14. Andi
Andi
Iwas right to be worried.
The moment I step foot into the house, the door from the garage left open by Stuart, I know Gina’s been drinking.
She doesn’t drink particularly often, but when she does, she drinks.
“Quick,” I mutter under my breath, kicking off my heels and carrying them in my hand as I jerk my thumb towards that dreaded staircase.
Ezra is quick to follow me. He knows a thing or two about having a drunk mother. Except his mom turns catatonic when she drinks. Mine... loses any and all sense of boundaries.
“Give that back, Stuart!” Gina slurs, her voice echoing off the minimalistic, high-ceilinged space.
“You’ve had enough for tonight,” Stuart says, his voice thick with irritation. Looks like even he runs out of patience every now and again, even though the vast majority of his patience is reserved for Gina, considering he’s in love with her.
“Fine,” Gina says, her feet slapping against the tile floor of the kitchen.
“Hurry!” I hiss, tugging up the hem of my dress and scrambling up the rest of the stairs.
Ezra stays behind me like he’s afraid I’m going to take my own tumble down them. To be fair, in this stupid dress, the possibility is above zero percent.
“You’re the one slowing us down,” he mutters when I reach the top.
“Shut up,” I scowl, glaring at him over my shoulder.
But he’s not looking back at me. His brows are drawn down in concern as he listens in on Gina and Stuart’s conversation.
“Where’s Andi? I need to talk to her!” Gina says, her voice growing even more belligerent as she makes her way to the stairs.
“She’s upstairs with Ezra, probably,” Stuart sighs.
Gina wanting to explicitly talk with me is probably a bad sign. Stuart telling her exactly where to find me is an even worse one. Though, to be fair, there aren’t a lot of places I could be, considering the current circumstances.
Gina’s probably just too drunk to even comprehend that.
“Move,” Ezra grunts, when I freeze in place.
He gently nudges my shoulder, and I scramble towards my childhood bedroom and current prison cell.
The door is open, and I hurry inside with an urgency I haven’t felt in years. I don’t think I’ve ever been particularly enthusiastic to come back to this place.
“How are we supposed to do this?” I hiss under my breath as I hear Gina stomping her way up the stairs. The body tape feels itchy against my skin—the sticky adhesive not doing anything to help soothe my fraying nerves.
“I don’t know,” Ezra bites out, his hands clenching into fists by his side.
“Andi!” Gina yells, her voice high-pitched and screechy.
“I’m right here, Mom!” I call out. “You don’t have to yell.”
“There you are!” Gina says, her muddy green eyes glazed over from the alcohol. She’s carrying in her hand one of those giant wine glasses. It’s only half full, but I’m pretty sure it’s the equivalent of several traditional glasses of wine.
The fact that she’s still carrying the glass makes me think the thing Stuart managed to coax away from her was the bottle, though I would’ve been able to tell she was absolutely plastered just by the way she sways slightly on her feet.
What the hell is her problem? She doesn’t normally drink like this.
“What’s going on?” I ask, my chamomile scent souring.
“Take off your dress,” she slurs.
I stiffen, cold dread leeching into my veins like I was just injected with liquid nitrogen.
This is the worst possible scenario, considering I have a secret burner phone taped to my body. One she’ll easily be able to see if I do just take off my dress.
“What?” I rasp, my voice barely above a whisper.
“You heard me! Take off your dress!” She reaches into the pocket of her silk robe and brandishes her phone.
The action just confuses me. What in the world is going on?
“Can’t—can’t I have a bit of privacy, Mom?” My own saliva tastes sour from my nausea. I actually think I’m going to throw up.
My guys have been spending all month coming up with a plan to help save me. One that relies on me having the burner phone. On being able to snap photos of my living conditions to prove that Gina shouldn’t have the power of a conservatorship over me.
And I’m going to fuck it up.
“Privacy?” she snorts, like the request is the most absurd thing she’s ever heard. “I pushed you out of me! There’s nothing I haven’t seen already! Now, Take. Off. Your. Dress!”
The only thing keeping her from being in my face is Ezra stepping between us, his arms held up in a motion that to her probably looks like he’s holding them up in surrender, but to me looks like he’s trying to create more space.
“She can’t take it off herself, Gina,” Ezra says through gritted teeth. “Calm down. Why do you even want her to take off her dress?”
“I need a picture of her tits!” Gina yells, waving her phone around again.
The absurdity of her declaration has Ezra and I stiffening.
What the fuck?
