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She pauses for an instant, and I can tell she wasn’t expecting this. Then she continues to stroke my hair. “I’m sorry.”
“Yeah. Me too.” I chuckled bitterly. “They never caught the guy. They figured out the model of car, though. A Mercedes-Maybach S600. Brand new. A V12 model.”
“Ah. That’s why you hate rich people.”
I consider correcting her, but she's right. I do hate rich people. I fucking hate them. They can get away with murder, and no one gives a shit. Meanwhile, a poor kid with an absentee father and an alcoholic mother steals a few cars from people who can afford to replace them, and he gets told he's one more step away from a life in and out of prison.
“Yes.”
We stay silent for a while, and though I hate to admit it, the feel of her hand running softly through my hair is starting to relax me. When I’m relaxed, I start talking more.
“That’s why I want justice for Lila. I want someone to care that she was murdered. I want it to matter that those rich assholes got away with killing her. I know she was rich too, but…”
“But she’s not alive to throw her wealth around, and Julian and Clara are.”
“Exactly. It’s bullshit.”
She’s silent for a moment. Maybe she’s trying to think if she should ask the next question or not.
“Did you like her?”
Now, it's my turn to think about how to answer it. I consider lying, but I doubt Vivian is jealous. In a moment of clarity, I realize that I’m probably not the first young lover she’s had, and I won’t be the last. A slightly more bitter part of my brain wonders if that habit is what led to her divorce. She claims that he cheated on her, but who knows if anything anyone here says is the truth.
Well, I’ll tell the truth.
“Yeah. At least, I think I would have. I only got to talk to her for a few minutes, but she seemed… I don’t know. Normal. Maybe that’s not the right word. Normal here means something different.”
“She seemed like you.”
“Yes.”
I feel tense again, so I wait for Vivian's caresses to soothe me once more before I continue. "She was goofy and quirky and… a little lonely. She hated her parents, too. I can relate to all of that."
“Why do you hate your parents?”
“Because they hate me.”
She pauses again. Lot of stunners for Vivian Chase today. “I’m sorry.”
“I’m not. Not anymore, anyway. As far as I’m concerned, they can go screw themselves.”
“I don’t blame you for feeling that way.”
She doesn’t ask to know why I think they hate me, but I tell her anyway. “Dad left when I was twelve, two years after Annie died.”
“That’s your sister?”
“Yeah. I remember I was crying and begging him to stay, and he looked at me like… like I was something you scrape off the bottom of your shoe.”
“Poor baby.”
That rubs me in all the wrong ways. I sit up, and I'm grateful when her hand falls, and she doesn't try to put it back on my head. “I hate that I cried. I hate that I begged that asshole to stay. That piece of shit didn’t deserve to know that his son was going to miss him. He doesn’t deserve to look back and feel like he was worth missing.”
She smiles sadly. “I hate to say it, but he probably doesn’t look back at all.”
I know that, obviously, but hearing it said out loud still hurts. I look away from Vivian and stare at the blank tv. “Mom’s an alcoholic. I mean a constant one. She started drinking before Dad left. I can’t remember the last time I saw her sober. We live off of government assistance and the money I can bring in.”
“That’s horrible.”
