Chapter 12 Willow #2
I shake my head. “No. Um, I just wanted to…”
To what? I can’t exactly tell him I’m reverse stalking one of the men who’s been stalking me since I accidentally witnessed a murder. More likely, the driver thinks I’m a jealous ex-girlfriend or something, and it’s better if he assumes that’s all this is.
“No,” I say again. “You can just turn around.”
He rolls his eyes. “It’s your money, lady. That’ll be another surcharge, you know.”
“Okay,” I say automatically. I’ve actually got the cash to cover it for once, so I’m not worried.
He flips a U-turn and starts to drive away, and I can’t stop myself from looking back at the building Ransom disappeared into as he does.
Why the hell did you do this, Willow? What were you trying to accomplish?
I know it was probably risky to follow Ransom like this, but I felt like I needed to know where these men go when they’re not watching me.
It makes them seem more real and human, rather than some untouchable gods or demons or whatever.
My phone rings as we start to drive away, and I jump so hard that the taxi driver looks back at me with concern. Holding up a hand to wave off his worry, I dig out my phone, half expecting it to be Ransom telling me I fucked up by following him.
But it’s not. It’s my mom.
Fuck.
I swipe across the screen and then bring the phone to my ear. “Hello?”
“Willow, baby, it’s me.”
“Mom, this isn’t a good time.”
“It’s a great time.” Her voice slurs a little as she speaks. “I haven’t heard from you in so long, baby. Why don’t you call me?”
I narrow my eyes, my heart sinking as I realize what’s going on. The last time I talked to my adoptive mother, she was having a good day. Today, she’s on a downswing and is clearly high out of her mind.
My chest tightens, and I bite back a sigh. I’ve dealt with her like this many times before, and it’s never fun.
“Mom, what did you do?” I ask her.
“Nothing. Why are you always so—” She cuts off, not finishing that sentence.
“Mom?”
“Shhh,” she says. “I’ve got company. You’re gonna—” She giggles, and I hear a deep voice in the background. I can’t make out what he’s saying, but it’s definitely a man.
Goddammit.
She’s strung out with a john still in her house.
Anything could happen to her. I’ve told her a hundred times not to get fucked up when she’s got strange men in the house, but she uses drugs and alcohol to cope with shit when she’s feeling rough, so there are plenty of times when she’s done it anyway.
Worry twists in my stomach as I imagine all the worst-case scenarios of what could happen to her if the guy decides to take advantage. He could rape her, rob her… kill her.
“Mom, I need you to tell whoever that is to go, okay? Just tell him to leave.”
“You’re no fun, Willow, y’know that?” she slurs. “I’m havin’ a good time.”
The last word is drawn out, and she giggles again. I can’t hear what the guy is saying, but he’s there and still talking, and it makes me feel sick.
“No, you’re not,” I mutter. “I’ll be there soon.”
The line goes dead, and I shove my phone back into my pocket as I give the cab driver her address.
He rolls his eyes at having to change direction yet again, but I ignore him, staring out the window as my feet tap agitatedly on the floor of the cab.
I can’t tell what feels worse, honestly.
The fact that my mom is using again, or the fact that I’m riding to her rescue. Again.
It takes the cab about fifteen minutes to reach her house, and as soon as I pay and step out of the car, the driver peels out, clearly not wanting to deal with me anymore. I take a deep breath and square my shoulders, marching up to the house and letting myself in.
Mom and a short, middle-aged guy are on the couch. She’s clearly strung out, her head weaving back and forth a little, her eyes shuttered. She barely seems aware of what’s going on, and her robe is half open.
The john of the day has one hand on her chest, groping at her, and the other between her legs. He looks like he’s having the time of his life, and it sets off a protective instinct inside me.
“Get the fuck off her,” I snap. “And get the hell out.”
He looks over at me, eyeing me up and down, and I can read the clear dismissal in his eyes.
I know what he sees. A slender slip of a woman, standing here with nothing to back her up.
He thinks he can ignore me and do whatever he wants, and he’s probably the sort of man who has been doing that to the women in his life forever.
