Devil You Know(41)

Again, I’m shifting blame. I’m looking for an out when in fact the misery with Dylan was born from my choices. I wanted to marry the guy, I moved out of home to be with him, and I picked him over my parents.

They used to warn me about spending too much time with him, about rushing into commitment. But what did they know? They were just a couple of old stiffs, and I was young and full of love.

I was stupid, more like.

My breath hisses between my teeth as I summon the last of my courage. If not for me, and not for them, I’ll do this for Malice. I’ll do this to show him that I was right, that they don’t care. I’ll do it to prove that he doesn’t have all the answers for me.

The rings echo through my head like the toll of funeral bells. The wait is ominous, and right as I prepare to hear the click of the answer machine, a blast from my past has me weak at the knees.

“Hello?” After all this time, my mother’s voice hasn’t changed a bit.

“Hello?” she asks again. I realize that I’m standing mute, stunned, in shock. Speak, Jane!

“Hi, Mom.”

More silence from the both of us before her sobs resonate through the phone, causing the earpiece to vibrate against my skull. She sniffs, and murmurs something incomprehensible. A lonely tear slips free, and crests my cheek. I can’t deny it—I’ve missed this woman. Knowing that she’s so overjoyed to hear from me tears at my heart. She did care. I was wrong.

My parents didn’t give up.

“I thought I’d never hear from you,” she finally manages.

“I never thought I’d call.”

“What changed?” I can’t deny the hope in her voice.

“I left him.”

She sucks in a sharp breath. “He had you under a spell, Jane. Your father and I, we tried to call so many times, but he always had the upper hand. We tried to come see you, about a year ago. He made it clear we weren’t welcome.”

My heart seizes. I thought it impossible to hate Dylan more than I do, but . . . I do. “He’s my past, Mom.” What’s done is done.

Shame on me for believing Dylan’s lies. Shame on me for thinking my parents didn’t love me. Shame on me for assuming they gave up.

“So, where are you? Where are you staying?” she asks.

“With a friend.”

“You thank them from me. I’m glad you have support, honey.”

“I am, too.” Where would I be without Malice?

“Can I come visit you?” The apprehension with which she asks churns at my insides. It isn’t right for a parent to be afraid to ask their child if they can see them.

“I don’t feel comfortable bringing you here.” Showing you him. “Can we meet somewhere?”

“Sure, honey. You name it and I’ll be there.”

The thought of seeing her is exhilarating; I can’t wait to iron out the creases in our relationship. But, at the same time, the concept of going out on my own scares me shitless. Like, seriously, my palms are growing clammy. If Dylan found me—restraining order or not—things could go south, fast. What if he happens to walk into where I meet up with Mom? What will I do? What would he do? Therefore, it seemed only logical to make a time today, when Malice will be near me in case things go wrong. I talk with Mom for another ten or so minutes—long enough to arrange where, and when we’ll meet at the mall.

Now is my time to embrace the chance to change. Sure, I’m terrified, but who isn’t when it comes to massive life-changing decisions? All those years I always thought leaving Dylan would be the hardest part, but how wrong was I? I never took into consideration how hard it would be to start over. Leaving was the first step down an untraveled, and obscured road—I have no idea where this journey will take me until I’m brave enough to experience it.

And the first step is going out on my own to meet my mom.

Doing what I should have done so many years ago.





SHE’S TALKING—muttering something about how she doesn’t like matching décor, but all I can do is stare at her like an idiot.

How I haven’t bowled over some old lady yet, I don’t know, but I can’t peel my eyes from the way her brow creases when she stresses her point, or the way she tips her head to the left when she smirks. I’m willing to bet she hasn’t talked this much without fear, or interruption for years.

Jane told me about her brief conversation with her mother on the way here. I threw that challenge at her, not expecting her to take it, but merely to plant the seed of an idea that could grow over time. When I stepped out of the bathroom after my shower and saw my phone had moved? Proud. There’s no other word for it.