Page 26 of Savage Hate
“Lennon Marie Rose,” my mom scoffs, clutching her purse as she wanders into Savage Ink.
Seeing my mom, with her blonde hair, blue eyes, tailored Diane von Furstenberg wrap dress, and a Tiffany necklace, standing in the middle of Savage Ink… is quite hilarious. She stands out like a sore thumb, especially next to Silas’s very-tattooed next client. Her hand moves up to her throat as she walks over to me.
“What in tarnation are you doing in here?”
I look around. All three guys are watching me, watchingher.
“I work here, mom.”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Like hell you do.” She looks at Silas. “I hope you’re packing your things, Mr. Huxley. Your time in my building is coming to an end.”
“What?” I screech, crossing my arms. I spin around to face Silas, Damon, and Jude. Their clients look uncomfortable, so I sigh and turn back to my mom. “Let’s go outside.”
I don’t give her a chance to decline as I loop my arm through hers and drag her out the door and down the sidewalk.
“Please tell me you’re joking,” she admonishes as we go three doors down and out of earshot of anyone at Savage. “Your father rented this place to thoseheathens. I have been trying to get them evicted fortwo years,” she seethes. “My word. If I had known—”
“What? Why?”
“This is a respectable community. And those devil worshippers have people come in from all over the country. These people areriff raff, Lennon.”
“They’re nice guys,” I say quickly, crossing my arms. “And I needed a job. Because my fiancé cheated on me, and took all of my money. In case you forgot,” I add.
She narrows her eyes and puts her hands on her hips. “You don’t need to work, honey. How much money do you need?”
I look away and rub the back of my neck. Nothing has changed. Smooth over the mess with things, with money, with material objects. There is no maternal love inside my mother. She doesn’t care that my life is a mess. Just like when I was a child. She’d starve me, and then she’d make up for it with a week’s worth of Happy Meals. All I wanted was stability, and love. All she ever gave me were excuses.
“I don’t need your money,” I respond, making sure to articulate each word. “You missed our lunch today.”
She scoffs. “I told Fran to email you. I had something come up.”
I bite my tongue. I hadn’t thought to check my email, seeing as I’ve never thought of our rare time together as business transactions. But I guess that only makes one of us.
“You weren’t picking up your phone, so I came here to see if you were inside the apartment, and you weren’t. But when I walked by and saw you inside thatplace—”
“It’s a tattoo studio,” I clarify. “They’re really talented artists, mom.”
She makes a face. “Talented artists? Van Gogh was a talented artist. These guys are—”
“Stop, Mom,” I interrupt, my lower lip wobbling. “Ilikeworking here. My whole life was upended less than two weeks ago, and this place gives me some semblance of stability.” I take a deep breath. “I didn’t exactly have the warmest of homecomings, either,” I say snidely. “What were my options? The house is being renovated, and while I’m grateful for the apartment, it feels like a vacation rental more than anything—”
“You were always so spoiled, do you know that?” my mom says with disdain, and her words snap through me painfully, one at a time.
“Spoiled?” I yell, tears stinging my eyes. “I had to eat out of the garbage cans! Thank God I had friends who took care of me when they could. You and dad would leave for these luxurious trips, and I’d have to fend for myself! It’s like you had a kid and decided one day that you didn’t want to be parents anymore.”
Her lips thin as she looks around. We’ve amassed a small gathering of people who are watching us fight with feigned concern.
“You were old enough to know how to cook by the time we left you alone,” she replies, not even looking at me as she picks at one of her acrylic nails.
As if that’s an excuse.
I let out a muffled sob, swiping at my eyes to catch the tears before they trail down my cheeks. “I’m done. This—you—coming back here was a mistake.”
One thing. I just want one thing from her.
Love.
I turn around, the pain and disappointment swirling in my stomach. It hurts. It always hurts so damn much to see how much she doesn’t care about me.
