Chapter 10
Bella
I will ravage every inch of your body on a daily basis. And I will lock you inside a cage, keeping you for my eyes only. I can tell you like that idea, my perfect dancer.
Creed hadn’t said anything like that whatsoever, yet I’d been unable to get the sentences out of my mind for hours.
God. What he had told me was bad enough.
Forty-eight hours.
The bastard had actually told me I had forty-eight hours to get my affairs in order. Was he kidding me? Did he seriously think that one time… fucking and I was going to drop everything in my life to do his biddings? I snorted from the ridiculous thought. The man was crazy. Yet I’d been checking the windows every so often, certain I’d find him standing on a corner or watching me from his car. Maybe I was crazy but my instinct told me I should shove aside the connection we’d shared, replacing it with sheer terror.
I’d barely made it home, avoiding seeing anyone from the party. I’d raced into my room, locking the door behind me even though both Grace and Tonya had banged on my door. I wasn’t much of a drinker given my profession, but I’d taken the half bottle of wine from our kitchen counter into my room with me.
And I’d done my research on Creed Saint and his entire family. The press had painted all three brothers as psychotic philanthropists or merciless billionaires. But it was easy to tell why women had flocked to all three of them. The brothers looked like they’d stepped out of a GQ magazine, all three as if hand selected by the gods. But Creed was by far the best looking, his dangerous persona far too attractive.
I couldn’t get over the ominous feeling pooling in my stomach as if my entire world was about to be ripped apart. Sighing, I glanced around the dreary room, wishing I’d brought my mother a potted plant or something to brighten it up. As horrible as it might sound, I’d stopped wasting money because she only used the items I purchased for her against others. Or me.
God, I really was a horrible daughter thinking such ugly thoughts about my mother.
“I just wanted to stop by, Mama, and see how you were doing.” I patted her hand, trying to keep my voice uplifted. I’d turned on her favorite music, a light classical piece that usually soothed her. She was humming, which was a good sign. “You should have seen me last night, Mama. I did so good. You would have been proud of me.”
“Proud?” She hadn’t spoken during my last two visits, eyeing me as if I’d been the enemy.
“Yes. You know how I love to dance. I received a standing ovation. The theater was packed.” I wasn’t certain why I was bothering to tell her about my amazing night. She didn’t care. She’d never cared. But that didn’t mean I would stop telling her. Maybe in hopes that one day she’d love me.
She looked at me as if a light had gone off in her foggy brain. “Don’t become a star, Bella. Don’t let him find you.”
“Who are you talking about, Mama?”
“Dangerous man.”
My mind swept to Creed, but I knew better than to think she was talking about him. Was this about my father? “Mama? Talk to me.”
As quickly as the light and moment of recognition had been there, it had faded.
I kissed her knuckles, hating the tremors that had developed not long after she’d started taking drugs and hadn’t left. Tears threatened to give away how lonely and helpless I felt, which I’d worked so hard to shove aside for so long.
She jerked her hand away, scratching her ragged nails down the side of my face.
Gasping, pain shot through me and I jerked up, knocking over the chair in the process. “Mama. Why did you do that?”
She’d hit me a couple of times before but only during one of her uncontrollable tantrums. I pressed my palm against my face, wincing from the shock of her actions. When I pulled it away, I noticed blood. Jesus. My own mother had drawn blood.
“Who are you? Who the hell are you? Get away from me, you little whore. I can smell him on you. You’re fucking around again. Aren’t you? Aren’t you?” She acted as if she was going to fly from the bed, already starting to throw a tantrum. I backed away further, knowing one of the nurses would come flying in at any moment. I’d debated coming, the heartache worse every time I did. While my mother and I had never developed a real bond, it was obvious that my fear she’d never wanted me in the first place had been right.
A whore. She’d called me a whore.
Or maybe I was just exhausted, incapable of handling her outbursts today. “Shut up. Just shut the fuck up. I’m your goddamn daughter. Okay? I’m the one forking over the money to keep you here. I’m the one who endured all the anger you had, the hatred for everything. You took it out on me, Mama. Me!”
At that moment, the door was flung open and not only did the usual nurse walk in, but her doctor as well. I liked Dr. Zane for the most part. The woman was very qualified and had a very good bedside manner, but she was almost never around, her schedule that busy.
“You’re not my daughter. My daughter cared about me. She wouldn’t do this. She is special. Not like you. You’re trash.” My mother’s nasty words were accentuated by her spitting in my direction just before the nurse got to her side.
“Ms. Rothschild. You need to calm down,” the nurse said as she gripped my mother’s shoulders.
My mother had an on and off switch. She was either docile and nontalkative or nasty and rude, even violent. There was no in between.
