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But as I lay back in my bed, silky sheets lingering at my waist to avoid snuggling in my own sweaty filth, I thought to myself...what if I didn’t want her to be?
I looked to the bedside table, to the home of Chandelle’s photo. Her narrowed eyes judged me for the dream she’d invaded, and I couldn’t fucking stand it. I pulled the drawer open, and another wave of guilt churned in my stomach as I placed her inside with the pens, Post-it notes, and a hint of dust, then closed it, concealing the false smile on her face in the dark.
Chapter 12
Feebee
The sun crept up, light shining in my window as it pushed nighttime away. I had watched every hour pass, the light in my room still on. The furniture in the room had become old news to me.
The pink that taunted me had become boring and lifeless. And I felt the same as my fingers weaved through my hair, tugging out the thicker strands. I played with them for a minute or two before I ditched them to find another.
My stomach rumbled, and as if it conjured a food-bringing genie into the room, the door swung wide, leaving a dent in the paint. A curse followed, slipping through the thin painted lips of the genie, except she wasn’t a genie but a little old lady, shaking under the weight of a breakfast tray.
I wanted to get out of bed and help her, but I couldn’t. I could only watch as skinny legs brought her closer. I sat up in bed for her to place the tray on my lap, the sheets hiding my modesty.
“Eat up, child. I don’t want you starving to death. You’re too skinny as it is.” She waved her arms, her encouragement looking something like a wounded bird.
“Who are you?”
“Name’s Beatrix. But Trix is fine. Or, Nonna, if you’d prefer.” Her accent was the perfect blend of Italian and American. Of the country where she was born and where she now lives.
“You’re Mercer’s grandmother?” I asked, examining the cannoli she brought for me. Before she could answer, I asked another question. “Is that even his real name?”
“I am, and yes, it is. It was his mother’s maiden name. Beautiful woman. God rest her soul.” She drew a cross in the air, an unknown to me condition making her hands shake. “He has her eyes, you know. The Italian genes didn’t win that round.”
I bit into the cannoli, stopping myself from saying something horrible, like those baby blues were the only thing the creep had going for him. Then, my other feelings reminded me that wasn’t how I really felt.
“I’m leaving tonight,” the old lady told me. “But don’t worry, the boys are harmless, and I’ll be back in three days. While I’m gone, I’ve warned them to stay on their best behavior.”
Harmless? I almost choked on my cannoli. Mercer had done nothing but given me scars. Harmful and painful emotional scars that I would never heal from. The deepest one he gave me last night. Those awful words were still in my mind’s eye, invading my focus on this woman in front of me.
The tear stains on my red face spoke of the hurt he caused me. I didn’t deserve to live, in his eyes, at least, and that hurt because part of me, a small hidden part that my anger tried to hush constantly, still craved a hug from him...because for only a minute, they made everything better.
That was why I’d kissed him in the shower.
But I wouldn’t get a hug from a man who hated me and despised my existence.
I doubted I would get another kiss.
That was a bitter pill to swallow because the worst thing in the world was loving someone who didn’t love you back and not being able to let go. Maybe it would have been easier to let go if I had something—someone—else to hold on to. But I didn’t.
I had nothing.
And for some messed up reason, after such a small amount of time, I did love Mercer, and I could no longer blame that tiny cell for it.
A tear fell, soaking through the last bite of cannoli. “Please, stay.”
Her being here felt safer to me.
“I’m going on a bingo tour.” Trix smiled, excited over her trip.
“Can I come?” I almost begged, mouth full and undignified. I knew nothing about this woman, but I knew enough about her grandson to not feel safe here alone.
“I think the time here will be good for you both.”
I forced the rest of the cannoli into my mouth, washing it down with freshly squeezed orange juice.
“He’s not going to hurt you. I’d kick his ass if he ever put his hands on a woman—”
