Chapter 13
I pull my tangled hair up in a bun, then reluctantly get to my feet. I stretch my legs a little, because God, they feel stiff as fuck right now.
She knocks on my bedroom door again, but this time, it comes across more as banging than actual knocking.
It’s a little hard to decipher her motive and level of anger from this banging/knocking – because really, she only ever comes to me when she’s pissed.
I admit that I’m less than willing to learn the reason behind her being here, but I’m also not in the mood to witness a tantrum from her if I do, in fact, ignore her right now and go back to bed.
My mother has never made it easy for me to come to concrete decisions without feeling guilty or partially unsure about them. And that, right there, is a talent – one she possesses in spades.
I reach my bedroom door, let go of a breath, and reluctantly wrap my fingers around the ice-cold doorknob. I swallow, and then finally open the door.
It happens so fast that it takes me a few seconds to realize it, and by the time I do, I’m on the floor, with my legs folded behind me, and my forearms pressed on the carpet under me.
I squeeze my eyes shut as the sting of her slap registers itself first, and covers the entire left side of my face. It’s followed quickly by a wave of acute pain that starts at my left temple, and continues all the way to the back of my head.
“You cunt,” my mother all but spits the words at me. “Did you really think you could overshadow me? Me?!”
I’m so disoriented that I can’t even look at her, let alone grasp the meaning behind what she’s just said. So, when she kicks me in the stomach and the breath is quite literally knocked out of me, my body weakly rolls a few paces away from hers.
“Did you suck Julian’s cock in order to have him make you a dress that’s better than mine?” she asks. “Was this your plan, then – to humiliate me at the charity ball by out-staging me in front of my guests and investors?”
I try to cough, but end up wheezing instead. My mouth, and the back of my throat, feel cold and dry, and every breath I take results in pinprick-like pain to shoot through my sides.
Julian had emailed me a digital copy of the sketch he’d made of my dress last night. As expected, it was absolutely gorgeous, and according to him, his team was confident that they’d have it sewed and perfected by Friday evening.
The dress doesn’t even exist as of now, to be practical, so I don’t know why my mother is behaving like this.
I blink my eyes open, but my left one immediately shuts itself again. I can feel the tears running down it, which tells me that it’s either swollen, or my mother has accidentally hit the area around my pupil. Either way, it hurts so much, I can barely think.
“I don’t…” I rise a little and attempt to move, but end up failing. “I don’t know what you’re…” I feel dizzy all of a sudden, and when I shake my head to get rid of it, it only intensifies. “I don’t know what you’re talking…about.” I push myself away from her.
My mother bends and fists my hair, making me flinch.
“I saw the rough draft of your finalized attire for the event,” she says between gritted teeth, then yanks at my hair before bringing her face close to mine.
“You have someone you wish to impress this Saturday, or are you simply looking to shame me?” She pulls at my hair further, which makes me groan, and for the pain in my head to multiply.
I can smell vodka on her breath, and when I glance at her with my one good eye, I notice that she’s wearing the exact same bodycon dress which she had on at the HQ yesterday, which means that she was working late, and then most definitely went out for drinks with that Waleed guy after.
“You’re overreacting,” I rasp out, because that’s all I’m capable of right now.
My mother – my own fucking flesh and blood – just injured me speechless because she thought I was trying to one-up her through an unmade dress for an event I didn’t even wanna attend, to begin with.
At first notice, it does seem bizarre, doesn’t it? But it shouldn’t, not to me. Not when I’ve been beaten and bruised by her for far less in the past.
“I’m overreacting?” she hisses in my face, then all but throws me across the room.
I scream – I don’t know how, given the fact that I can barely take a proper breath – and cry out as I crash against my dressing table chair. Something sharp cuts through my right cheek, and as I hit the ground, the chair falls next to me with a soft thud.
I don’t even have time to recover before my mother is on me again. She turns me around and straddles me, but I grab her wrists before she can slap me again, and manage to push her off me.
She yelps and falls back, and I think her right arm connects dangerously with the fallen chair, because she shrieks and grabs her elbow.
I take that as an opportunity to drag myself away from her, but every bit of pain I’m feeling in my body right now, fails in comparison to the fear that’s taken ahold of me.
I hit her.
Oh my God, I fucking hit her.
I don’t have any sort of humanly compassion towards her, no; nor is my fear driven by the same.
What I’m dreading is her kicking me out of the house for hurting her.
Because she’s done it before, and I’ve been subjected to my uncle’s disappointment when I’d knocked on his door and asked him to let me stay with him instead.
“She’s your mother, Cignette,” Uncle Chase had said. “Just because she hit you to put some sense into you, doesn’t mean you should retaliate. That is very unbecoming of you, sweet pea.”
My uncle loves me, but when it comes to his baby sister, he’s blinded by love, and is willing to dismiss any and every wrongdoing written under her name.
If I’d somehow gathered the balls to get my own place after that little rejection of his all those months ago, then I’d have to face two very concrete consequences.
1) My credit cards getting blocked.
2) Becoming a constant target in not only my mother’s eyes, but also on my uncle’s hit-list.
And honestly, I wasn’t exactly looking forward to either of those things.
It sucks, though. Despite her being an unmerciful human being, my mom has still got someone who she can always rely on for her safety and support.