“Why? Who the fuck are you?” He scoffs. “Her mother? She likes it, see?”
Mom just giggles, listing to one side enough that she nearly collapses onto the couch cushions.
“She doesn’t know what she likes right now,” I bite out. “And I’m sure you already got your money’s worth. She might not be in her right mind to know that, but I am. So I’d suggest you leave before I call the cops.”
He scowls, dragging his hand out from between her legs. “They’d arrest her too, you know.”
I shrug, not budging an inch from where my feet are planted in the living room. “I don’t care.”
It’s only half a bluff, and maybe he can tell how close I am to following through on that threat, because he makes a disgruntled noise and heaves himself off the couch.
“Fucking cunt,” he mutters under his breath. “This is why all you bitches are better on your back. Or on your knees, so I don’t have to hear your yapping.”
He walks past me toward the door, clipping me with his shoulder as he goes, and my pulse spikes as I curl my hands into fists. I’ve still got that knife in my bag, but if he decides to lash out, I’m not sure how much good it would do me.
Just go. Please, just get the fuck out of here.
I watch him like a hawk as he heads toward the door, and when he pauses with his hand on the knob, I tense up all over again. Then he yanks it open and steps outside, slamming it behind him.
I let out a relieved breath, my body still shaking from pent up adrenaline, then go over to where my mother is sprawled on the couch. She’s muttering to herself now, and her eyes are half closed until I put my hands on her shoulders.
“Mom.” When that doesn’t get much of a reaction, I try her name. “Misty. Are you okay?”
“What?” She blinks at me blearily, and I can tell it takes some time for her to focus on my face. “Willow. What are you doing here?”
“I came to make sure you’re okay.”
Her jaw falls open a little, and she gazes at me, blinking again. In the space of a few heartbeats, the hazy, dazed out bliss of her high flips to the other side of the coin, and her chin wobbles, her face crumpling up.
“I’m so sorry, baby,” she slurs, tears forming in her eyes. “I’m a mess. You had to come all the way here to get that fucker off—”
I clench my jaw, shaking my head. I can’t deal with this right now. “It’s okay. He’s gone. Let me get you some water, okay?”
“Okay.” She sniffs. “My mouth tastes like an asshole.”
Oh god. That colorful bit of description makes me shudder, and I step over a pile of clothes on the floor to go to the kitchen and fill a cup with water.
Even now that I don’t live here anymore, doing stuff like this is like muscle memory.
Making sure the johns leave and don’t try to get more than they’ve paid for.
Cleaning up the messes left behind. Pulling my mom off the floor or the couch while she’s high off her ass, and making sure she doesn’t choke on her own vomit when shit gets really bad.
I could do it all with my eyes closed. I’ve been doing it since I was too young to even be seeing stuff like this.
It’s a part of me now.
After flipping off the tap, I bring the glass back into the living room and hand it to my mom.
“Don’t spill it,” I say, just in time for water to slosh out of the side of the cup and onto the couch.
“I’m sorry,” she whimpers. “I’m such a mess. You always have to do this. I’m so sorry, Willow baby.”
“It’s fine,” I tell her with a sigh.
“You’re so good to me,” she murmurs, tears tracking down her cheeks as she holds the glass unsteadily. “So good. So good. So good. So…”
“Drink the water, Mom. It’ll make you feel better.”
She does, lifting the cup and taking small sips. Eventually, some of the glassiness fades from her eyes, and she sits up a little bit straighter.
I can feel her eyes on me as I sit beside her, and she gives me the same look as everyone else has today, taking in my new clothes.
“You look… good,” she says, sounding surprised. “I’ve never seen that outfit before.”
“It’s new,” I reply self-consciously. I still haven’t told her about the extra money that showed up in my account, or about how I paid for tuition. “I needed new clothes for school. Do you think you can stand up and shower?”
“Yeah.” She holds her hands out to me, and when I help her up, she pats my cheek unsteadily. “I’m glad you’re doing so well for yourself, baby. That’s good. That’s really good.”
“Thanks,” I murmur, glancing away. Then I wrap an arm around her waist. “Come on. Let’s get you in the shower.”