12. Chapter 12
Chapter twelve
Bexley
M idway through second period, I feign the stomach flu, ducking through the quiet hallways to the nurse.
I was pleasantly surprised to find she's a delightful, middle-aged woman, who seems to actually care about the wellbeing of her students.
Therefore, she was more than happy to excuse me from classes for the rest of the day, including an exemption from detention.
Running away has never been my thing, but I'd be stupid to allow myself the opportunity to be left alone with the three wolves. I know they will try to jump me in detention. I would do the same.
Alone, after hours. It would be the perfect time and place for them to seek revenge for today.
So, I took that away from them.
All the Cedar students were advised to be on their best behavior for the rest of the day, as to avoid the same fate. Arch graciously stayed back with Abby after school, to make sure everyone left without troubles, before sending me the all-clear text message.
Tomorrow, we'll work out a plan to maybe get a few more Cedar students into detention with me or to stand guard outside, just so we can't be ambushed.
But for now, I start making dinner, relieved to see the fridge full of food again.
Mom is awake and moving around, and I'm happy to see that today is a better day for her. Small glimpses of her old self are shining through, her petite frame swaying to music as she helps chop up some vegetables.
"Do you remember when we used to cook together when you were a child?" she asks, slicing an onion.
I nod. "After I set microwave popcorn on fire, you made it your personal mission to ensure I knew how to cook."
She laughs softly. "And you still burned it again. But after that, you demanded to cook for us every Wednesday night."
The indirect reference of Dad makes us both still, but neither of us voice our thoughts. At least we're in sync with that. I guess I share that trait with Mom—compartmentalize your trauma. If we don't talk about it, it never existed.
"And every second Friday, we used to go to Olive Garden. You loved those damn bread sticks," I reminisce.
Mom sighs happily. "They are delicious." She pauses, placing the knife down on the chopping board. "Let's go tomorrow."
I glance over my shoulder at her, stirring the mashed potatoes. "To Olive Garden?" I ask, surprise obvious in my voice. "Like a Mother-Daughter date?"
"Absolutely," she gushes. "It's been so long since the two of us went out and enjoyed ourselves."
My foot taps thoughtfully. "I came home sick today," I admit quietly. "I told them I had the stomach flu."
Mom frowns in concern. "Are you actually sick?"
"No," I laugh, feeling a touch nervous at admitting my little white lie. "Just pissed some of the Willowbrook boys off and wanted to make sure I made it home for dinner. But anyway, how about I skip school tomorrow and we have a whole day together? Think about it—manis, pedis, bread sticks."
I half expect her to say no, that I have to attend school. But she beams at me. "Let's do it! I just have to go to the doctor's office in the morning for my follow up SSI physical, but you can come with me."
Spinning around, I forget about the potatoes. "Really?" I ask, heart pounding in excitement. "You wanna do it?"
It's been so long since I've seen her like this—happy, aware… alive .
I don't want to waste an opportunity. The good days are scarce, and right now, I have the chance to spend time with her before her demons pull her back into the abyss.
"I do, Bexie," she murmurs with a smile. "Tomorrow—it's just us."
"Just us," I repeat, skipping across the kitchen to pull her into a hug. "It's a date."
Just us. Plus, Doctor Lavings.
The aging man in his fifties looks just as pleasantly surprised to see Mom in her current state as I was. He gave us both a warm smile as he ushered us into his clinical room the next morning.
I wait in front of the curtain as Mom changes into a dressing gown, making small talk with the man. We joke about the weather, the release of new music that we both like, and finally, about Mom's improvement today when she emerges in the grayish gown with red socks.
"Alright, Savanna. You know the drill—I'll check your blood pressure, heart rate, breathing rate. Then, we'll have a discussion about your current overall health and touch on how you feel. You'll also need to fulfill a pathology request so we can check your bloodwork. But I have to say, I'm loving this improvement today."
Mom looks at me, beaming with pride, and I can't help but share it back at her.
After the last two weeks with Willowbrook, putting those assholes in their place and seeing Mom like this, really made it all worth it.
Last night, it was all over social media—and I don't just mean the Cedar Heights pages.
The Youtube video had skyrocketed in views before it had finally been shut down. But copies of the video appeared all over Facebook and Instagram, with students front and center at the table—the tea table , that is.
Steamy, hot tea in the form of three Willowbrook legends, who were meeting their downfall.
How do I know it's a downfall in progress?
Comments.
Behind screens, people aren't afraid to say what they feel. Keyboard warriors were out in full force, suddenly questioning their so-called leaders. Many were disappointed that ' a lowlife from Cedar Heights ' had managed to get the upper hand on all three of them.
Others were amused, talking about how they had it coming. Many were also angry, siding with their friends and swearing vengeance on me—but whatever. Bring it on.
But the more news got around, sharing not only our encounter in the courtyard, but Hunter's ass-accessory, Rylan's new booty strut, and Tai's alleged love of dick, people were concerned. They were scared. And suddenly, there was a feeling of trepidation looming in the air at Willowbrook.
Not that I know anything about it. I'm here, enjoying my day off.
