Chapter 33 Aria #2
I don’t respond. I don’t even look at her. I can’t. My fingers wrap around the grainy leather of my wallet once I’ve located it, and I snatch it out, pulling to a stand and moving quickly to the opposite end of the room where the laundry basket stands, guarding my apron.
At some point, she got off my bed while I was amidst my grief-consuming spiral I couldn’t claw out of, too lost in it to notice.
I barely register her until I feel her cold fingers wrap around my wrist. My glare snaps up to meet her gaze, locking in equal rage, defiance, and something else, too. Hurt. There’s always hurt.
“Steven and I had a deal,” she rushes out before I can pull away again, her eyes imploring me to listen. And damn it…I do. Because there’s that flicker of genuineness in them that hooks into my heartstrings, the way I knew it would if I let myself stay too long.
“He promised he’d stay away as long as I kept supplying him with money, and at the time, I thought that was the best I could do to protect you.”
“How?” My voice shakes. “How’s that what’s best for me?”
Her eyes glaze over, heaving in another breath like she’s being deprived of it, sorting through her explanation, but there’s nothing she can say that’ll fix any of this now. It’s too late.
“You left me,” I say, but there’s no accusation, no grit behind it anymore. Only hollow defeat.
That pulls a fresh tear from her as she wallows in the pain of the past, her chin quivering as she tries to find her voice. “You’re right. It was wrong. You were just a girl, and you needed your mother, and I was wrong.”
Her words dig a grave somewhere in my chest, where they’ll soon lie buried. Forgotten. Apologies don’t mean anything anymore. Not from her.
“But I can’t bear the thought of you believing I abandoned you for him.” Her features twist, disgusted and outraged. It’s that look again.
A flicker of the mother I’ve spent years clinging to, holding onto the hope that she might return, always just enough of her to keep me waiting.
“If I didn’t comply with what he wanted, he’d threaten to call Child Protective Services, prove to them that there were drugs in the home and…
” Her throat bobs, the swallow looking painful as she tightens her grip on my wrist, refusing to let go before she’s done.
“I went down a wrong path with Steven and the drugs. I’ll never excuse it.
But he had so much dirt on me, I didn’t know how to move on from it, with all the piled-up evidence he kept holding over my head whenever I tried. ”
Something tightens around my neck. A noose. A death sentence. I’m sure I won’t be able to pull in another breath when the memory resurfaces—me in the principal's office as a little girl, confirming her story.
I still remember the fear I felt when my teacher stayed behind with me. Waiting. Talks of Child Protective Services. How upset my mother was afterwards when she left with me.
“I-I remember hearing the school mention it once,” I murmur, the words feeling far away even as I say them.
Her grip slides away from my wrist to grip my hand instead, squeezing it with firm reassurance.
“It was one of the scariest times of my life. Horrible things sometimes happen in those homes, and I couldn’t forgive myself if you ended up there because of me, because I couldn’t endure a little bit longer until you were legally an adult.
I thought leaving you alone in your own home was safer than somewhere unfamiliar.
But please know, I’m not making excuses.
I’m deeply sorry. I’ll never stop being sorry. ”
“Mom…”
My voice falters. A searing ache spreads through my chest. She let herself stay trapped. Stayed a victim. All so she could protect me.
In her own twisted way, she was trying to protect me.
A door slams below, the sound ricocheting up the stairs. We both jolt, her grip breaking as we instinctively pull back.
Every muscle in my body locks, my spine drawn taut. My heart stutters, offbeat and heavy, thudding in my ears.
Steven.
I yank my phone out, fumbling to text Ledger, something I should’ve done the second I got here.
My mother’s eyes flare, her breath shallow and rapid. “You really shouldn’t be here, he’s not stable.”
“It’s okay, Mom.” I meet her stare. “I can handle myself now. You don’t have to go through this alone anymore.” My throat tightens as I swallow. “You don’t have to let him lay another hand on you. Ever.”
We both flinch as more plates smash below, the sound of cabinets yanked open then slammed shut, his voice rising with hateful slurs. A shiver of fear returns to Mom’s gait as we hold our breath, waiting for him to inevitably make his way up.
“Don’t worry,” I say again, glancing down at my phone. Still no response. Just the three dots blinking, fading in and out for what feels like an eternity.
His footsteps thud through the kitchen. He stumbles, swearing obscenities as he jams his toe at the bottom of the stairs. A chill silence falls between us as the floorboards creak under his weight.
She looks like she wants to flee, haul us both out my window, but resolve locks us both in place. He’s not going to just show up here, drunk and trailing havoc, making demands like this is his home. He doesn’t belong here. Neither of us should have to leave.
He does. And he will.
I smell the putrid sting of vodka wafting in before his bulky, round frame heaves into view over the metal railing.
