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“Release me, or she’ll make a scene,” I hiss.
“Let her.”
“Xero.” I wriggle in his grip, trying to break free, but he’s too big, too strong, too pigheaded to give me an inch of leeway. His deep chuckle reverberates against my back, like he thinks my family strife is one big joke.
“That’s it,” Mom screams. “I’m calling the police to perform a wellness check. And a locksmith. If this is another of your psychotic episodes, you’re going straight to an institution.”
Groaning, Xero releases his grip around my waist. “What does she want? This woman never fails to push you away.”
I flinch at the barb. It only stings because it’s true. It’s a painful thing to have to admit to being unloved by your own mom and dad. Everything I do is a disappointment, from surviving the car crash I can’t remember to being dragged out of college.
It doesn’t matter that they control nearly every aspect of my life. Nothing is ever enough.
“I’m not leaving,” Mom screeches.
I roll out of bed, slip on a robe, and race to the door. “Stay here,” I say, casting Xero a glare over my shoulder. “If she knows you’re alive, there’ll be a swat team here in minutes.”
His broad grin makes my breath catch. It’s as bright as his hair, which glows in the morning light like spun platinum. I shake off that thought. How can a twisted soul like his be encased in such an exterior so beautiful?
If life were fair, he’d have red skin and sprout horns.
“Amethyst,” I hear Mom hissing through the letterbox.
“Coming!” I charge through the upstairs landing and down the stairs.
When the letterbox snaps shut with a dull clink, I imagine her stepping back with a huff to settle her ruffled feathers.
My steps falter at the bottom of the stairs. The glass panels on my front door are gone. Although it’s painted the same shade of black as before, it looks heavier, sturdier, and without the usual wood grain.
I rub the back of my head and frown. Did Xero mention replacing my front door?
It’s too late to ask, so I continue forward, where there’s now a digital lock with a touchpad and fingerprint sensor.
“Hold on a second.” I press my index finger to the scanner, but nothing happens.
A deeper voice I don’t recognize murmurs something to Mom, but she replies in a tone so soft that I wonder if she’s brought Uncle Clive. All her compassion these days seems to go toward him.
It takes a few tries to realize the reader needs my thumbprint, and the mechanism unlocks with several noisy whirrs. I pull down the handle and open the door.
“Finally!” She strides past me into the living room, leaving behind a cloud of perfume.
I glance into the street to see who she was talking to, but it’s empty, save for a few figures sitting in their cars. They’re probably Xero’s people.
Closing the door, I turn toward where she’s disappeared and ask, “Mom?”
“Come here,” she says from the living room’s interior, her voice stiff.
My heart races, and I run through everything that happened since she turfed me out of her house. Then my heart sinks when I remember my altercation with Dr. Saint. If this is an intervention, then she should have brought Dad. And Myra.
I step into the living room, my pulse pounding so hard, every nerve ending throbs with anxiety. “What’s wrong?”
Mom perches on the edge of my armchair, balancing a diamond-encrusted Birkin bag on her knees.
“Of all the heinous things I’ve tolerated from you, this crosses the line,” she says, her voice trembling.
“What did I do now?” I ask.
“Pornography,” she hisses through clenched teeth.