“Huh?” The single syllable is the only sound I’m capable of making. Because seriously. Huh?
She rolls her eyes so hard she actually sways.
“For the plastic surgeon! I need reference photos for when I get work done,” she says, like we’re stupid for not catching onto her rambling. There’s a flush across her pale cheeks that’s getting progressively worse. This time with fury, not just intoxication.
Ezra seems to understand what the hell is going on before I do, because his expression twists into one of disgusted disbelief.
“You’ve got to be joking,” he says, his jaw working.
“Why would I joke about something so serious!” She cuts a scathing glare towards me and I know my poor attempt at stalling won’t work much longer.
“Okay, okay, look,” I say, wiping my clammy hands against the dress and wincing at the rough texture of the embroidered sequins.
“Mom, please sit down before you hurt yourself. Just... relax for a bit, okay? Ezra needs to get me out of this dress, I can’t get out of it alone, and I’m not sure if you’re in a state to help, yeah?
You remember how hard it was to get on.”
To my absolute surprise, she seems to buy into my platitudes.
“Yeah,” she sniffs, nearly tripping on the hem of her robe as she makes her way to my bed. “It’s your fault it was hard to get on, you know. Despite my best efforts, your body is still insufferably stubborn!”
Ah, yes, the cost of her doing what I want is her insulting my body. Of course.
A body she wants to replicate part of, under the knife of a Beverly Hills surgeon, apparently.
She lies against the rock-hard throw pillows at the head of the bed. Satisfaction flares through me when I see her shifting, unable to find a comfortable position.
“Get to it!” Gina huffs, before taking a large swig from her wine glass.
I flash Ezra a look and jerk my head towards the clothing rack with a hanging garment bag. With Gina on the bed, I can face towards the garment bag so she can’t see the burner phone taped to my stomach. Ezra’s broad frame offers another layer of possible protection to keep her from seeing.
My hands tremble as he starts to tug the laces of the corset loose.
He clears his throat when the fabric becomes loose enough for me to step out and I nod my head, stepping out of it quickly.
“What kind of wine are you drinking? Seems like you’re enjoying it a lot?
” I say casually, a little louder than I would speak normally, as I rip the burner phone from my skin in one motion.
Luckily, it doesn’t make a sound, but I’m glad I’m facing away from Gina right now because I can’t hide the grimace in my expression. Man, that hurt.
“Oh, this is 2019 Chardonnay,” she says confidently, as if it’s impressive. I’m not a big wine drinker, but if Gina’s track record for chasing after fancy things and falling short is any indication, it’s not all that fancy.
The burner phone feels like it’s burning a hole through my hand, especially when my fingers slide against the sweaty screen as I swipe to the camera app and start recording a video.
I’m pretty sure the camera is partially covered by the tape, so I don’t know how useful this video would be, but the urge to document Gina’s insanity now that I have something like the burner phone is too overwhelming to ignore.
Especially because she’s acting so ridiculously tonight.
It feels like the one defense I have, and standing here basically naked with my own mother demanding pictures of my tits, I need all the defense I can get.
I use the body tape still attached to the device and press it along the inside of the garment bag. Considering how difficult it was to tear the tape from my body, I pray to any and all deities willing to listen that it remains strong enough to hold the phone and keep it from falling.
I’m so consumed with my anxiety that I don’t even register that I’m only really wearing a thong while Ezra hovers behind me, trying to block what I’m doing with his body.
“What’s taking you so long?” Gina whines.
The sound of her voice and slurred words is seriously getting on my nerves.
“I’m just hanging up the dress properly, Mom,” I say, fighting to keep the tremble in my voice down as I tuck the dress properly back into its garment bag.
There. All done. It should be hidden well enough.
I’m so stressed, I instinctively wrap my arms over my bare chest and pad my way over to the vanity, where Beck’s old hoodie lies, neatly folded from where I placed it before being forced to get ready for tonight’s event.
“The fuck are you doing? Are you stupid? I need my pictures!”
I bristle as I ignore her aggressive demands, sliding my arms into the hoodie and zipping it up.
“Why do you even want pictures of my boobs?” I ask, my hands clenching into fists around the comforting fabric. “That’s like, really weird, Mom.”
“Shut up!” she snaps, swinging her legs over the bed and standing quickly. The golden chardonnay threatens to spill over the edge of the glass. “You don’t understand! Jonathan might as well have fucking said your tits were perfect!”
Oh. That’s what this is about.