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