Page 16 of Wicked Deceit
I roll my lips together and carefully set my head back. The truth is what she wants, so I guess that’s all I have now.
“I love them,” I whisper, staring down at the dark blue cast encasing my right arm. Tiny stick figure doodles and each boy’s signatures line the rough exterior, bringing my mind back to earlier at the hospital.
They stayed with me every second they could. Sitting with me and entertaining me everyday I was there. Unless they had a class or went to sleep, they were by my side. And when they had to leave, a pained look crossed their faces. They looked two seconds away from kidnapping me or hiding in the bathroom. Half of me believes they were hiding out in the parking lot, waiting for visiting hours to begin so they could be there the second it started.
“You love them?” she asks without skepticism. I swallow hard, connecting our gazes. Nodding, I confirm her answer.
Her lips tremble, immediately stopping it with one finger resting against her top lip. “Wow, you love them. I just—you’ve come so far, Pumpkin. So, so far. It’s incredible to think we could barely hug you before this, and now? Now you’re—” Her nose scrunches, and her eyes widen. “Are you safe, at least?”Shit!God, not this conversation.
“Mom!” I groan, covering my eyes with my good hand, refusing to look at her. Heat blooms on my cheeks, and I swear I’m going to be a tomato by the time we make it to lunch.
“It’s a perfectly appropriate question, Kace. There are four teenage boys following you around like you’re a goddess. You’re four times more likely to—well, get pregnant or—God forbid—get an STD. Are you safe? Are you the only one? Explain this to me before we get to lunch, or I will ask them.” Heat takes over my face again when I think about our future lunch. Great. More time for her to interrogate them, and she will, too.
“Fine,” I grumble when the car moves forward again. “We are all in a committed relationship together. They’re it for me, and I am it for them. We are safe. I’m on birth control. I got it a few months ago.” My mom’s eyes narrow in on me, but my answer sates her curiosity for now.
“Birth control? That’s very reasonable of you. Did you do it alone?” She watches my reaction again, and I throw my sister under the bus with a pained glance. Sorry, Cals. It was you or me, and I chose you.
“Ah, Callie, huh?” She snorts, shaking her head. “Well, I’m proud of you,” she whispers, looking at me with glossy eyes. “Most teenagers think they’re invincible. But you, my love, made a wise decision.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I say through a breath, hoping this terrible conversation is over.
We finally make it to the pharmacy window, getting my new pain medications and antibiotics for the next month. With instructions on how to take them in hand, we finally head toward what is sure to be a tasty lunch, sprinkled with massive amounts of interrogation and embarrassment. I hope those idiots I call my boyfriends are prepared.
“Please don’t interrogate them,” I plead, jutting my bottom lip.
I curl my fingers together in prayer—well, attempt to with my cast. And she scoffs—friggin’ scoffs—at me. Welcome to the biggest disaster of the century, where my boys are the tiny town about to get hammered by the eye of the friggin’ hurricane—aka my mother. She’s all calm and proper, but soon, she’ll unleash her hellish ways on the boys, scaring them away with her words. Does anyone have any duct tape? Please? Rope? A kidnap kit? Please take her away from here.
Turning the car’s steering wheel, she settles us into a parking spot next to Chase’s orange sports car. Switching the car off, she practically cackles like the evil witch, and my stomach knots more than it already was.
“Interrogate? No, no. I won’t do that. We are going to have a nice, civil conversation.” She offers me a not-so reassuring smile. My stomach flips, and I know this will be the most awful lunch hour of my life.
Withagrinamile wide, my mother marches towards the front door of the café, throwing it open. A cacophony of voices echoes through the brightly lit, well-decorated restaurant. Several patrons sit at various booths and tables, talking and laughing. Every time I walk through these doors, my jaw falls to the floor—bright colors pep up the place. No one could have a bad time here, especially with the beautiful paintings lining the walls. All the mythological creatures staring down at us eases some of my pain. But then I remember why we’re here and why my mother insisted on taking them to lunch.
Despite being locked in a hospital room with them for the last three days, my mother hasn’t broken theget to know youbarrier. I see it gleaming in her eye as we make our way to a large booth in the back. Her chin raises with confidence as if she’s on an important job, meeting with a client. She rests her purse in the crook of her elbow, strolling towards the boys with deadly intent. Honestly, she looks as fresh as a daisy. No trace of the hospital lingers. But for me? I look like I got my ass kicked, and a car ran over me to finish the job. Technically, I was, I guess. But I still hate the fact it’s written on my face.
The further I get into the café, the more eyes I feel on me. They try to use discretion when looking me up and down but fail miserably when their eyes widen at my appearance. Yeah. Yeah. I’ve got bruises on my face and a cast on my arm, making me look like hammered shit. I understand the stares, but I wish they’d stop before my flesh goes up in flames. The patrons shrink back in horror, while others whisper to their friends, pointing in my direction like I’m a freak-circus show on display for their entertainment. I huff a breath, keeping my eyes glued to the boys in the big booth at the back. Screw the mean girls giggling behind their hands at my wounds.
The boys murmur as we approach, snapping their heads up and away from each other. Their eyes dart around, scooting in their seats, breaking up their conversation. Guilt twists their faces, and I can tell they are plotting something behind my back. What it is, I don’t know. But I have a feeling I’ll find out later. Or I’ll drag it out of them.
The boys stare between my mom and me, swallowing hard when she motions for me to sit on the empty booth seat across from the four of them squished together. Taking her time, she settles next to me, smiling at each of the boys like a predator ready to sink her teeth into them.
‘I’m sorry,’ I mouth across the table.
Chase smirks, shrugging off my attempt with indifference. Seger and Zepp glance at one another but shrug, too. And Carter. That smug, fucking bastard sits there with no worries at all. Seriously. He—just—doesn’t react at all. He’s neutral with his hands folded in his lap and ease in his shoulders. There’s no tick to his tense jaw. Just... What the fuck? I’m in an alternate universe. That’s all there is to it. Be afraid, assholes. Be very afraid!
Isn’t this a big deal to them, meeting my mom at a restaurant? My mom! They should shake in their boots. But no, they’re not. They radiate confidence and cockiness, not knowing what the hell they’ve gotten themselves into. Staring at her, they have stars in their eyes and awe on their faces. They look at her as if she’s the fucking queen. Not someone who’s about to tear them apart with scathing questions.
You’re the blood in the water, boys. And my mom? She’s the circling shark, inhaling the scent, waiting to attack at the right time. Welcome to the right time, you bumbling idiots.
Our server comes by, and thankfully it’s not Espie this time. In fact, I haven’t seen her around much lately. Only in the halls here and there, but not here. Since she served us that one time, I don’t think she works here anymore. As far as I’m aware, her only job now is working for the stupid cult who put me into this mess. I’d rather her be here, as our server, eyeing Seger like she wants to eat him again, than have her roaming the halls with psychopaths. Hell, who knows? Maybe she’s a psycho, too. But she must be if she’s hanging with them and carrying out their cruel orders.
The new server takes our drink and food orders. Thankfully, she doesn’t ogle Seger or any of the boys as she does, and then she walks away. She quickly comes back, hands us our glasses, and asks if we’re okay. I scowl, taking out my phone, which is complicated considering my right hand is my dominant hand. Now I’ll have to figure out how to type, write, bathe, and use the bathroom with my left hand—just another thing to add to my shitlist against the Apocalypse.
I maneuver my phone under the table with as much discretion as possible, away from my mom’s prying eyes.
My Cuties:
Me: She is going to interrogate the hell out of you! I’m sorry.
