Wesley
Chapter twenty-one
School was great today. No Sierra stinking up the building with her slutty ass. The only downfall is I had to do all the menial work during our elective period in the library. I’d think that they would’ve replaced her by now, but they haven’t.
It also didn’t help that every time I tried to talk to Colt today, I got glaring looks from his brothers before they ushered him away. Not smart, boys. I’m the king of this school and the one thing you don’t want to do is get on my bad side.
It’s okay, they can’t guard him forever. I’ll figure out a way to find out if he’s with me or not. This school is firmly against Sierra and if he doesn’t want to get in line, he can pay the consequence.
I’ve just stepped in the door to my house when I see my mom coming down the stairs, glass in hand and gripping the banister like her life depends on it.
What the fuck has my father done now?
She takes the last step, missing her footing, and starts to fall forward. It’s like it’s happening in slow motion.
I drop my bookbag to the floor and dart across the room, catching her just before her face hits the tile floor. Her glass crashes to the ground, shattering, and I can smell the fragrant mixture of leather, tobacco and caramel of the bourbon she’s drinking.
“Wesley, sweetheart, what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at school?” she asks, her words slurred. I help her up and over to the living room, easing her down into a chair.
“School’s out, Mom. Why wouldn’t I be home?”
“Nonsense. It’s only eleven in the morning.”
I shake my head, breathing deeply. “No, it's almost four thirty. How many drinks have you had today?”
She just waves me off as she tries to sit up, but loses her balance again, falling back into the chair.
“Why are you asking such a silly question? I’m a grown woman,” she mumbles, only spurring my rage for my father. He’s the reason she drinks like she does.
“Millie. Millie,” I call loudly, before our sweet, robust maid rounds the corner.
“Yes, Mr. Wesley?”
“There’s some spilled liquid and broken glass by the steps. Could you clean it up, please? Then, when you’re done, bring my mom something to eat in her room.”
She looks at me, sadness in her eyes. Millie sees what mother has become thanks to my father’s infidelity. “Yes, sir. Do you need any help getting her back to her room?”
“Both of you need to stop talking like I’m not in the room and an invalid. I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself.” With those words, my mother pushes up from the chair and manages to stumble out of the room, barely missing the broken glass as she heads back up the stairs.
“You’re a good son, Mr. Wesley,” Millie tells me before heading off to clean up the mess.
Millie’s words hit me hard, crashing into my chest, knocking the breath out of me. If I were a good son, I’d beg my mom to leave my shithole of a father and stop drinking herself into an early grave.
One day I’m not going to be here to catch her when she falls, and that’s what worries me. My biggest fear is coming home and finding her in a broken heap at the bottom of the stairs, lying in a pool of blood and liquor.
Would my father be sad? Or would he just rush out into the next whore’s arms?
I grab my discarded bookbag, snatching it up by the strap and head upstairs to my bedroom. Anger boils under my skin and I need to burn off some tension before I fuck someone or something up.
I’ve just stepped into my bedroom, tossing my keys on top of my dresser, when my phone vibrates in my pocket. I pull it out and look at the message on the screen, noticing that I also have a missed call from the same number. As I read, the bigger my smile gets.
Unknown: This is Rico with Tiger Tails. I called and left a message but took a hunch this was a cellphone. I wanted to discuss the details of your request today prior to this weekend. Please message or call me back at this number.
I fist pump before collecting myself. It’s time for another bitch to go down and I plan to make it happen. Okay, I need to think about how I’m going to handle this.
I breathe in deep, hold it for a second, then blow it out.
I do this three times just like… No, I can’t let my mind drift to her.
She’s a skank and the sole reason I am the way I am now and why my mom drinks.
I need to find a new way to calm myself when I get carried away that wasn’t taught to me by… her.
Me: Yes I can text or call. I’m interested in booking a private dance with Lilac. It would be myself and possibly one more and as soon as possible. I’ve heard she’s a great dancer.
It’s not even a minute later when the phone rings. The number I just messaged flashing across the screen. I inhale, then click the little green phone.
“Hello.” I deepen my voice to sound older.
“Yes, is this Wes?” The voice coming through the line is gruff. Almost as if he’s annoyed to speak with me.
“It is, Wes Cox. I’m so glad to hear from you.” I lay it on thick in my most convincing voice. Honestly, I couldn’t care less about seeing this bitch dance. I just want to confront her.
