4. We’re Leaving
We’re Leaving
Zade
D inner was abysmal, and the muted ticking of a clock somewhere felt like a mockery. When Mom stood, empty plate and glass in hand, I’d sighed with relief, the legs of my chair scraping the floor in my rush. Dad and Siri silently watched Mom and I place our dishes in the sink.
I’d raced from the kitchen as soon as my plate touched the inside of the sink before Mom could open her mouth to ask why I’d left in a rush earlier. Hell, I’m still running, apparently.
A knock on my bedroom door jerks my head up from the half-finished sketch I’d started before going downstairs. I scowl at the interruption. It’s not like I can call out “come in,” so I wait, fingers curling and flexing in agitation.
The door opens cautiously, and I immediately know it’s Mom.
Dad would throw it open, oblivious to the possibility he could walk in on me jerking off or something.
Not that I ever have. My dick might be broken.
It only ever rises in the early hours of dawn, when blood floods the organ, but it quickly falls limp as my mind comes online.
Green eyes peer around the white wooden door, and I motion her in with one hand. She smiles graciously, shutting the door behind her. Oh, good. She’s here for a talk .
Why else would she shut us in together? I guess my performance at dinner failed to fool her.
“Are you sure everything is alright?” she asks, right on queue.
I nod, and to get her off my back, I sign, I went to see Zephyr. I was right. He didn’t want to see me.
I leave out the condition I arrived in and our weird conversation on my way out. Something’s off about him. I can’t put my finger on it, but whatever it is, it wasn’t there before he moved out. It’s like he’s sharper somehow, possessing an edge I don’t remember him having.
Or maybe I never paid him that much attention, as eager to be away from him as he was with me.
Mom sighs, sadness pinching her face again. Dammit. Can I go one day without disappointing her? Before my hands can form an apology or change the subject, she opens her mouth.
“I really wish that wasn’t the case, but I suppose I can’t keep forcing the issue. At least you saw him. He doesn’t answer my calls unless I text him it’s an emergency.”
I frown.
We haven’t had any emergencies , I point out. She grins mischievously, and my smile unfurls, mirroring hers. You’re a sly one, Dr. Bell.
Her eyes land on my sketch, and she walks further into my room .
“That looks like it’s going to be lovely,” she says wistfully. I cock my head.
Don’t tell me you’re the one buying my artwork from the local gallery?
She shakes her head, dark hair swinging across her shoulders.
“No. Your dad and I can’t afford your prices,” she jokes, smiling down at me. From my seated position—back in the computer chair—her head blocks the ceiling light, making it look like a halo surrounds her head. My smile widens. It’s very fitting.
“I came in here to tell you that your dad and I are flying out to Riah’s school. We’re making sure that some of the stuff we ordered made it to campus. Meet with the financial aid department to discuss parent loans and—” She glares at me.
“Stop looking at me like I kicked your dog, Zade. I didn’t push her to attend my Alma Mater. I learned my lesson with Lauren. I’ve been very lax with all of you and let you make your own decisions.” Once more, her words cause a frown to slide onto my face.
Our family’s fucking weird, or maybe the age gap makes it weird.
Lauren’s married to my uncle Xavier, Dad’s older half-brother.
That makes him my uncle slash brother-in-law, but I stick to calling him uncle X and Lauren’s just Lauren.
The big sister that lives in Mexico, who I see only a couple of times a year.
What do you mean by that? What happened with Lauren?
I wonder if she’s referring to her running off with my uncle to Mexico after he broke out of prison. But that was over twenty years ago. She can’t still be mad at our mom over that, and vice versa.
Mom sighs, shoulders drooping.
“I was strict. It was how I was raised. I put a lot of expectations on her, and I think it pushed her away.” Her brows furrow, and regret bathes her face. My hand reaches out without a command from me, gripping my mom’s hand.
I sign with the free one, adept at signing one-handed if I need to.
You’re a great mom. I’m sure Lauren will say the same. And she’s an NP now, just like you.
She squeezes my hand back, giving me a sad smile.
“She is. And I appreciate you saying that. It’s nice to hear sometimes.” She leans down, her vanilla scent swirling around me. Her lips briefly touch my forehead in a gentle kiss, and a soft smile curls my lips.
We’d always had the best of relationships, and at times, I wonder if it’s because I’m so much like Dad or because my needs are more specific than my siblings, demanding more of her attention.
She leans back, aiming a mock glare down at me.
“This means no parties while we’re gone. I don’t expect it from you, but Riah’s eighteen. I don’t care how much she begs or what puppy dog eyes she gives you. Tell her no.” Her finger points at me meaningfully, and I wince.
I suck at saying no to my sister, but I give Mom a nod. I truly hope she fucking doesn’t ask me to allow her to have a party while our parents are away.
“Good. Call me for anything, okay?” This time, it’s my turn to glare .
You haven’t even left yet, and you’re already stressing. I think I can manage a few days away from you. I am a functioning adult with a job.
She cocks a brow, and I squirm under the look.
Okay, I work from home, freelancing for software companies, helping them test their firewalls by hacking their system, and I sell my art on the side.
In other words, I hardly ever leave the house.
Maybe functioning wasn’t the right word.
But I’ve proven I can keep a job, at least.
You know what I mean , I sign, averting my eyes as a flush stains my cheeks.
She laughs softly, ruffling my hair and making me want to grumble even further. I’m not a damn child. But I keep my mouth shut, watching her make her way out of my bedroom.
Maybe I should look up the definition of “man-child” since I live at home and I’d do nearly every damn thing my mother tells me. So, I’m attached to my mother. At least I don’t want to fuck her.
My dad would probably kill me anyway if I did. Fighting a shudder as I remember the things he did before kidnapping my mother, I refocus on my drawing. It won’t finish itself.
Anon
The scar-faced man and the slender brunette with streaks of gray through her hair stand in the driveway, the afternoon sun beaming down on them.
The woman talks animatedly at the other, younger, dark-haired man.
Their matching green eyes suggest he’s her son, and he listens intently to whatever instructions she’s giving him, tattooed arms crossed over a broad chest.
The older, dark-haired man with the facial scars stands silently next to the woman, head swinging left and right like he’s constantly searching for a threat.
But I stay out of view, ducking down in the driver’s seat of my car a few doors down from them.
I watch them with an intensity that mirrors the mute.
His hands fly quickly through signs, brows dropped low in agitation like he can’t wait for them to leave.
And my angel, my beauty, rests a few feet back, leaning against the front door.
Denim shorts show off her long, slender legs.
A pink tank top reveals even more skin. Her crossed arms are an echo of her brother.
Curly dark hair flows past her shoulders, brushing her arms and shielding the outline of her breasts.
I want to wind my fingers through it. My hands ache to cup her breasts and thumb her nipples. I can’t wait for the parents to leave. My eyes drift back to the brother. It would’ve been better if he’d left with them.
But I won’t let his presence become a problem. Soon, I’ll hold my angel near, close enough to inhale deeply of her strawberry and cream scent. Saliva floods my mouth.
Soon. I’ll be close enough to touch you.