Her own family.
And I? I don’t have that; I’ve got no one.
I lose. I always do.
Why?
Because I’m alone.
“You bitch!” my mother hisses. “You fucking pushed me!” She charges at me, and slaps my right cheek before wrapping her fingers around my throat.
“You worthless little cunt!” She squeezes my throat, and the madness I see in her glassy eyes would be terrifying to others, but it’s nothing new to me.
I know damn well the kind of darkness she hides behind them, and the kind of monster she really is.
I try to gasp for air when her fingers press on tighter, but it’s useless.
I kick and thrash under her; claw at her hands and lift my hips to get her off me, but she doesn’t budge.
She keeps squeezing, and squeezing – with a raw determination on her face – and soon, my vision turns hazy.
My lips feel numb, and so does the rest of my body.
My protests weaken, and I feel a leaden-like weight settle on the center of my chest.
She’s saying something to me, but with the state I’m in, it’s hard for me to focus on anything.
“Ma’am.”
I’m about to close my eyes and succumb to the pressure, but blink when my mother suddenly lets go of my throat.
An unintelligible sound leaves me as I try to take in as much air as I can, and when I look toward the door, I notice Steven standing outside my room.
“Ma’am,” he addresses my mother again, who seems enraged upon being interrupted.
She hastily turns to look at him. “What?” she spits.
“We have to go – now,” Steven says, then taps his wrist watch to emphasize his point.
She gets off me, pushes me to the side, and struts over to him.
He opens the door further for her, and when she walks out of my room and into the hallway, Steven and I lock eyes. I’m not even remotely surprised when he gives me a poker, all but emotionless look, right before lowering his gaze, turning around, and following my mother up to her floor.
I wait until their footsteps have receded, then dig my nails into the carpet in order to pull myself forward.
I grunt against the pain, against the soreness in my limps, but continue to push. I take open-mouthed breaths because even the smallest effort I put into moving forward, makes me feel winded.
I know why Steven took my mother away, and why she let him. I know why he was here. It wasn’t for me, no; it was because of…
I hear footsteps again, but this time, they are the approaching kind. They are sure and steady at first, but they slow down a little as they get closer.
There’s a pause, so I take that time to draw myself forward one last time, and when I’m finally where I want to be, I place the side of my head on the foot of my bed, and lean my body against it for support.
I swallow against the lump in my throat, and keep my eyes trained on my wide-open bedroom door.
Any minute now…
Any damn minute.
The footsteps resume, but they sound rushed. I can feel their impact on the floor beneath me, just as a figure charges into my room and falls on his knees in front of me.
“Nettie…”
This is why Steven was here – to prevent a confrontation between my mother and the man in front of me.
I let go of a sigh, and choke on a sob as my eyes meet expressive grey ones.
“Mave…” I whisper.
The anger and concern on his face are palpable. “When?” He doesn’t have to ask ‘who’, because him and I – we’ve been in this situation several times before.
“She…just left,” I manage to speak. My head is spinning, and it’s painful to get even a few words out.
Mave’s gaze turns misty. He grits his teeth and makes to stand, but I quickly, albeit feebly, grab his hand, resulting in him to pause.
“Please…” I urge, then slowly shake my head. “Don’t.”
“I wanna hurt her, Nettie,” he says darkly.
“I know.”
“I wanna fucking…” He lets go of an audible breath. “I wanna–”
“Kill her,” I finish for him, then give him a faint smile. “I…know that, too.”
Mave knows what’ll happen if he so much as looked in my mother’s direction the wrong way. Uncle Chase wouldn’t think twice before putting a bullet in his head. To him, he’s just hired help, but to me, Mave is comfort. He’s my safety; my shield against the hailstorm that is my life.
“Mave.” I tug at his hand. “Please.”
He sighs, stares at me while a look of contemplation plays across his features, and then, finally – thankfully – he decides to sit down next to me. He then cradles me in his arms and scans me entirely.
“God, look at what she’s done to you,” he whispers. “Fucking bitch.”
“I’ll…” I swallow. “I’ll be fine.”
His eyes flash as they meet mine. “You’re bleeding, Nettie.”
Am I? I can’t feel it. It has to be the cut on my right cheek, I presume.
“It’s just a wound,” I say, then blink when my vision goes blurry momentarily.
“I know,” he hisses. “But you shouldn’t have to be wounded. You shouldn’t have to be in a situation which requires you to recover, not like this.” He gestures at my face.
“It is what it is,” I tell him.
“But that’s the thing, Nettie. It doesn’t have to be.”
“I know.” I touch my fingers to his jaw. “I’m aware.”
He frowns, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this broken before. It brings an ache to my chest, and I feel so damn helpless. Not only for him, but also for myself.
I groan and rest my head on his shoulder when a wave of nausea takes over, and Mave instantly tightens his arms around me.
“You with me?” he asks, and I notice a crack in his voice at those words.
“Yes.”
He sighs, then presses a soft kiss on my hairline. “Come on, then; let’s fix you up. The longer I see you like this, the more tempted I’ll be to punch a hole in your meritless mother’s frigid heart.”
I fist his jacket and inhale shakily, then nod and say, “Okay.”