6. Havoc
SIX
HAVOC
The punch Seven landed on me still stings.
No, that’s not true. It had barely been a punch, and I’d dodged so he’d mostly missed, but it’s a phantom pain that flares up whenever I stop and think for a few seconds.
I don’t want to stop and think.
Unfortunately, Vortex took Seven with him to his sister’s, and the only job Caleb gave me was to pick up his dry cleaning, which is sitting in the back of my car already. I stare over the steering wheel at my mom’s house.
There’s no big pickup truck in the driveway, so I know the Step Asshole isn’t there.
I need to talk to my mother.
I need to apologize to her, and to see if I can convince her to come with me after all, passports be damned.
I’m still sitting in my beat up car when the front door opens and my mother steps out. She stays there in the doorway, staring at me.
I sigh and finally get out of the car.
“Hola, Mamá,” I say hesitantly.
Her smile is equally tentative as she replies, “Hola, mijo.” She opens her arms for a hug, hopefulness in her expression instead of the apprehension I’d been expecting.
Then again, she always readily forgives violence.
I don’t like the direction of my own thoughts.
I hug her tightly and kiss the top of her head. “Are you okay?” I ask in Spanish. “He didn’t do anything worse to you?”
I regret asking as soon as the words are out of my mouth. Of course Marcus hurt her. Even as I’d left the last time, I’d known he would. It’s how he always operates.
Her gaze briefly flicks away from mine, and I know she’s lying when she replies, “Of course not. We had a nice dinner.”
She’s lying. I don’t remember a time when she wasn’t lying about what he does to her, even when I was right there and saw it for myself before I moved out.
“Okay.” I pull away from her. The wound on her face has healed, but her skin looks wan and there are dark circles under her eyes. “Let’s go inside. I… I have a few things I want to talk to you about.”
“You can talk to me about anything,” she says without hesitation, stepping aside to let me inside. “Would you like something to eat? Something to drink?”
“Water is fine,” I say. I head to the kitchen, which is immaculate. The entire place is spotless. Everything I’d pulled out of shelves and rummaged through is back where it belongs. There isn’t a single speck of dirt anywhere.
He probably forced my mother to deep clean the house.
I sit down at the kitchen table and drum my fingers, trying to figure out how I’m going to say this.
I wait until she serves the water for both of us and sits down with me.
“I’ve been thinking,” I say slowly. “The passport thing, we can deal with that later. It’s more important for you to get out of this house.”
She tenses, taking a sip of her water. She’s stalling, but she isn’t immediately telling me not to be silly. That has to be progress, right? “Javi—” she begins, only to stop herself. “He isn’t a bad man,” she repeats for what has to be the umpteenth time.
I stop myself from saying that he is. She already knows my opinion on him.
“My boss, he’s got a lot of money,” I say. “And he owes me. I can ask him to get us an immigration lawyer so we can sort the mess.”
I don’t like the idea of owing Caleb, but I’ll grovel if that’s what it takes.
Her lip wibbles, and I’m pretty sure she’s going to cry.
That makes this about ten times worse, but at the same time, tears mean she’s closer to understanding that I’m not wrong, don’t they? She usually puts on a cheerful front and smiles at me through her pain.
“I have nothing of my own,” she says, and that’s an old argument, too.
“You can stay with me,” I urge her. “I have the space.”
“You’re doing so well,” she says, deflecting. “I’m proud of you, Javi.”
I wish that pride extended to herself. “Since I’m doing well, that means I can take care of you now.
” I take her hands into mine. “All you need to do is get into my car with me. We can buy everything else. I have pots and pans in my kitchen already, and it won’t be a problem to get you new clothes. ”
“You won’t be able to get a girlfriend with your mother living with you,” she says, recycling one of the familiar arguments she always uses when we have this conversation. Even though I expected it, it sends a pang through me.
“I’ve lived without a girlfriend for all these years already. I can handle a few more.” It’s not technically a lie, but I feel so slimy for saying it.
Her hands are so frail as she turns them over so she can squeeze my hands. “I want you to be happy, mijo. I would be a burden for you.”
“Was I a burden to you?” I ask, holding back the anger. “When you took care of me?”
She reels back as though I’ve just slapped her. “Of course not!” she says hotly. “But I’m your mother. You aren’t supposed to have to take care of me. You aren’t supposed to have to—” Her voice breaks, and I see tears glimmering in the corners of her eyes.
