32. Maddie
32
MADDIE
There's a body at my back. Someone gentle who barely moves while I pretend to sleep. I've stared at the same barren section of Dad's wall between the main bedroom door and the attached bath for what feels like hours but is probably only minutes. But it's long enough that my mind wanders away from the horrors that woke me from my sleep to search for something comforting.
Something to ease this fear that coats my consciousness. The asinine belief that this reality isn’t my own. That around the corner lurks danger, and it’s a matter of time before it finds me.
Before fear grips my heart so damn tight, the muscle bursts under the pressure.
Before panic claws at my skin, and apprehension feasts on my carcass.
Fuck. I’ve never been one to be afraid.
Ballsy from a young age, I was that little girl who chased the boys with a toy pistol of her own. The child that tailed men twice her size and mimicked their movements. My heroes. So much more now that I have firsthand experience with what they do to keep us safe.
To protect our own.
“Hey.” The bed dips as Jamie shifts behind me. “How long you been awake?” She braces her hands close to my back, peering at me over my side.
I shrug. Time doesn’t mean much right now. I’m frozen, suspended in this confusing place between who I was before I wielded that knife and who I’ll be when I find the strength to move into this new reality.
"You hungry?" Her blonde braid slips off her shoulder, and the end knocks me in the ribs.
My stomach answers for me.
“‘Course you are.” Jamie crawls down the bed and slips off the foot. “I’ll fix you somethin’ to eat, but girl, I’m not leaving you here by yourself.” She moves to stand before me. “You’re coming with.”
No. The word ricochets through my mind—a fervent refusal.
Yet nothing passes my lips. Why can’t I speak?
"Come on." Jamie offers her hand, her hip popped while she waits for me to accept.
I’ve got to admire her. The way she operates as though nothing’s amiss.
As though I haven’t broken my goddamn mind.
“Your daddy’s in a meeting with the officers. Rae’s somewhere with them.” She sighs out her nose and wiggles her fingers. “Everyone’s here, Maddie.”
Deo’s not. He took one look at me and walked out. Not that I can blame him; I wouldn't want to take on whatever I've become, either.
“Now, Maddie.” Jamie leans down a little, her stance as aggressive as her change in tone.
I roll my gaze up to her face and sigh. One after the other, I force my languid legs to slip from under the covers, toes scraping the floor. Jamie backs up a step, one hand fidgeting with the hem of her sweatshirt while she watches me unfold my aching limbs.
I hold the trauma in my body—I know it. The stiffness in my neck, the ache down my spine. The cramp in my quads as I rise to my feet and stretch both arms over my head.
Jamie’s gaze falls to my shoulder, then my waist. Her lips curl down on one side, and the pity I find in the warm hues of her eyes when she meets my own has the panic rise a little more.
“What?” I glance down at myself and find what disturbed her. I wear what remains of a life. Speckles of blood, already browning with age. “Shit.”
I look up and find Minion’s daughter wide-eyed, hand frozen on her hip.
Yeah—the sound of my voice shocked the shit out of me too.
“Shower first, yeah?” Jamie changes direction, darting into the bathroom. “You want me to help you?” she calls through the open door.
“No.” I shuffle to the gap and lean on the frame, both hands wrapped around the wood to support my weight. “I should be okay.” A snort rips free. Okay. I’m the furthest thing from it.
“If you’re sure.” She leans around the glass door and flicks the shower on. “Once you’re in, I’ll grab you something to eat and leave it on the counter here.” Jamie offers a small smile. “In case, you know, you get dizzy or something with the hot water.”
My stomach turns circles at the insinuation she’ll leave me. I let the panic wash through me, skin tingling in its wake, and draw a deep breath. “Thank you.” Being dependent on people is foreign.
I’m not this person.
I don’t want to be this person.
"Hey." I turn my head and catch her stall in my periphery as she cuts through Dad's room. "I appreciate this, Jamie."
“Ain’t nothing.”
“It is something,” I press. “I…” I sigh. “I haven’t been the most inclusive of you in the past. You don’t owe me this.”
Her lips twitch in a smile. "Good thing we don't all base our actions on those of others, then, huh?"
Yeah. One little statement from her and my mind is filled with ways that could be applied. How will people perceive my actions today? Did she see me that way before? As petty and vengeful?
Shit.
Maybe I don’t want to be the girl I was before.
Her footsteps recede until the rush of water from the shower drowns her out. The isolation is jarring, every shadow a potential threat, every open space a liability. I back myself into the corner of the room just inside the door and fixate on the reflection of Dad’s bed in the steaming mirror. Fuck knows what I expect to see. Sweetie crawling over from the far side, her throat a wide-open maw of accusations and guilt?
Snap out of it, Maddie. Bikie girls don't act like this. We're tough, steadfast pillars against the winds of change in this God-forsaken world. We're the things that thread our men together when the pressure threatens to tear them apart.
We’re not guileless creatures shaken by the necessary evils committed.
I expel the contents of my lungs while dragging a palm over my face. Is this why my mother turned out the way she did? Was anger an easier emotion to hold on to than fear? Than regret? Guilt?
Fuck. I killed the woman I thought of as my mother.
My chin shakes, eyes burning pits as I slide down the wall and tuck myself against the baseboard. Hands banded around my legs, I bury my face against my knees and slowly rock side to side. My palms tingle—the memory of the pressure from the hilt of the knife a pulsing path across my right. I can still feel the resistance as I cut her neck, the fucking release as the tip of the blade slipped free. Shit—I can practically taste the tang of copper in the air as her blood pooled on the floor beneath her limp form.
“Motherfucker,” I mumble against my legs. “Stop this shit, woman. Stop it.”
My chest aches, tension wracking my goddamn organs. This amount of stress isn’t healthy for anyone. Fuck—is this what Rae’s felt the past weeks? Is this what Connor put her through? Terry?
And she thinks I’m the strong one.
I’m nothing but a goddamn girl playing pretend.
She’s the real deal.
If anyone deserves people looking up to them, it’s her. Shit . Maybe the old man and Uncle Dig were on to something?
Maybe Rae is the woman we need to help lead us through this shit.
Maybe she’s my hero?