I pick up the glasses that were left on the table and carry them into the kitchen. The wall separating the rooms hid her from my sight, but I feel her eyes slice through me as soon as my feet hit the scuffed linoleum. Mother is leaning against the fridge, a box of cigarettes in her hands. She starts to pack them, the steady thwack of the paperboard against her palm violently knocks into me.
“Whitney Marie.” She rasps my name like she’s finally caught a thief she’s been hunting.
I set the cups in the sink and glance over my shoulder. “There’s not much to clean up. I’ll be done in a bit if you want to relax.” Please go away.
She snorts. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. Prancing around in that top… What sort of omega are you?”
Turning toward the sink, I start the faucet. There’s no sense in trying to talk to her now.
“It was the only black shirt I had.” The shirt is flattering, but it’s not like I’m wearing a crop top. Looking sexy wasn’t at the top of my mind when I got dressed for Granny’s funeral. Mother doesn’t care about that though. I grab a grimy sponge and squirt a bit of soap on it. The glasses will probably still be dirty, but I’ve already committed to cleaning. If I stop now, it’ll only make her angrier.
“Your tits are everywhere,” she snarls. The thwacking of the cigarette pack stops, and the hairs on the back of my neck rise. Her worn-down heels clomp across the floor. She grabs my shoulder, squeezing tight enough to bruise. “Fucking skank. You think you’ll get your daddies’ love if you are their little whore?”
The tight grip reminds me of when she pinned me face first to the wall and punched me in the ribs, keeping me at the perfect angle so her knuckles could slam into my side over and over again. All because I looked at her the wrong way.
“You want them, don’t you?”
My heart breaks. This isn’t the first time she’s accused me of this. She thinks I want her alphas. She’s jealous of me. She doesn’t realize the only thing I want is a mom who loves me without hurting me.
Her lips brush against my ear, and I shudder. “You want their knots, don’t you, you fucking cunt?” She bites my earlobe, and I yelp.
Maybe it’s the grief from Granny’s death, or years and years of pent-up anger. Maybe it’s the stale smell of her breath. Maybe it’s the indents her teeth left in my skin. Maybe it’s the way her fingers grip me even harder. Maybe it’s everything, but something in me snaps.
Whirling around, I shove the palm of my hand into her nose. A sickening crack fills the air. My wet hand leaves a streak of water across her forehead. Blood rushes out of her nostrils and she howls in pain. Her fingers leave my skin, freeing me from her toxic grasp.
“I don’t want you or your pathetic fucking alphas.” I shove her chest. She stumbles back into the stove, her cigarette pack flying out of her hand and through the air. I go to hit her again then stop.
No. I won’t become her.
“What the fuck is going on in there?” Rodney calls.
None of them even bothered to get up to see what was wrong. They’re all so used to her hurting me. Fuck them. Fuck this house. Fuck my mom. Fuck the abuse. Fuck it all. I’m tired of being her punching bag.
“Nothing,” I shout and rush from the kitchen while Mother is still distracted. I snatch my purse from the chair I hung it on earlier. Settling it over my shoulder like armor, I rush to my car. My hands are still wet, so I wipe them across my jeans before fumbling with my keys.
Tremors wrack my body. The key misses the keyhole. I glance over the top of the car, eyes widening when I see Mother racing for the front door. A bull charging toward a red flag. A shark zeroing in on blood. A monster. The metal slides in, and I unlock the door, hopping inside and slamming it shut. I lock the door and grab the wheel, screaming at the top of my lungs.
“Fucking bitch!” she yells from the side of the car.
My heart jumps into my throat. I start the car and peel out, narrowly avoiding hitting her when she tries to step in front of me. Flicking my eyes to the rearview mirror, I watch her bend to pick up a rock. She launches it at my car, face bright red and contorted in anger. Streaks of blood coat her lips and chin. The rock hits my trunk with a solid thud, and I flinch. She can’t hurt me. She won’t come after me. She’ll need to reset her broken nose, and she’ll go into her heat soon enough. By the time she gathers enough of her senses, it’ll be too late for her to find me.
Tomorrow night, my life changes for the better.
