“Mom.” She doesn’t even respond, just looks at me while taking another drag.
“You’ve grown up to be quite a looker, you could rake us in some big money.”
“I’m not interested in that.” I have to bite the inside of my mouth to prevent me from saying something that’ll make her mad.
I clear my throat, hoping I won’t get high from the cloud of smoke filling the room as I sit on the chair opposite her.
“Too bad, fresh meat is always in demand.”
“Can I ask you something?” I ignore her comment. I’ve heard this pitch so many times, I’ve lost count.
“The fuck do you want now?” she glares at me.
“Just to know why you hate me so much, I’m your daughter for God's sake.”
“The fuck you are.” She coughs and splutters. Surely I misheard her.
“What?”
“Oh, you heard me alright. You ain't my kid.”
There are moments in life that completely derail you. You think you know all there is to know, and then something like this happens.
“You’re lying, you’re a lying drunk.”
She laughs mirthlessly. “And you’re a fucking spawn. Made by the Devil himself.”
I push my chair back and stand, glaring into her uncaring eyes. This is by far the cruellest she has ever been to me. I know she hates me, but to say she isn’t my mother, that’s a whole other level of madness. I look just like Maury. We are blood.
“What, the truth hurts?” She sneers around the cigarette she’s lighting.
“It isn’t the truth. You’re saying this to hurt me, like you always do.” The tears threaten to spill, but she doesn’t deserve them.
“I don’t care enough to bother with lies.” She takes another drink. “You’re a whore, just like your mother. A filthy little slut.” She stands, swaying over to me.
She pokes my chest. “Maureen fucked her own father, got knocked up with you.”
I can no longer restrain my tears which fall in fat droplets down my cheek. My chest hurts, my soul hurts. Maury, she is my mother, and my father… Oh, God, this is sick, disturbingly sick.
“If your husband hurt Maury, it wasn’t her fault. It was yours! You fucking hear me? It was yours!” I’m sobbing now, my shoulders shaking, when she slams me back against the wall. “You watch your mouth, girl.” She stinks of alcohol and filth. I shove her away from me, and she loses her footing. It all happens so quickly. We were arguing, both of us were shouting, and now she’s laying on the floor with blood dripping from her head. I hold a shaky hand up to my mouth. “Oh no.” I mouth.
My mind is reeling. I’m not sure what to do, Maury will be so mad. So, I do the only thing I know. I call Fynn.
I open the door to a pale faced Fynn half an hour later. He barely says two words to me, just wraps his arms around me and lets me sob against his chest.
“I didn’t mean it, Fynn. I didn’t mean it.” It’s hard to speak clearly, my heart seems to be stuck in my throat.
“I know, baby girl, I know.” He coos.
“I’m going to go to jail for this. I know it.” He holds me tightly, his hands rubbing circles on my back somehow ease the panic in me.
“We are going to fix this. I swear.” Fynn grabs my hand and leads me to a chair. He hands me a glass of water with shaky hands. I take it, but set it down when the trembling in mine doesn’t cease. He looks between me and Francine, then starts to pace.
“I did this, Fynn.” I sob. The words she threw at me, the vacant look in her eyes played over and over again in my mind. “I killed her.”
He kneels in front of me, gripping my chin in his hands. “Look at me.” he commands and I do. “I’ll make this go away.”
My shoulders shake as I break down in front of him. He gathers me in his arms, then tells me to sit tight.
He cleans Francine's wound and places a bandage on it. Then he wraps her in the old, stained rug under the coffee table. I watch numbly as he cleans then disinfects the floor.
“Pack her some clothes.” He instructs, and I do as I’m told. I shiver when I enter her bedroom, realizing she’ll never sleep in here again. Everything is suddenly a cruel reminder of what I’ve done. How could I hurt someone like that?
I pack almost all the clothes she has into a bag and meet Fynn in the hallway. I’m relieved to realize that Francine’s body is gone.
“The car.” He answers the question I can’t ask. “We need to hurry.”
