Page 46 of Blood Money

The answer is no. I didn’t even know my mom and I still miss her.

“I’m sorry.” It’s the only thing I can think to say.

For once, I don’t want to throw out insults or even be mad at him. All I want to do is comfort him and be there for him because I know what it’s like to go through life without a mom while having a shitty dad.

“Don’t be. I was just stating a fact. You wanted to know so much about me, so I figured I would start from the beginning, and that’s it.”

I nod in understanding. “So, what happened?”

I don’t really want the details of his mom’s death. I meant more so what happened after, but I guess he doesn’t pick that up with my minimalistic question. “I came home from school early. I’m not sure what it was, but I had this weird feeling in my gut. At first, I thought maybe it was because Malcolm beat the shit out of me the night before, but the closer I got to our house, the more I realized it wasn’t that.

“I remember opening the door and stepping inside to silence, which was weird. My mom was always playing music to drown out the sounds of my dad hitting her, hoping we wouldn’t hear it.”

He stops, closes his eyes, and gives my foot a slight squeeze, almost like he’s trying to regain composure.

“I did the only thing that seemed logical. I went upstairs to find her. I was almost positive she’d be in bed crying, hiding under the covers saying she was sick so we wouldn’t see the bruises—because that happened a lot—but her bed was empty, and water was running in the bathroom.

“As soon as I rounded the bed to the other side where the bathroom door was, my feet sunk into the carpet a different way. It was like stepping in mud almost. It kind of swallowed the soles of my shoes and felt squishier.” He shakes his head. “Seems really small in this whole story, but it’s so fucking vivid in my mind.”

I readjust my position, moving my feet from his lap, and sit up. “I don’t think it’s stupid.”

He doesn’t look at me or even acknowledge my comment. He just continues. “I remember looking down and seeing the watered-down blood seeping up from the carpet because of my weight and hitting the sides of my shoes. It wasn’t a lot or anything, it just seemed like it. I didn’t even know it was blood at first because most of its red hue was watered down with the constant flow of water spilling out of the tub.

“I knew I should have turned around then, but I didn’t. When I forced my feet to move forward again, I saw my mom, still in the clothes she had on earlier that day, lying in the tub with one arm hanging over the side. Her wrist was slit, and blood was still dripping out. Just small drop after small drop, and I knew I was too late. So, I didn’t move. I stood there and stared at her while the voice inside my head screamed. No matter how much it told me to run, I couldn’t. I was glued to the floor. It wasn’t until Malcolm got home maybe an hour later that I finally budged.”

“Cyrus—”

He promptly cuts me off. “As soon as he walked in and saw the exact thing I had been staring at, he lost it. You would think a man just losing his wife would be sad, or maybe even run to her, but he didn’t. He pounded his fists into me over and over while screaming how it was all my fault. That I was too loud, too messy, too bad. I was the one who sent her over the edge.

“I’m not sure what came over me because I was never brave enough to stand up to him, but that day I did. I stood up, nose bloody and my ribs screaming at me with every breath I took, and I hit him. Not just once. I kept going. We rolled around the wet floor—in my mother’s blood—for what felt like forever. I’m not sure what stopped us, but the next thing I remember is my mom’s body being taken out of the house in a black bag while Carter cried on the stairs.

“It wasn’t even a week later before Malcolm sent me away.”

“Why did he send you away?” I know asking questions and prying probably isn’t the nicest thing to do, but I can’t help myself. From the first moment I met Cyrus, I wanted to know everything there was to know about him, and now he’s finally giving it to me.

He shakes his head, then scrubs a hand down his face. “I need a drink before we continue this.”

I nod and sink further into the couch as he stands and goes back into the kitchen. With Tiny asleep on the love seat and him clearly occupied, I could run again, but I don’t. I need to know the rest. I need to know why he’s the way he is.

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