Page 154 of The Perfect Wrong

I’ve survived firefights that left me sore for days.

Bastards shooting at me from the shadows, planting IEDs meant to dismember me, hearing friends scream as they’re cut to pieces.

I’ve seen enough suffering to prove the Buddha right about what life is a thousand times over.

All that, and I still don’t know what the hell to do with the bitter psycho in front of me, sucking in her cheeks like she’s chewing the world’s biggest lemon.

I turn sharply, ready to get the hell out of here.

Still, I can’t resist looking over my shoulder, even though everything screams not to.

Her eyes are tiny pinpricks, angry and black and vengeful.

Hot tears stream down her cheeks.

She’s shaking like a leaf now, holding the towel so tight against her throat that it looks like she’s choking.

“You’re just walking away then? You won’t even fight me? Are we that far gone? I’m your mother!”

“I know what you are, Evie,” I say numbly. “I’ve seen what you do, and how you just can’t quit even when you’re pretending to give a rat’s ass about getting well. I told you a hundred times, I’m done. And I won’t be around for the next round of fallout. Not anymore. Not ever. Save it for Bruce and try not to bust him up too bad when you get bored with him. He’ll figure out who you are soon enough.”

“Oh, no, you...no, no...” I hear her whispering behind me as I start walking.

I’m about halfway to the house when she runs toward me, her footsteps pounding the stonework. I’m so up in my head I don’t hear her coming until it’s too late.

Then she lunges, wrenching her hands around my throat.

My own mother tries to wrestle me to the ground the way she used to when I was ten years old, before puberty bulked me up and made me four times her size.

Shit, does it ever end?

I throw her off me easily, slamming her into the stone underfoot.

It’s a strange irony to see how things have changed over the years.

She’s lucky she’s got that towel folded tight to cushion her blow. The last thing she needs is a cracked hip on top of her crazy and substance abuse.

“You ungrateful little shit! I gave you everything.Everything!”she hisses. “Food, shelter... I helped you with that stupid recruiter years ago, never knowing it would suck your life away.”

She’s given up fighting, at least.

Her fingers are deep in her eyes, digging in as she rattles off the entire litany of why I’m the worst son ever born.

“No regrets,” I say coldly. “I served my country. I’m protecting people from scum who won’t think twice about leaving them in worse shape than you.” It hurts when I sigh. “You know, I still have days where I feel sorry for you. I hate that.”

Her eyes spark with a hope that tells me she still doesn’t understand.

We’redone.

“Because you’ll never grasp what it means to stick your neck out for someone else,” I finish slowly. “You’re too far gone, and I wish like hell you weren’t. I’ve seen enough, Evie. Have a good life.”

Her hands fall as a rough sob racks her body.

Then she shoots me the most hateful look I’ve ever seen her wearing—and that’s saying something.

“Go. Get the hell out of here then. You’re a disgrace, Christopher. Bruce is all I need. He’s going to take care of me forever. He understands what love is—something they took from you. The Navy, the war, it tore out your heart. And it makes mesick!”

The shit coming out of her mouth is just total psychobabble now.

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