Before I know it, I’m sitting in Fynn’s car. I don’t even remember leaving my house, things are so surreal. Fynn heads out of town and drives for what feels like hours.
“A mortuary.” I yawn as I read the sign in front of the building he parks in front of.
“Yeah, for animals. They do mass cremations here. A friend of mine, whose out of town, hooked us up. I told him my dog died, and I couldn’t bear the thought of waiting. They have a cremation happening tonight, we just gotta dump her into the pile with the rest of the animals.”
“Fynn, no, we can’t.”
“No trace left of her, Miranda, no evidence.” I nod, he’s right. There is no other way. The woman was a disgrace, and she did not deserve to live. Burning her with animals seems a fitting farewell.
“Okay, you gotta distract the crematorium officer, so I can get her dumped into the furnace. He’s waiting for me. Tell him I want to say goodbye to my dog in private, some shit like that.” Fynn looks down at me, unbuttons the top two buttons on my shirt, then nods.
We drive through a set of gates toward a large warehouse. It’s dark enough, so luckily, it’ll be difficult for anyone to gauge what Fynn is carrying. Besides, his friend called ahead, so they’re expecting him. Despite trying to reassure myself, my heart still beats a million miles a minute.
“I can’t go to jail, Fynn.” I look over at him.
“Then you won’t.” He leans over and kisses me on the mouth. I try not to read too much into it. He made his choice, and he’d picked Mo. We had sex, and that was all it was. I’m not the woman for him. I’m barely a woman anyway. If what Francine said was true, I’m nothing but a product of incest and he deserves better.
I do as Fynn said, going around the building to the office to announce our arrival. It was surprisingly easy to distract the guy, Ben, according to his nametag.. The office was small, hot and smelled dank and greasy. Ben showed me to a chair and plopped himself on the desk in front of me. After a couple of flirtatious comments, he said he’d be willing to bend the rules if I let him bend me over his desk. I promised to come back, knowing I never would.
An hour later, Fynn and I stand outside his car, the sound of the furnace a hum in the background. The smell of burnt meat assaulting our nostrils.
The great thing about communal cremations for animals is that they’re final.
After we’ve both climbed in his car we make two promises. Never to talk about that night, and never to mention that we’d slept together. Those were secrets we’d carry to the grave.
17
Miranda
Now
At 2 a.m. a knock sounds on my door. I know it’s him because I saw him go into the church from my seat by the window. He needs a friend. He needs, well, he needs me. Mo doesn’t do well with grief, and Fynn knows that. It’s why he asks me to go along with him to the homes of bereaved families instead of her. I throw off the thin sheet that covers me I haven’t slept a wink, knowing it was only a matter of time before he came to see me.
I open the door, and he stands there, his eyes bloodshot. He glares down at me, but instead of the sadness I expect, I only see rage. He’s angry. Perhaps he’s also hurt, but definitely angry. I step aside to let him in.
“Did you know?” He sniffs. “About Mo and Trevor?” Instead of responding I step into my small kitchen, pour a glass of water and hand it to him. I expect him to take it but instead he shocks me, slapping it out of my hand before stalking toward me. The sound of the glass shattering has me flinching.<
br />
“Answer me, dammit. Did you know?”
Backing up, I hold on to the counter behind me. My breath catches in my throat. He doesn't pause, stepping into my space. His breathing is ragged, and I can smell whiskey on his breath. A tear slips down his cheek, and I want to reach up to wipe it away, but I hold back. He wraps his hands around my waist and presses his fingers into my skin. When my shirt lifts slightly, he slowly traces his fingers across my exposed skin. I shiver at his touch. After he danced with me at his parents party, I thought we both agreed that we wouldn’t cross the line. But how can I think when he’s looking at me the way he is. Like he hates me and needs me in equal proportions.
“You knew, and you didn’t tell me. You knew, and you let them make a fool of me.” His words pierce my heart. I never thought of it like that. “Why would you do that, Randy? Why?”
