52 - Peyton
PEYTON
The room grew louder with each passing minute, as guests filed in from various hallways. The excited chatter and nonsensical banter was cut with something else, though. It took me a while, but eventually I figured out what it was:
An underlying tension.
Something was off. Even if they couldn’t quite put their finger on it, the ballroom was abuzz with stalled conversations and awkward silences.
People kept checking their phones, even more often than normal.
Their expressions weren’t happy, either.
I saw worry in their eyes. Confusion. Consternation.
“Theo…”
“Yes, princess?” the voice in my ear came back.
“What the hell are you doing to these people?”
“Oh, all sorts of things,” Theo chuckled evilly.
“Holy shit.”
“Yeah, well, keep in mind it’s nothing they don’t deserve.”
I kept looking around for Donovan, or Ripley. I had eyes on both their rendezvous points, and they weren’t there. At worst, they should at least be nearby by now. That, coupled with the nervous tension sweeping throughout the room, had me seriously on edge.
“Five minutes,” Theo’s voice crackled. “Be ready.”
“Copy that.”
I faded backward a little more, trying to make myself even more invisible than I already was. I couldn’t move far, though. I had to keep in line with the stage.
That’s when I felt it… a pair of eyes, locked on me. More of a feeling than anything else. But I’d learned to trust those feelings.
“Oh my God… Peyton?”
I turned to find my mother standing no more than twelve feet away. She was standing there utterly motionless, one hand locked over her mouth. Frozen, like she’d seen a ghost.
“OhmyGOD!”
I rushed her immediately, shushing her with a firm, insistent finger against her lips. When her back hit the wall, she literally gasped.
“You’re okay!” she breathed. “You—You’re here!”
She reached out to touch me, like she didn’t believe I was real. First my hand, then my arm, then my face…
“Mom, stop.”
“But I thought—”
“I’m fine,” I hissed, urging her to lower her own voice.
Her eyes were bloodshot, and glassy with tears. I almost felt bad as she pulled back a bit, to look me up and down.
“I thought… I mean…”
“I doesn’t matter what he said,” I told her. “Donovan lied to you.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“He—He told us that you needed space. That you were seeking help, at a place that would make you mentally stable again.”
Mentally stable?
Fuck, I wanted to kill this man.
“I knew it wasn’t true,” my mother added quickly. “I was sure when he said—”
“Bullshit,” I cut her off. “You believed him.”
The abruptness of the accusation cut like a knife. But not the accusation itself.
“That’s not true,” she shot back, almost immediately. “I thought… I thought maybe—”
“He was paying you.”
My words should’ve landed like a boxer’s uppercut. Instead, she only flinched a little.
“I… I don’t…”
“You took his money,” I seethed. “To push me toward him. To keep me there.”
The color drained from her face, and I found myself studying it with renewed sadness. I saw every line, every wrinkle. Every deep-set tire track, that made up the road map of her life.
“You sold me.”
Tears flowed, spilling down her painted cheeks. I couldn’t tell if they were real or not.
The worst part was, I didn’t care.
“I—I was scared, Peyton,” she sniffed. “You don’t understand who he is.”
“Oh, I know exactly who he is,” I spat, acidly.
“No, I mean, I tried to stop. Taking the money, that is. But whenever I pulled back, he let me know there would be… consequences.”
“And what were the consequences of feeding me to the lions?”
She had nothing to say to that. Her world was spinning, falling away before her well-mascaraed eyes. Music played, and voices chattered, and the lights from the chandeliers glimmered down over hundreds of beautiful, ugly people.
And my relationship with my mother was over and done.
There was no anger, surprisingly enough. Instead, I felt nothing but a deeply profound sadness. One that was monstrous in its totality.
“W—What are you doing here, Peyton?” she eventually sniffed.
“You’ll see.”
She looked worried, all of a sudden. No, not worried.
Terrified.
“What are you planning to do?”
“I’ve come here to end this,” I said, coldly. “To end him.”
My mother’s eyes went horrifically wide.
“No!” she cried. “Peyton, you can’t!”
Her hand clamped over my arm. Looking down at it, I’d never felt more repulsed by someone.
“You need to go,” she hissed. “Run, Peyton! Leave now, before somebody—”
“Mom?”
She blinked, and I looked her in the eyes. They were still beautiful, even glassy.
“I’m through running.”
With that I stormed off, not caring to hear another thing. Luckily I didn’t have to. The crowd began roaring, and then broke into widespread, wall-to-wall applause.
When I looked up again, I saw Donovan walking out on stage. He was waving like a celebrity, twisting his hand left and right like an idiot. His punchable face was plastered with his usual fake, plastic smile.
“How’s everybody doing tonight!?” Donovan yelled, trying to channel a rock star’s swagger. His voice blared back perfectly from every direction, on dozens of different loudspeakers.
Just then I heard a soft crackle in my ear.
“Peyton! It’s done!”
Theo’s voice dripped with excitement.
“Yeah?”
“We’re on!” he answered crisply. “Get up there, and do your thing.”
My thing. Holy shit.
Adrenaline surged through me, as I headed toward the steps. My heart felt like it was trying to punch its way out of my chest.
“The show’s all yours.”