“Lilac is available Saturday night. I can reserve a thirty-minute slot with her from ten to ten thirty. It will be three hundred and fifty for the time. If there’s two of you, it will need to be upped to four hundred, and that does not include her tip.
There will be no touching of Lilac unless she personally agrees to it.
Money will need to be paid in advance prior to the dance. ”
Damn, bitch must put on a damn good show to be that expensive, but since daddy dearest is paying, money’s no object.
“No problem. Cash okay, or do you prefer credit card?”
“Cash. It will need to be paid to our doorman, and he’ll direct you to the room.” His voice is curt, but I don’t fucking care. It’s like he’s having a pissing competition on the phone with me over this bitch. Makes me wonder if he’s fucking her, too.
“Perfect. Also, I’ve heard she wears a mask, but can she dance for me without it, seeing how I’m paying a hefty sum?
” I want to see the face of the cunt who’s sleeping with a married man.
How it morphs from smug to pity then fear as I tell her the truth and warn her what’ll happen to her if she continues.
“Lilac never performs without a mask and Saturday will be no different. I don’t have time to dick around. Either you want to book the time or not, it makes no difference to me or her.”
If I could ram my hand through my phone and wrap it around his neck, I would. The fucker thinks he can talk to me like that when he’s nothing more than a pimp for low-rate bitches.
Cool down, Wesley, a hot head isn’t going to get you anywhere. The bitch wants to wear a mask and hide who she is. I can play that game too.
“No problem at all. The mask makes it more exotic. In fact, I may wear one myself. Let’s just say it may be a new kink of mine.
Both of us strangers, neither knowing who the other is.
Can we turn the lights down low, add a little intensity to the time we’ll be sharing?
” One more day and I’m going to be face to face with the bitch. I can’t wait.
“Yeah, whatever. I’ll give your name to the doorman, so he knows to expect you.
If you’re late, the price is still the same.
If it’s past the time, you are out of luck.
Just a reminder, there will be no touching of Lilac and no masturbating.
Your clothes stay on. Only hers will come off.
Anything else, just give me a call.” He hangs up without even a goodbye.
I slide my phone into my pocket. Now that the date and time are confirmed, I have some shopping to do.
First off, I need the cash, which will be easy.
Dad always has some in his office, hell he probably won’t even notice it missing and I honestly don’t give a shit if he does.
Next, I need a mask and clothes that’ll be a little more strip club appropriate, giving off an air of wealth I don’t personally have on my own.
As I step out into the hallway, I hear glass shattering in my mother’s bedroom.
I take off in a hurry, racing down the hall and bursting through the door. She’s not here, and I start panicking until I hear her faint cursing coming from the bathroom.
I stride across the room to her bathroom door.
She’s kneeling on the floor, broken glass everywhere and blood. I rush to her side, scooping her up into my arms and take her to the bed.
“Stay here, Mom,” I say softly, and rush back to the bathroom. Pulling a washcloth from under the sink, I wet it with warm water.
“I’m so sorry, it slipped.” Her words run together and tears stream down her face. I gently take her foot in my hand, cleaning the blood before applying pressure to the cut.
“I know, Mom,” I whisper.
Her body slumps and falls sideways onto the pillow before her quiet snores fill the room. On the table is a tray with an untouched bowl of soup, some crackers, and a bottle of water.
Once I have it cleaned, I head back to the bathroom and pull the first aid kit from under the sink, then bandage her foot. She sleeps through it all.
Picking up the throw blanket at the bottom of her bed, I cover her up, then sit down on the edge beside her. Some of her graying blonde hair has fallen into her face and I push it to the side, placing a kiss on her forehead.
“I love you, Mom. I promise you I’m going to make Dad pay for what he’s done to you. How he’s made you feel. Him and every one of his little skanky hoes will suffer.”
Standing, I head back to the bathroom, picking up all the glass, and putting it into the trash before cleaning the blood off the floor with a dirty towel. I’ll send Millie up on my way out to make sure there’s no lingering shards on the ground.
As I step through the doorway, I take one final look back at the disheveled drunk my mother has become.
All because she loved a man who treated her like garbage and tossed her aside the moment a younger, prettier woman paid him the slightest bit of attention.
But they’re all going to pay for making her become this person.