I gasp at his closeness, the scent of his hair, the heat radiating off his skin. If I let myself, I could reach out and touch him without moving even an inch forward.
“I -” The words break free, and both our eyes widen.
“Say it. Say something again. Please. Talk to me like you used to.” His face is etched in pain, and I can’t bear to see him like this anymore. I never stopped loving him, but I am a broken doll, and he shouldn’t have to deal with me or this twisted situation.
I shake my head, and he reaches out to hold my face, his thumbs running circles over my cheeks.
“Tell me to stop, and I will. Tell me to go, and I’ll walk away. Just talk to me.” He pleads.
My insides are on fire. I try to pull away, but he holds me captive. When his lips meet mine, I struggle to come up for air. He kisses me gently, then his tongue probes me for more. I can’t deny him, not now. I grip the back of his neck as he pulls me flush against his chest. His hands comb through my hair and trace down my back, everywhere and nowhere at once. Losing myself in him is something I can do, if it means bringing him some semblance of peace.
“I need you.” His voice is tired and raspy. He lifts me onto the counter and settles between my legs, lifting my t-shirt. Sitting before him in nothing but a pair of sleep shorts, I shiver at the cool breeze that wafts through the room. My nipples ache to be touched. As if he read my mind, he looks down at my breasts, hunger filling his eyes. He cups them gently as he trails kisses along my collarbone. The sensation is too much, causing me to moan loudly. He kisses my lips, stealing the sound. “That’s it, those sounds are mine.”
This is wrong. I know it, and he does too, but I wrap my legs around his waist and pull him closer anyway. His head bends to my breast as he sucks a sensitive bud into his mouth. I cry out at the pure electricity of his touch. I allow him to carry me off the counter and to my bed. He removes his t-shirt and unzips his jeans, letting them fall to the ground. He is as beautiful as the day I first laid eyes on him, his muscles are taut across his chest and abdomen. He’s every bit the fantasy he’s been all these years. I want to touch every inch of him. His erection peeks through his boxers and I sink back onto the bed, feeling my cheeks heat up and my mind haze over. I can feel the ache growing, the thought of him satisfying it makes me dizzy. He stares at me intently as he leans over me and slips off my shorts and undies.
“No,” I manage when he leans down and blows against my sex the way he did the first time he made love to me. I know that my protests will go unheard, but I have to try.
“Keep talking, baby.” He whispers. He is not in control, neither am I. This is forbidden, we should not be doing this, but everything comes back to this, to us.
Fynn dips his head between my thighs, his hands widening them. When he slips his tongue inside me, I’m a panting mess, running my hands through his hair, unsure whether to push him away or pull him closer. Everything comes back to this, to us. When we need to lose ourselves, we do it here, in this dark place between sanity and madness. He laps at me, nipping at my clit until I’m lifting off the bed, riding my orgasm. He slides his way up my body and perches between my thighs. He gazes down at me, his eyes hooded, his lips tugging into a half smile.
I nod, granting him the permission I know he wants, his cock pressed to my opening. Fynn doesn’t enter me gently this time, he pushes his way past all of my defences, and my eyes roll back at the size of him, at the feel of him inside me. I’m not eighteen anymore, this isn’t the first time we have sinned, this is something else, something new. Each thrust is a painful reminder of all the things we should not be doing, all the desires we’ve been tiptoeing around for years. He moves inside me with expert precision, my body rocking, my insides clenching. I grip onto him, my fingers lodging painfully in his back. He screams when I dig them into him, and he bites my lip hard, drawing blood. He licks each tainted drop, and I cry out as he fucks me into oblivion. His teeth graze my hardened nipples, and when he finds his release, it is my name on his lips, my name he cries out in agony and elation.
Be not deceived: neither fornicators, nor idolaters, nor adulterers, nor effeminate, nor abusers of themselves with mankind. Nor thieves, nor covetous, nor drunkards, nor revilers, nor extortioners, shall inherit the kingdom of God.
