Page 12 of Wilder Love
“I don’t need my own daughter telling me what I can and cannot do.” I detected the hint of a Southern accent in her mother’s voice.
“You got a kid, Rae? You never said nothing about no kid. How old are you?”
“Sixteen. Now hit the road.” Remy was tough, but her voice quavered, giving her away. I saw her vulnerability in the way she covered her chest with her crossed arms. And I thought about her Russell story. She wouldn’t have made that up. It made me nauseous to think that some asshole had messed with her.
“Like he wants a scrawny kid, Remy. Get over yourself. He wants me. Don’t ya, baby? You know I can make you feel good.”
“I’m out of here. You never said nothing about a kid.” He turned tail and left, pushing Remy’s mom away when she tried to grab hold of him.
“Remy… you’re just an old spoilsport.” Her mom pouted, her voice whiny like a little kid’s. “Why are you ruining my fun?”
“Mom, just come inside. Get some sleep.” She grabbed her mom’s arm and tried to drag her into their apartment, but her mom pushed her away, darting out of her reach and stumbling back against the railing.
I watched the man leaving, keeping my eyes on him until he got into his car and pulled out of the lot. And that should have been the end of it. He was gone, and she didn’t have to worry about him anymore. I turned to go.
From across the street, I heard the sound of a scuffle, her mother’s voice loud and shrill.
“Shh, Mom. You’ll wake up the whole neighborhood.”
“I don’t fucking care,” she shouted. “All I wanted was a night of fun. Is that too much to ask? And now you went and ruined it… you had no right…”
“Mom, get inside. Please,” Remy pleaded.
Clearly, she needed help. I crossed the street and climbed the stairs two at a time, assessing the situation as I neared their front door.
“You okay, Remy?” My gaze moved from her face to the nail marks on her arm.
“We’re fine.” She tried to grab her mother’s arm and get her inside again, but her mom shook her off and turned around to look at me, her eyes raking over me from head to toe. “Well, my, my, my… what do we have here?” she asked, closing the distance between us. She ran her hand down my chest like I was her toy boy. “And who are you?”
Her hand ventured lower, close to my crotch and I moved it away, keeping a strong grip on her wrist and capturing the other one as she reached out to touch me. She smelled like cigarettes, gin, and cheap perfume.
“A neighbor. Just checking up to make sure Remy is okay.”
“How… sweet of you. Are you going to tie me down?” She winked. “I bet you like it rough, don’t ya, baby?”
Fuck me. I released her hands and took a few steps back, my eyes on Remy. She wouldn’t look at me, wouldn’t meet my eyes. Embarrassed by her mother’s words. Her cheeks were flushed but her shoulders were squared and back straight, chin held high. She was too proud to let me see how much this affected her. Remy’s mom lit another cigarette and took a deep drag. She blew the smoke into my face and laughed. Her red lipstick was smeared, the thick kohl eyeliner smudged, and one of her false eyelashes had come unglued. She looked like a broken doll.
“How about you get inside and sleep this off?” I said.
“How about you tuck me in, sugar?” She pushed out her tits, running her hands over her body as if it was an invitation for me to do the same. No doubt about it. Remy was her daughter. She had the same high cheekbones and skin tone and I could see that, at one time, her mother had been beautiful. But she had been around the block more than a few times and her beauty had been ravaged by hard living.
“This is how it’s going to work. I’m going to help you into the apartment and make sure you get into bed. Your daughter doesn’t need this kind of shit in her life. So, you’re going to do as you’re told. Get inside.” My voice was firm, brooking no room for argument.
She rolled her eyes and staggered to the door that Remy held wide open for her. I followed, uninvited. Remy tried to shut the door, blocking me out, but I shouldered my way inside. No way was I leaving her to deal with this on her own.
“I’ve got this, Shane,” Remy said through gritted teeth.
I ignored her. Her mother kicked off her shoes as she crossed the living room floor and took another drag of her cigarette, the smoke hanging over her head in the stuffy room. Their apartment was depressing as fuck, the only furniture a threadbare sofa and a battered coffee table littered with pizza boxes, PBR cans, and overflowing ashtrays.
“Mom, you need to put out the cigarette,” Remy said as her mom flicked ash on the floor. She wrestled the cigarette out of her mom’s hand and put it out in an ashtray filled with lipstick-stained butts.
Her mom spun around and slapped Remy’s face, the sound ringing out in the quiet apartment. “I’m the mother, you little brat.”
I grabbed her arms and held them behind her back. “Don’t you ever lay a hand on her again,” I gritted out.
Her shoulders sagged, defenses down, and she started crying. Like everything she did, her sobs were loud and melodramatic. She deserved an Oscar for this performance. I released my hold and she lurched forward, cradling Remy’s face in her hands. The woman had the art of manipulation down to a science. “I’m sorry, baby.” She sniffled. “You know I didn’t mean it. I love you.”
“I love you too, Mom.” Remy pulled her mom into a hug and stroked her hair, trying to calm her down.
