Chapter 27 #2
“So you thought adopting a few puppies would solve the problem?”
“A hundred and one puppies, to be exact.” Her lips peel back into a grin, one that looks closer to a grimace beneath all the Botox, “A number that’s sure to make a splash and get those hippies off my back.
And the marketing material will be just delightful.
Listen to this: Barking mad for Cruella’s Closets, or better yet, a spot for every occasion! ”
Cruella slaps the table and lets out a laugh, “Do you get it? Spots because they’re Dalmatians? Oh, I am just too clever sometimes.”
The kitchen table separates us, but it’s not the stainless steel beast sitting in Colonel Hellman’s new home.
It’s a rickety wooden thing, one that’s got a metal leg because we couldn’t find the proper one at the garage sale we bought it from.
A table that would wobble every time we put something down and splash liquid all along the ceramic tiles of our old kitchen floor.
It’s like someone took a spec from my childhood and let it play out before me. A mother and her son chatting over a cup of tea. Neither had much going for them, their pockets were empty and their bank accounts more so, but at the end of the day it didn’t matter.
We had each other and that was enough for me.
But it wasn’t enough for Cruella.
Her fashion career took off and soon the string of boyfriends turned into wealthy husbands. Men who could capture her attention with luxurious trips and gifts that only the rich could afford.
She craved attention like she did fame and fortune, the kind of lifestyle that doesn’t take kindly to a child being dragged from place to place like a piece of unwanted luggage.
It’s a feeling you never want to get used to.
“Truth be told, it’s for the best. The Colonel isn’t a fan of animals.” Cruella sniffs, disgust wrinkling her made-up features, “At least not the ones who live indoors. Far too hairy and dirty for a dignified household.”
“Funny, I don’t remember that being a problem in the past.”
The pressure in my chest worsens as the elephant in the room makes itself known.
Casting her eyes up to the ceiling, the world’s most infamous fashion icon can’t bring herself to face her only child.
“You just couldn’t wait to bring that up, could you?”
“Considering it’s the reason I’ve been living on the street for the last ten years, yeah. I thought it was time to bring it up.”
Bottomless, pitch-black eyes slowly descend back to my face. She scrutinizes me, a look I was once so familiar with now foreign and distant as she takes in the layers of ink covering my body.
“You were the one who left me, Christopher. Not the other way around.”
I stare at her, waiting for the sorrow to emerge. Waiting for a hint of remorse to bleed through her picture-perfect exterior.
I don’t see a fucking thing.
A bitter, humourless laugh flows out of my mouth, “You didn’t care, did you? You didn’t give a damn that your fifteen-year-old son was struggling to survive on the street.”
“No one told you to stay away. You could have easily come back at any time.”
“Did you even try and look for me? After I left that night, did you take one fucking second to look for me?”
I could lie and say the worst part is the truth ringing through my mum’s sudden silence. The look in her eyes that tells me everything I need to know.
No. The worst part is the lump growing in my throat.
The hope that was supposed to have died a long time ago.
“Right. In that case, I’ll be off.”
A screech fills the air as Cruella’s expensive taste in chairs fails to protect the foundation holding this house together.
“Christopher-
“If he had killed me, would you have stayed?”
I hurl the question back at her, waiting for the blow to land.
Wanting the blow to land so I know this wasn’t a complete waste of my time.
She flinches and that’s good enough for me.
“That’s not fair. I was between fashion shows and someone had to keep the lights on.”
“It’s a simple question, mum. Would you have stayed if that bastard had killed your only child?”
A moment of silence.
And then she breaks my heart all over again.
“Yes.” Her throat bobs as she swallows, the first inkling of regret flittering across her expression, “But that doesn’t mean I wanted you to leave.”
And yet, you didn’t bother asking if I would stay.
I turn and leave the kitchen with more pieces than I started.
Broken shards that embed themselves into my sensitive tissues and leave a fucking mess behind.
My college classes started an hour ago, but I don’t give them a second thought as I climb into my car and start the engine. The Ford Mustang roars to life, the familiar rumble beneath my legs more comforting than any college professor could be.
I punch the gas and rev it down the driveway. She’s a beauty, this dark horse of mine, and she has no problem handling the aggression I throw at her.
Blasting through streetlights and drifting around corners, I let all my frustrations melt from my body and onto the road. The knot holding my mind captive starts to loosen as I drive the gritty streets of Wolf Hollow, racing from the memories chasing after me.
It’s a sense of freedom I’ll never stop craving, the ability to climb into a beautiful machine and just drive. I could drive to the edge of the earth and back, and no one would be the wiser.
Just me, the open road and the rumble of my engine.
I make it to the peak of the valley and throw my car into park. Leaving the engine running, I rip the chain off my neck and stalk to the edge of the cliff face.
The key dangles off the end, a shabby piece of metal that doesn’t deserve to weigh me down anymore. I ball it up in my fist and wind back my arm.
Let go.
My arm snaps forward but my palm doesn’t open. The chain stays clenched in my fist, the key tucked safely between my fingers.
“You stupid bugger.”
It feels like defeat when the chain falls back around my neck. When the key returns to its place above my heart, above the only patch of skin that never got scarred.
Tucking it inside my shirt, I feel the weight settle on my chest like a long awaited friend. It joins the pressure already waiting for me, the endless list of expectations I never seem to live up to.
I lean back against the hood of my car, staring out into the valley. Small, ant-like figures slowly make their way down streets and disappear into the forest, presumably to use the walking trails.
I’m a spectator looking at an exhibit at the aquarium. The outsider who has no desire to stay yet no desire to leave. There’s nothing tying me here except a robbery of the century and a team who won’t hesitate to dispose of my body after the job is done.
It’s a shitshow of the highest order. And that’s before you throw in the fucked up state of my head.
A breeze sweeps through the clearing, carrying the scent of blood and the echo of someone’s laughter. I don’t have to guess who it belongs to because it coats my skin with the kind of relief that comes from taking too many painkillers.
The princess carrying a witch’s cackle.
The best fucking sound I’ve heard in years.