Each kiss is a death sentence, I know that, but the shivers that run down my spine are electric, the desire coursing through me undeniable. His is the only alter I will worship at.
That night we didn’t sleep, we cried and fucked and cried some more. He made me feel more alive than I ever had, and then I fell asleep in his arms. I decided that, for the first time in my life, I am going to take charge of the situation I’m in. I am going to confront Mo. Her reign of terror has to come to an end. And if I am going to save Fynn, I know that I have to do the unspeakable.
18
Still, you want to know me.
I didn’t get my period. I waited and waited, but it never came. I tried not to jump to conclusions, but that usually meant trouble. My cousin got pregnant when she was sixteen, and mother had me when she was sixteen, so it was nothing new for the women in my family.. But I am not ready for a baby, I’m still a child myself. The scariest thing for me is thinking about what he’ll do to me when he finds out. The beatings had become more frequent, the abuse more soul destroying. It was like he lived to humiliate me. It had gotten worse because of my teachers at school sticking their noses where they don’t belong. When I was out of class as much as I was, or missed school entirely, they’d suspect that something was wrong, and the assholes would contact my parents.
My door swings open and my mother strolls into my room. She looks high, really high. “What did you do to him?” She spits as she wobbles over to me.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about!” I yell, earning me a weak slap across the face.
“Watch your tongue, little bitch, or I’ll take it out of ya.”
“I did nothing.” I say through gritted teeth.
She raises her hand, and expect the slap, but instead she grabs the box I forgot I was holding in my hand. “What the fuck is this?” She frowns.
“I - I think I’m pregnant.”
Her face contorts into something sinister as she slaps me across the face with the pregnancy test. “How could you be so stupid? So careless?”
“He’ll kill me.” She pales, glaring at me with those cold eyes. That is all she cares about, what he’ll do to her.
“I won’t take the fall for this.” She sits on the wicker chair in my room then pulls out a packet of cigarettes.
“You won’t have to. I will deal with this.” I say bravely, not feeling any conviction. I’d been feeling sick lately, really sick, and when my mornings started with my face in the toilet, I knew. I told him I had my period after Markus raped me, even though I was afraid that he’d hurt me far worse than usual. He never bothered with me around that time of the month. It earned me severe beatings, so during that week, I stayed at a rundown motel in town. The owner didn’t charge me, as long as I gave him head.
My mother laughs, loud and mocking. “And what are you gonna do? Huh? You�
��re a fucking kid.”
“I stopped being a kid a long time ago.
At seven p.m., my mother gets lost. It’s her daily ritual. Get high on the street, so she doesn’t have to face the monster at home. I hear the door open, and a shudder runs through me. My room is dimly lit, and the shadows make my chest tighten.
“Daddy’s home.” He taunts, as he makes his way up the stairs. He opens my door and immediately starts unzipping his pants, letting them fall to the floor. He is such a sick bastard. He can barely get it up, but he still manages to use it in the vilest of ways. Tainting me for anyone else. He stalks toward me, a predator after its prey. His eyes are wild, as they have been for the last couple of years. I am merely a plaything for him. I will never understand how the man who created me could be so evil. He is the Devil, and I hate him. I hate my mother more. Because she knows, she hears my screams of terror, and she sees the scars he leaves on me.
His penis wobbles, he’ll want me to change that. My father had been a friend of my grandfather he’d raped my mother when she was just fifteen. When she found out she was pregnant, she ran away from home, not wanting to face my grandfather’s wrath. In exchange for her silence, my father offered her refuge. If you could call it that.
“On your knees, slut.” He loves to degrade me. Make me feel worthless. He’s worse than my mother, he’s worse than all of the monsters who have used me since then. I am powerless to these inhumane creatures, but that is about to change.
I do as I’m told, sinking down on my knees, my head bowed the way he likes. He loves playing God. He loves overpowering me, loves seeing me at his mercy.
Leave Me Breathless: The Black Rose Collection Page 67
