Page 87 of Every Broken Piece
She opens her mouth, and I hold up a finger.
“Yes, or no. That’s all I want to hear from you.”
“They know who she is.” Her voice wavers. “They won’t stop until they get their money.”
“Yes. Or. No.”
She chews her lip. “It’s a measly twenty grand. That big ass car out there is worth five times that.”
I don’t know why I’m shocked that she’s fighting back. She’s desperate and desperate people do stupid things.
“No twenty grand. No more money, ever. I hope they do come after you because that’s what you deserve for what you’ve done to Tess.” I step back and put my arm around Tess’s waist more to ground me than to comfort her. “We’re done here, Sandra. Get the fuck out of Tess’s apartment and don’t ever come back.”
She looks at Tess. “They won’t go away.”
“I don’t have the money,” Tess whispers.
Sandra turns back to me, but I give her the look that Jack calls my dead look. Like she’s not even here, because in my mind, I know the threat. And now I can eliminate it.
Chapter forty-two
Tess
Gabe locks the door behind my mother but remains facing the door.
He makes a fist, and I flinch, anticipating him putting it through the door.
“Fuck.” Instead, he lightly pounds it. One, two, three times, before spinning and pacing circles around the small dining area.
My legs are shaking so badly that it takes everything I have to make my way to the couch and fall into it. I wrap my favorite blanket around me, but no amount of blankets can keep me safe. Every emotion is fighting for control inside me. Panic, horror, terror, helplessness, humiliation. They’re all there.
Gabe’s like a caged tiger, pacing, pacing, pacing. Hands locked behind his neck as he takes deep breaths. I guess there’s no need to tell him everything now. Sandra did a bang-up job of showing him. Normally she behaves herself around strangers. That’s why it was so easy to con the cops, the court appointed child psychologists, and the foster system.
“She tried to sell you to me.” His chest heaves as he drags in a ragged breath. He’s standing in the middle of the dining area, a trembling finger pointing at the front door. “Sell you. To me.”
“It’s not the first time.” I squeeze my eyes shut.Shut up, Tess. You don’t need to word vomit more of your messed up childhood.
My own mother first tried to sell me to a john when I was thirteen. Luckily, she found the one john in the whole world with some scruples. After that, I learned to stay away from her when she was desperate for her next fix, which was most of the time.
But to admit it to Gabe? Yeah, let’s just pile more mortification onto the heap I already feel.
His hand lowers. “Tess—"
“No.” I shake my head. The blanket drops from my shoulders. I scoot to the edge of the couch and tightly wrap my arms around my middle because If I don’t physically hold myself together, I’ll fly apart. I keep my eyes glued on the metal leg of my vintage 1970’s coffee table. “I need to talk. And I need you to listen without interrupting.”
He moves to sit in the round chair, resting his forearms on his legs but that doesn’t stop his heels from bouncing in nervous energy. “I’m listening.”
I close my eyes because it’s easier to say this when I don’t have to look at him. “I don’t ever remember her not being a drug addict. I thought it was normal that parents passed out for days at a time or disappeared and left their seven and two-year-old alone.” I tighten my arms around my middle. My wrist is starting to ache. My head has been pounding since my mother swept through in all her glory. I ignore it all because it’s suddenly imperative that I tell my story.
“My older sister, Scarlett, mostly took care of me until the drugs became too much of a lure. She was maybe fifteen and I was ten when she started hanging around the wrong crowd.” Itake a shaky breath. “Scarlett’s in prison now. I haven’t spoken to her in years. But Sandra, she keeps turning up like a bad penny.”
I’m getting ahead of myself.
“Anyway, I was in and out of foster care a lot. Concerned neighbors would call CPS. They’d come to take me away, then she’d clean herself up and act all remorseful, and they’d bring me back and the cycle would start all over again.”
“Jesus, Tess.”
I refuse to look at him. Now that the words are coming, I can’t stop them, but if I look at him the words will dry up and I need to purge them from me. “I left when I was sixteen. Lied about my age. Found a job waiting tables at a truck stop. Applied for scholarships and grants. Earned my associate degree in business and started working for a small, family-owned company. They were an older couple, incredibly nice.”
