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“And I freaked out last night, but I’m fine, really. I’ll take care of Agnes. I’ll be fine.”
He seems divided. I can see that he wants to stay and prove himself, but that he is disturbed by the message he just received.
“I’ll call you,” he finally says before kissing me for a long time.
My breathing stops.
“See you later, the two redheads.”
I send my fist in his direction to indicate that I don’t validate this nickname but, already, he slams the door behind him.
“So,” exclaims Agnes, passing her head over the sofa. “I like your boyfriend.”
Your boyfriend. YOUR. Boyfriend. Tucker and I haven’t really had a discussion about it. Officially, we’re just self-proclaimed fuck buddies. Part of me is pushing away from the situation.
But this time, I don’t want to be a coward.
***
Tucker
I stop my car with a squeal of tires in front of the huge Victorian house. I get out of the car, my legs feeling numb. It’s been a long time since I slept away from here and I feel…refreshed. I feel like holding Iris’s little body against me all night has done me good physically but also psychologically.
Fuck, I can’t stop thinking about watching her sleep last night. I wanted to take her so badly, the blood was boiling in my veins. And yet I felt satisfied just holding her against me.
Yeah, I’m really fucked up.
She confided in me, and I felt like the king of the world. The most secretive girl I know opened up to me. She revealed one of the many dark secrets she carries with her, and it made me want to make her mine, to protect her and to blow the head off of anyone who tried to hurt her.
I’m in so much trouble, I tell you.
I climb the stone steps and open the heavy door to the mansion. “Abraham?”
He comes up to me. He looks worried. “Sir,” he greets me with a discreet nod.
“Where is my mother?” I ask him bluntly.
But I already know where to find her. I know she hasn’t gone into Debbie’s room because Abraham has locked the room. I hear crying and enter the huge living room on my left. The fireplace is lit, crackling sounds can be heard between the embers. On the floor, a crystal glass is shattered and a bottle of cognac is spilled on the fur rug in front of the fireplace.
Near the armchair, sitting on the floor, my mother is sobbing, her eyes lost in the flames.
“Mom?” I call out to her.
She hurriedly raises her head, and the sad look on her face hurts me. She is my mother. I will always take care of her, no matter what.
I kneel down beside her, taking care to keep my movements slow and calm so as not to frighten her.
“You haven’t abandoned me?” she whispers in a small voice.
I shake my head, picking up the bottle from the floor.
“Why weren’t you there last night? I thought you were gone, like your father,” she sobs, “like Debbie. I was all alone.”
“I didn’t leave,” I cut her off firmly so she’ll understand my words and not question them. “I’m here.”
When Abraham sent me that text earlier to tell me my mom was falling apart, no anger came to me, even though I know she drank alcohol last night. She agreed to meet this new doctor and go back on her meds.
“Did you see your doctor yesterday?”