“Go ahead and give her a mild sedative,” Dr. Zane instructed her nurse. “We need to restrain her.”
The use of drugs to calm my mother down was rare, which confirmed what the desk nurse had said when I’d asked how my mother had been doing. More violent than ever. I slunk against the wall, caught in a strange limbo as I watched my mother screaming and fighting while the two women attempted to wrestle her to a point the leather straps could be placed around her wrists. I’d yelled at them the first time I’d seen them doing that but now I understood why.
My mother had given two nurses black eyes, another a split lip and she trashed the first room she’d been given. Thankfully, I hadn’t been required to pay for the damages. I folded my arms, still able to see the hatred in her eyes. Why did she hate me so much? In my mind she blamed me for the loss of her career.
I knew better. A director had told her she was too fat for a role and she’d gone into a tailspin, eventually becoming just another Hollywood tale of woe, including the use of drugs.
When she’d become unpredictable, showing up late to rehearsals and fittings, she’d been fired by her agent then one studio after another. By then the drugs had taken their toll.
Somewhere in that period of time, I hadn’t been able to take the pressure. I could have easily gone down the same path, but I’d chosen to dance instead, becoming lost in the music and my dancing. I’d learned to lie about my age, performing in nightclubs so I could squirrel away money. I hated memories of the past.
When my mother started screaming at the top of her lungs, I couldn’t take it any longer. I slapped my hands over my ears and raced toward the door, tears already streaming down both sides of my face. I’d believed myself hardened from all the terrible things she’d called me over the years, but today they hurt more than usual.
By the time I made it into the corridor, easing my back against the wall, I was close to hyperventilating.
I closed my eyes, trying to keep the same hate from my heart but it was becoming more difficult. Seconds later, I felt a presence beside me and turned my head away on purpose, taking a few seconds to rub my eyes fiercely. I hated breaking down in front of anyone.
“I’m sorry, Bella,” the doctor said quietly.
“My mother called me a whore.”
“You know you can’t take what she says to heart. Often, they are talking about themselves.”
A whore. My mother had been called that in the press more times than I could count. Maybe that was why she’d rarely talked about my birth father other than to scream at me for asking, telling me he was a criminal and nothing more. I used to think she believed I was the bad seed. Just like the girl in the movie.
“I wish I could say I understood what you’re going through but I can’t. But I know how rough it is seeing your mother like that.”
Dr. Zane’s voice was even more comforting than usual. “She’s getting worse. Isn’t she?”
“Yes, I’m afraid her outbursts have gotten much worse.”
I finally looked in her direction. “What can be done?”
“At this point I’m going to try and alter her medications, but I need to warn you that they are more expensive and at this point, some insurance firms aren’t covering it.”
My heart immediately started racing. “I can’t afford to pay any more than I am. I’m trying. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do.”
“Maybe I can get her into a clinical trial. There’s no guarantee they’ll accept her or that the treatments will alter the outcome, but it might be worth learning the details. Would you like me to try?”
I’d heard that before. My mother wasn’t the best candidate given her violent outbursts. “Sure. What if she doesn’t get in and I can’t pay for the drugs myself?”
She sighed and I knew what that meant. “Then you’re going to need to find another facility, Bella. I’m sorry, but she’s becoming dangerous.”
Dangerous.
My mother was irrational, argumentative, a bitch, and hateful but my definition of dangerous was entirely different than hers at this point. “I understand. Please give me a little time.”
“Don’t worry. I’m not throwing her out on the streets, Bella. But I was made aware that you’re having difficulty keeping up with the bills as it is.”
For a doctor to hassle me about what I still owed for two months of her care was gut wrenching. “I pay what I owe. I’ll get the money.”
“That’s not what I mean, Bella. You shouldn’t be forced to struggle trying to keep her in a private facility.” I knew what that meant. Yes, there were plenty of state-run organizations that would provide for her care based on Medicaid, but I couldn’t stand the thought, even if she hated me. I’d seen a couple of those places. They were terrible. At least in my mind.
“Please see what you can do about the trial. I’ll attempt to talk to her.”
“She’s far too agitated. In truth, she does better when you don’t come visit as often.”
I knew my eyes had opened wide. A strange, nervous laugh pushed up from my throat. “Fine. I won’t visit her so often.” As it was, I only came once every few days. It was apparent I was the root of my mother’s issues. “Let me know what you find out about the trial.”
“I will.”
With nowhere to turn, no family to back me up, I suddenly felt lonelier than I had in my entire life. I kept my arms folded as I walked down the corridor. I’d never allowed myself to feel like a failure.
Until now.
What could be done to help my mother? While I headed out into the parking lot, I admitted to myself that I wasn’t certain I cared any longer.
Now, didn’t that make me a horrible human being?