Arch's updates have been entertaining, and I fully intend to dive more into them later. But for now, I'm focused on this moment with my mom.
"Uh-huh," the doctor mutters to himself, shining a pen light in her face. "I just want to check your liver enzymes which will be included in the blood panel. You have a little bit of jaundice, but I assume you've still been consuming alcohol. It's probably nothing, but I'd just like to be sure."
Mom hangs her head down, shame written across her face. "I want to give it up," she whispers. "I haven't touched a drink since Monday."
"That's fantastic," the doctor rejoices. "Well, let's see what the bloodwork returns, and we can discuss next steps. I know you've mentioned previously you'd like to return to work at some stage."
"I do miss my design work," she nods.
Before Mom became a victim of Dad's spiral, she designed wedding dressings—well, the sketches, anyway. She was such a sucker for love that she fell hard into the wedding industry, determined to make brides feel as beautiful on their wedding day as she had done. But when he left, love was nothing more than a wasteful emotion that she disregarded. Except, that's the problem with love. You can't stop it, and you certainly can't just turn off the feelings of heartbreak—unless you numb them.
Mom looks at me, a ghost of a smile appearing. "Who knows? In a few years, maybe my beautiful daughter will be walking down the aisle."
I snort, not wanting to burst her bubble, but truthfully, I'm not sure I'll ever get married.
Men are great for orgasms. But life commitment? The jury is still out on that one.
"We'll see," I tell her, not keen to fully destroy her mental image of me dressed like a white, fluffy cupcake.
"Head down the hall to the laboratory and get your bloodwork drawn," Doctor Lavings directs, sitting down and typing on his computer. "Our in-house team will be able to fast track the results to me. Given it's for SSI reporting, I expect we should have them back within twenty-four hours. I'll have my receptionist schedule an appointment for tomorrow, that way we can decide straight away what you would like to do. In the meantime, I'll collate some information regarding rehabilitation for you."
She throws him a panic-stricken look. Noticing, he smiles gently.
"You wouldn't need to attend a facility if you didn't want to. There are many support options available, and I'll support whichever route you choose. But we'll need to decide and set up a management plan, as if you intend to return to the workforce in the near future, we'll have to notify Social Society. The last thing you want is to be in debt for an overpayment."
I nod, squeezing Mom's hand. "That's right. We'll work it out together. This is a good thing, Mom."
"I know," she breathes out, giving me a shaky smile. "I'm just…"
The words remain unspoken, but I know. I'm scared too—but life is meant to be scary. How would we build character if we weren't challenged?
Doctor Lavings beams at me. "Little Miss Bex is correct. We'll support you, Savanna. And Bexley," he pauses. "You're due for your annual check-up too."
After our trip to Olive Garden, I waddle back to my bedroom when we arrive home, feeling more stuffed than I have in years.
There was a fraction of guilt at how much we had spent today—the two of us also taking a quick trip to the spa, but I always say that memories are more important than money.
Money will always come back again, but memories? You can't replace them.
Mom and I said goodnight as she went for a shower before an early sleep. She's doing fantastic this week, but I know fighting those mental demons is exhausting. The best thing she can do is sleep, to silence them when they creep out of the shadows at night.
But as for me, I'm completely wired. Part of me is scared to go to sleep, worried I'll wake up and it will have all been a dream, or that she'll be gone again.
Packing my bag for tomorrow, I snuggle into bed, scrolling on my cell when an unknown text comes through. It's a new number, since I blocked Tai's, but I can guess with accurate certainty who it belongs to.
Unknown: Spencer. Give me my damn credit card back. You weren't at school today. I swear to God if you put any more charges on it, I'll wipe you from the face of the Earth.
Snorting, I start writing back a reply to Rylan. I'm in such a good mood from today that not even he can ruin it.
Bexley: Maybe I underestimated you, Rylan. I thought you didn't have a heart. But that generous donation to the conservation of wildcats was selfless. Don't worry, I'm sure you can deduct charitable contributions on your tax return.
I see the little bubble pop up immediately as he writes back, grinning to myself. It was perfect, donating to something he associates with hate.
Rylan: I'm serious, Spencer. Just give me the card back and we'll call it even.
Bexley: We're not even close to being even, Astor. You started this war. I was more than happy to be amicable, but you all crossed the line. I'm just giving back what you deserve. If you want it to stop, then you know what to do.
The idea of Rylan Astor giving in and admitting defeat is slim-to-none, but I mean what I said.
It doesn't have to be like this. Our feud can stay in the warehouse, just like it was intended to be. But if they continue to push me, I'll fight back. I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty and they have a lot more to lose than I do.
I expect some snarky reply, but his next message manages to shock me.
Rylan: Meet me tomorrow after detention. Just us two.
This is a trap, for sure. But I'm interested in hearing what he has to say.
It will require some logistical planning with Arch, to make sure they don't ambush me. But alright—let's see what the great Rylan Astor has to say for himself when his castle is crumbling.
Bexley: Fine. 4 o'clock sharp. Text me the location. But if you even so much as think of pulling a fast one, just know that yesterday was a warm-up.