“Mamá, I love you. I want you to be safe, and happy. Do you remember? Before Marcus, yeah, we were scared of immigration officers, but you used to have friends over. We used to go dancing at salsa clubs. You did cooking classes with your friend Lorena. What happened to Lorena?” I try to remember what the internet had said about helping people leave abusive situations, but it’s all gone, and I’m left with this impotent rage that I need to curb.
If I’m like him, she won’t ever feel safe with me.
Her expression turns even sadder. “We drifted apart, mijo. It happens sometimes.”
The frustration is growing and growing. She has an excuse for everything, and it’s getting exhausting to hear. All I want is to help her, but I can’t help her if she won’t help herself — and it doesn’t seem like she wants to do that.
I can’t give up, though.
“I bought a foldout couch,” I say, forcing myself to smile. “Perfect for guests. I can sleep on it, and you can have my great big king-sized bed.”
“I would never take your bed,” she protests.
She smiles, too, every bit as forced. “You deserve to be comfortable in your own apartment, whether you’re there alone or not.
I’m not judging you, mijo. You’d want to bring a girl home sometimes.
Maybe there’s already someone you want to be more serious with? I couldn’t get in the way of that.”
“There’s no girl, Mamá,” I snap. “There’s never been a girl, there’s never going to be a girl.”
Confusion flits across her expression, but I see it when realization dawns on her. She looks dismayed, but she tries to hide it. “Why won’t there be a girl?” She’s grasping. I know she’s grasping.
“I’m gay,” I say, and I realize my voice has gotten loud. “I’ve always been gay. So stop bringing up these hypothetical women who are somehow preventing you from escaping Marcus, because they don’t exist.”
“Escaping,” she scoffs. “I don’t need to escape.”
She’s changing the subject, and it hurts.
“You do,” I insist. “Remember when you didn’t have to get on a stool to get your favorite pans? Remember when you could enjoy a simple microwave meal when you didn’t feel like cooking? Remember when we spent evenings watching Spanish-language movies?”
“I think…” She sniffles, pulling her hands back from mine. “I think you should leave, Javi.”
I let out a frustrated sound and stand up, my fists clenching again. I have to turn away from her so she doesn’t see exactly how angry I am about this entire situation.
“Fine,” I say bitterly. “But remember that I’m always here to help. Don’t worry about the paperwork. We’ll find lawyers who can help with all this.”
“I love you, mijo,” she says from behind me, sounding small.
Something in my chest releases.
I thought she might refuse to say that after I came out to her.
Of course, she didn’t address what I’d said either, so for all I know she’s pretending nothing is different, the way she does whenever Marcus abuses her.
“I love you too,” I answer, before going to the door and heading out.
Once I’m in my car, I rest my head against the steering wheel. Fuck. I screwed it up again.
I pull out my phone and check my new texts. There’s one from Seven, saying he and Vortex are back at the hotel.
Get your hole slick for me, I type back. I’m going to fuck you against the wall so hard you won’t be able to stand after.
The reply comes instantly.
Promise?
I laugh. Only Seven would be this willing to drop everything for a pounding.
Yes. Be there in twenty.
I get the car into gear and drive off. At least I didn’t see Marcus. Hopefully my mom won’t mention that I was there. I don’t want her day getting even worse because of me.
I need to focus on the positives, like Seven’s slicked up hole waiting for me. I make record time, and jog to the elevators. I’m so keyed up that some tourists decide not to ride the same elevator as me.
Yep. I’m one scary asshole.
I barely greet the guards at Caleb’s door, my teeth tightly gritted. I near slam the door shut when I get inside.
Seven is nowhere to be found, but I hear him call out from his room, “In here!”
I follow the sound of my voice, finding him sprawled out naked on the bed on his stomach. He gets up when he sees me, coming to stand in front of me and wrapping his arms around me.
His expression is concerned when he asks, “Havoc?” He reaches up to brush hair out of my face. “What’s wrong?”
I cup his cheek and lean down to kiss him, skipping anything soft and gentle and going straight to nipping and devouring .
I need Seven.
I need him to make all the anger go away.
I need to forget about everything else.
He kisses back, wrapping his arms around me. He nudges me, taking a step backwards so I can walk him back against the wall. When his back hits it, he lets out a little huff, but he wraps one leg around mine, urging me closer.
I grab his ass and knead it, letting my fingers brush against his hole while I keep kissing him.
“You want this?” I growl against his ear, before biting the lobe.