He’s toying with me. Did he do this to Damien as well? If he did, he’d have forced Damien to admit to something that I’d rather not think about—our relationship. If I can even call it that.
“What if Creed and I don’t get along?” I ask, looking at my mother who’s been silent all this time. “Is this something you agree with?” Even as I ask it, I recognize the flit of annoyance in her eyes at me.
“Damien is leaving tomorrow morning, you’ll need to find your own way,” Bradford tells me, in a tone that confirms he knows exactly what his son and I have been up to. If Damien didn’t tell him, then he’s obviously had eyes on us. And I have a feeling those eyes came in the form of Creed Haven.
“I’m capable of looking after myself,” I bite out in frustration. “I’ve been doing it for most of my life.” The moment the words are out of my mouth, I want to swallow them back and shrink into the darkness. I never meant to hurt my mother, but I know I have.
“You’re just like your aunt,” my mother finally speaks up. “Did she tell you about us? The family?”
“What?”
My mother pushes from the sofa and makes her way to a cabinet filled with bottles of alcohol. I watch her pour herself a shot of something, which she swallows back and refills her glass, before turning to regard me. I’ve watched her for so long that seeing her like this doesn’t shock me. Not anymore.
“There are things you need to know about your father,” my mother says, before swallowing the amber liquid like a shot and once more, she fills up the tumbler and waves it in the air. “I spent my life loving a man who treated me like shit.” Her voice is filled with venom at her admission.
I know my parents didn’t have the easiest marriage. I also know how painful it was for my mother when dad walked out, but I never knew why he left. And I didn’t ever ask because the rage that fueled my mother, after he’d gone, scared me.
My stomach knots when she looks at me. Something’s coming; I can feel it in my gut. I swallow back the tears that threaten to spill, and the moment she nears me, I know I’m going to break when my mother’s secrets reveal themselves.
“Mallory, your favorite aunt,” Mom spits the word as if it leaves a bad taste on her tongue, “Fucked your father. She then came to me in tears, begging forgiveness when she found out she was pregnant.”
The sneer on my mother’s face is clear. Her anger and hate for Mallory, her own sister, runs deep in her veins. I doubt they’ll ever find common ground. My aunt had never mentioned she was pregnant, or even that she had a baby.
“What happened?”
My mother’s gaze snaps to mine. “She had the baby. The child who she bore after her affair with my husband.” Those familiar eyes glimmer with unrestrained rage. I’ve seen my mother in all sorts of moods, but this is new. There’s something darker in her stare, and a cold shiver trickles down my spine, running from my neck all the way down to my tailbone. As if warning me that I don’t want to hear what she has to say.
But I do.
As much as I wanted the truth, the answer, I’m not prepared for the words that tumble from her lips next. “She’s the girl I raised as my own.”
Her words sink in, permeating through me, but they don’t make sense. Nothing about this makes sense. I watch my mother, who’s smiling down at me with some sort of satisfaction. It’s not affection, not motherly love, just coldness that I’ve become so accustomed to from her.
I spent my life wanting to hide in the shadows, in her shadow. And now that she’s just muttered eight words that have my mind spinning out of control, I don’t know why I’m even here.
“I don’t understand.” My voice is barely a whisper, drenched in pain and heartbreak. It feels as if the world is spinning too fast, and nothing makes sense.
“When she had the baby, you, she asked me to take care of you. Her fear of being shunned because she wasn’t married had her begging for my help.” Mother sips her drink, watching my reaction with glee. How could someone be so malicious? She’s enjoying the pain etched on my face, reveling in just how much the agony I’m feeling is tearing at my chest.
The need to slice open my skin leaps into my mind. A craving to cut myself is at the forefront of my thoughts as it twists and turns, gnawing at me. I want so badly to release the pain in my chest, and I know I can do it with a single incision. My fingers tremble, and my breath is non-existent, as my lungs struggle to pull in air.