Page 20 of The Devils They Are

Well, she tries to fight me on that too, but I'm incredibly quick with my food.

I watch as Mary leaves, and when the door closes, I turn back to the enigma on my screen.

Who are you, Lark Kory?

Chapter eight

Bexley

"Themalesbargeandjostle one another to reach her, and several mates succeed, one after the other. Male right whales have gigantic testes, the largest in the world. They weigh a ton and produce gallons of sperm."

Why the hell am I listening to a documentary on sperm whales by Sir. David Attenborough?!

I stupidly wait until the end, checking to see if there's any indication of whose phone number this is. There's nothing, just the loudbeep!signaling for me to leave a message.

"What the fuck?!" I curse, ending the call a few seconds too late.

Well, I guess I left a message.

It has to be Tai. He's the only person who could have gotten ahold of my cell and dialed a random number since he stole my bag. Speaking of which…

I survey the ripped remains of my books in front of me. Despite my earlier threat, I did end up staying at school. The rest of the day was tricky without the required material, and one teacher even threatened to write me up for not being able to use my textbook. It took all my effort to bite my tongue and just say sorry. Talk about victim blaming.

I'm finally able to get a closer look at the damage and as I suspected, he made sure to damage every single one beyond repair. At least I'm only carrying around what I need for each day. However, that’s three I’ll need to replace immediately if I don’t want to fall behind.

Even though I hated taking his advice, I did try the Willowbrook library. But even after being messed around and scolded by the librarian because I didn't have a library card, it turned out to be useless anyway.Apparently, someone had just checked out all the books I needed during second period. I only need one guess as to who.

"Bex?"

A soft voice travels in from the doorway, and I glance up from the bed, offering Mom a smile.

"Hey, you," I say, swinging my legs over the side and climbing off the mattress. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm fine, baby," she answers, rubbing her temple. "How long was I asleep?"

The honest answer would be that I don’t know. She was passed out again when I got home. Judging by her glassy, red eyes and softly spoken slurred voice, it was a bad day for her. But she's coming out of the intoxication fog, and I try to spare her from the usual guilt she harbors in these moments.

"Not long," I answer with a warm smile. "About forty minutes."

"Oh, good," she murmurs. "Want me to make us some dinner?"

She asks this almost every day, as if it's her way of reminding me that she's a mom that cares about her daughter. Even though she struggles to do much, she always asks to do things for me, despite her demons. I love that about her. As usual, I decline with my usual excuse about not being hungry, suggesting she go for a shower to freshen up instead.

I don't know the last time she actually ventured to the fridge, but we haven't had any food for days except raw pasta and cans of beans. Luckily, she gets paid this week, so I'll do the grocery shop.

On paydays, I wait for the funds to hit and immediately transfer a small amount from her account to my own to buy us food with whatever the food stamps don't cover and put away some extra for gas and utilities. It's always the same amount, and for whatever reason, she never questions it. Part of me wonders if she just checks the balance and assumes that's her normal SSI payment and rolls with it. But I think deep down, she knows what I'm doing, but she's too ashamed to bring it up. Which in turn, makes her just buy more alcohol to numb her feelings until the funds are gone until the next pay cycle. Rinse and repeat.

I'm just thankful that Dad paid out the mortgage during the divorce proceedings so that we had a roof over our heads. It was the least he could do since he abandoned us. I often wonder if he thinks about us—about me. If he ever thought about coming back… or if he even knows the damage he did walking out.

Does he know what we live like now?

Probably not. The guilt would eat at him, so I bet he avoids ever checking to spare himself the self-condemnation.

It's just a shame that we got nothing else from him. Sure, he paid a scrap of child support monthly once he landed another job, but the second I turned eighteen, they stopped.

We had to fight tooth and nail to get Mom on disability payments after he left. For months, we struggled hard, and more than a few times, I actually thought we were going to die. I'll never forget the summer where I would have needed a belt to hold Sierra's stupid skimpy shorts up.

Sitting back on the bed, I grab my cell and start to shoot off a quick message to Steele. I really need to cash in on that dicking those douchebags ruined. But before I can hit send, a text notification appears.

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