He grunts, or maybe it’s a laugh. I’m not sure.
But it doesn’t matter. He drags himself over the last wooden step, eyes roaming into my room, mouth curving into a slow, slurred grin that sends a rash of dread over my skin.
There’s no escaping now.
“Why’s there double of ya, Kathy?” he mutters thickly, tripping over his words as he slouches against my doorframe.
Good grief, he’s completely obliterated.
I glance at Mom. Her face drains of color as beads of sweat gather on her corpse-pale skin, her breath heavier than before but yanked in just as quick.
She parts her lips, dry and blanched, but nothing comes out, just the knot in her throat thickening, bulging at the base.
Turning back to face him, I take over, steeling myself. “You need to leave this house. Now.”
I’m almost startled by how even my voice sounds, how steady. Almost like I’ve managed to fool myself into thinking I actually feel as confident as I sound.
His eyes narrow, a brute grunt escaping before realization dawns on his face. “Well, well, look at that; it’s little Aria.” He stumbles inside, causing Mom and me to step back in sync as he invades our space with his bulky, overbearing frame and the stench of booze clinging to his breath.
I swallow a gag as I speak again. “You’re not welcome here. If you don’t leave right now, I’ll call the cops.”
His eyes sharpen enough to glare at me, heat partially radiating off his balding head. “You giving orders around here now, girl?”
My stance doesn’t falter as he hacks a cough then spits, aiming for my shoes, but hitting the carpet instead. I don’t let it intimidate me as I raise my phone for him to see, making a show out of dialing all three digits.
“You little shit,” he grumbles. “You’re not the boss of me. Trying to threaten me. I ought to teach you the fucking respect that your good-for-nothing mother clearly forgot to instill in you.”
“Stop it!” my mom shouts. “You heard her, Steven. Get out or I swear, I'll have you arrested for trespassing.”
His forehead creases as rage floods through him. “You fucking bitch. Who do you think you’re talking to like that?”
He lunges forward, shoving me out of the way. My back slams into the jagged edge of my dresser, the impact knocking the phone out of my hands.
Before I can react, he yanks my mother up by her hair. She screams as they stumble back, eventually crashing onto the bed, his weight pinning her down as his hands grope her neck.
It takes a split second for my hands to reach for the nearest weapon, a cheap plastic body spray bottle, still sticky from old perfume, wedged behind the chipped edge of the dresser. My fingers scrape the gouged-up wood, barely registering the sting of a splinter as I grab it and lunge forward.
“Get off of her, you psycho!” I yell, my voice cracking over my mother’s strangled cries.
He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even flinch.
I’m unsure if he can hear me, his mind too far gone, rage pounding inside his skull like a war drum. I launch over his back, an arm locking around his neck as I jam the bottle into his face and spray with everything I’ve got.
“Ahh,” he roars, twisting violently and flinging me off with a brutal jerk of his shoulder. “You little bitch.”
I barely hit the floor before he’s on top of me, dropping his weight over my body as his hands clamp around my neck. His eyes are bloodshot from where I’ve sprayed the perfume, veins bulging, his pupils wild and red-rimmed.
“I always knew you’d grow into a filthy whore,” he snarls, breath hot against my face. “Just like your useless twat of a mother.”
My mouth falls open in a silent scream as my lungs convulse, burning in a painful inferno that claws through my chest. My vision begins to blur, the edges darkening as his grip tightens, choking out every last breath.
A wave of déjà vu crashes over me as my legs flail beneath him, limp and twitching, barely moving. I’m losing vision.
The pain erupts in my neck, so intense it radiates up my skull, pressure building until it feels like my eyes are going to burst from their sockets. Like my body might detonate right here on the floor.
It’s too much.
And then—
A shriek rips through the air. Or maybe it’s the ringing in my ears, that telltale sign I’m slipping away, losing control. Fading.
I feel my body shutting down. I can sense with certainty the slow, agonizing pull of my soul, trying to break loose, desperate to escape the pain.
Then, just for a moment, the weight lifts off my chest.
Maybe this is what death really feels like. After you’ve passed through the worst of it. After your body’s suffered all the torture it can take. The pain ebbs. The world dims. Everything begins to drift. Light as a feather. Farther and farther away.
The last thing I hear before I go out is Ledger’s voice, low and distant, too far to reach. My heart aches as I realize it’s the last time I’ll ever hear it. The truth of that shatters me while I’m on my dying breath. It feels cruel, empty, and not at all comforting.
This can’t be it. I want to reach out for it one last time—for him—but my arms won’t move. They’ve already gone slack at my sides.
The devastation of losing everything I ever wanted crashes over me just before complete darkness takes hold, robbing me of the chance to say goodbye.