Page 38 of Devil's Iris
“What?” She frowns.
“Raising Ethan and me alone after Dad left. Learning about his death.” He was missing for about two weeks before the police declared him dead, even though they never found his body.
Something flickers in her eyes—there for a heartbeat, then gone so quickly I can’t decipher it. “I made do. Now, tell me, since your beau is doing all this for us, is he going to give us allowances? We need cash, Leni. Tell him it has to be cash.”
“Mom!” The warmth in my chest ices over, then explodes into white-hot anger. I spin away from her, marching to my closet where I yank out my tattered travel bag.
Did I really think for one moment that she might try to act like a normal mom? That she might ask why I didn’t come home last night? That she might wonder who this mystery man is and what he wants from me in exchange for all this generosity? That she might worry about me at all?
I scoff, tossing the bag on the bed and unzipping it with an excessive amount of force.
“Just saying,” she goes on, not noticing that she just hurt me—again. Or maybe she just doesn’t care. “A new fancy house is all fine and good, but we need to eat and buy stuff too.”
A host of harsh, angry words crowds my brain, fighting to escape my throat, and I bite down on my lip so hard I break the skin, the tang of blood spilling onto my tongue.Control, Leni. Control.I inhale deeply. “You’re not getting any cash.” My voice comes out deceptively calm. “We’ll stock your house with groceries and everything else you might need. But no money.”
“What? Why not?”
“Did you just ask mewhy not?!” My control snaps, my voice spiking into a near-screech. I close my eyes, inhaling deeply again. When I open them, she’s glaring at me. “Because I don’t trust you not to blow it on opioids. Seriously, Mom, you need to stop this. If not for yourself or for me, then for Ethan. Have you seen the crowd he’s been running with lately? I’m hoping a change of environment will help him.”And you too.
“Oh, is that what you think of me now?” She scoffs, crossing her bony, needle-scarred arms over her chest. “You and your new man sit around giggling about your drug addict mother?”
“The last thing Romero and I discuss is you.” I meet her glare with one of my own. “Be for real, Mom.”
She takes an angry step forward, lifting one shaking finger to point at me. “I’ll have you know I’m still your mother, and I won’t tolerate this disrespect from you, Charlene.”
“It’s Leni. Now get out of my room. I have packing to do, and I’m not in the mood to go at it with you right now. My patience is hanging by a thread.” I turn my back on her and walk to the closet, grabbing an armful of clothes to dump into my bag.
“Excuse me?”
Her tone grates down my spine, throwing gasoline on the fire already burning in me. “You heard me.” My voice is tight from holding back. “Do you even care about me? About Ethan? I come home and tell you I met a man, that I fell in love and I’m getting married, but you don’t even bother asking what the hellhis name is or how we met!” The words keep spilling, louder, sharper. I can’t stop them anymore—I justsnap.
My entire body shakes with the force of my rage as I take a step towards her, every ounce of the resentment, hurt, and betrayal I’ve ever held against her surging to the surface.
“Ever since we lost Dad, I’ve had to step up because you dissolved into…this.” I gesture at her, at the hollow shell she’s become. “Ihad to become a mother and father for Ethan when I was still a child myself. I made sure he took school seriously. Ipaid the mortgage. Bought the groceries. Fixed things around the house only to find more furniture gone that you’d sold to fund your addiction.”
I’m yelling now, past caring if I’m making a scene. “Do you ever wonder what I’m going through? How I’m getting the money?! I fucking paid off a forty-grand loan you and Ethan blew on God knows what, and yet you never once thought to ask howI, an unemployed girl with just a GED, managed it. All you care about is anallowance, cash so you can get the next hit from the drugs you snort and shoot up your arms!”
The slap is unexpected. And it lands so fast my brain needs a second to catch up, to register that the sharp sting on my cheek is real, as my head snaps to the side. For a moment, the room spins, heat searing through my skin. But my shock stuns me more than the physical pain.
I press a shaky hand to my face, eyes burning with tears I refuse to let fall as I stare at Mom in complete disbelief. She has never raised her hand to me. Ever.
She’s staring at me too, her hands clasped together, regret flickering in her eyes—but she doesn’t apologize. She doesn’t take it back. “No matter what,” she says in a brittle voice, “I’m still your mother.”
And then she’s gone, leaving me alone with the echo of her words and the sting of her palm print on my cheek.
My lips part as I stare at the empty hallway. The tears comehot and fast now, blurring my vision. I wipe at them furiously, my throat aching around the lump lodged there.
I’ve always suspected that the mother I had before everything went to shit was gone, but this confirmation hurts like hell. It hurts in ways I didn’t know were possible. To have a mother and yet have no mother.
Would it be better to just be an orphan than having this hollow shell pretending to be my mom?I push the awful thought out of my head, drop my hand from my stinging cheek, and turn back to my wardrobe.
I need to pack. I need to get out of here.
The sun is already setting as I drag my single bag of important things towards the front door. Everything else in the house has been emptied into brown boxes and stacked by the movers, who are now carrying them out to their van. Did they hear my argument with Mom? How could they not? By the end, I was screaming.
Humiliation burns my face, and I keep my head down as I exit the house for the last time.
Dean gets out of the car as soon as he sees me and jogs over to take the bag from my hands. His frown lingers on my face, but he says nothing as he carries my belongings to the trunk.
