Page 278 of Satan's Spawn
BEX
Gathering some things from my drawer:
Medicine, toothbrush, a couple pairs of clothes, I stuff them haphazardly inside my bag, needing to get to Crayton’s house like yesterday.
He was released twenty-four hours after his interrogation, which happened to be after midnight last night, so I fully intend to spend the night in his arms as we go over next steps.
“Where do you think you’re going?” My mother clips from my bedroom door.
“You know where I’m going.” Clutching my jean jacket off the bed, I throw it over my shoulder and march toward her with determination in my strides.
“I will not allow you to see that boy; he’s a criminal!” she shouts, blocking the door with her tall frame.
We dance back and forth a few times before I let out an angry breath. “Get out of my way.”
“Excuse me?” My mother clutches her chest. “You’re not going to speak to me that way.”
“Andyou’renot going to stop me from seeing Crayton.”
“Oh, I will.” She pops a hand on her hip. “In fact, I’ll be taking you out of that treacherous school completely.”
The fuck she will…my mother was the one who forced me into going to Riverside, now she’s going to try and force me out?
Not happening—not while Crayton is still in the picture.
I push past her. “I’m leaving.”
I’m halfway down the hall when my mother speaks again.
“You’re not thinking clearly, Rebecca.” She says through a frantic breath. “And acting on impulse. Are you taking your medication?”
My cheeks heat as I about-face and stomp back to her with balled up fists.
“You’re one to talk about impulsive choices!” I shriek. “I’ve been trying to get ahead of yours ever since Dad died!”
Genuine sadness washes over Mom’s face, and I know it was a low blow. But it’s also the truth.
She can’t rely on me to take my dad’s place as her voice of reason for years…then expect me to stay silent when she accusesmeof being the impulsive one.
I don’t have the time to nurture her feelings when the man I love may be going to prison. For a very long time.
I’m genuinely scared and my mother hasn’t shown an ounce of compassion.
“You don’t mean what you’re saying, you’re angry right now.”
“Maybe I am!” I cry out, then try to rein it in with steady breathing. “But not just right now. I’ve been angry for a while, and you’ve been too busy trying to get over Dad’s death to even realize I’m dying inside too!”
Mom blinks slowly, allowing tears to pool in her eyes.
I try my best not to cry, too, as I give her my back.
“Don’t wait up for me,” I say faintly, swallowing down the burn in my throat.
“Baby…” my mother calls out, with so much sadness coating her voice it has my eyes squeezing shut.
“Not now,” I croak.
Maybe not ever.
